A Reason to Believe
It was two weeks and three days since Betty last spoke to Daniel, a fact that should have gone unnoticed due to her hectic new life in London. Indeed, her days as an editor were spent with little thought on the subject, but at night, while the entire city was at rest, memories of him returned to haunt her. She kept replaying the image of Daniel, his cool blue eyes twin puddles as he signed her release form. She saw Daniel, his voice wrought with emotion, make a feeble excuse and turn away, never looking back.
He hadn't come to her farewell party. He hadn't said goodbye. And she didn't know why. True, Mrs. Meade's reason stood out in her mind, a bright neon sign flashing its message to the world, and Betty was willing to believe it over the other option: that Daniel really did hate her for not including him in her plans—for abandoning him.
But could Daniel really love her in a way that was completely foreign for them and completely . . . wonderful? She found it hard to believe that his platonic feelings for her could have evolved into something more. After all, this was Daniel. She had seen the type of women he had dated: tall, gorgeous, vacuous bimbettes with little interest in his intellect or his kindness or his . . . Well, needles to say, Betty wasn't any of those things. She was more like Molly, his late wife.
The realization made her bolt upright in her bed. She was like Molly, but that didn't mean he was in love with her, Betty Suarez from the Queens. It was completely unrelated. It had to be. "We're only friends," she protested to the darkened room. "He wouldn't do anything to jeopardize our friendship."
Or would he? His current actions seem to indicate as much. After all, he hadn't said goodbye. Everyone else had, even Wilhelmina Slater, for Pete's sake! He hadn't even had the decency to call, though she had received one odd voicemail whilst on the plane to England. The number had been unfamiliar to her, and when she played the message back all she heard was uneven breathing.
She liked to think it was from Daniel. Perhaps he had called from a strange phone in a bar to apologize but couldn't find the right words and hung up. She could see him doing that. He always got so bashful when he was apologizing, and if he had been imbibing, his communication skills would have been even worse. It was a good, sound theory, and she had no problems believing it to be true. She had to believe it. Otherwise she couldn't find it in herself to forgive him.
Inevitably when she remembered her last encounter with Daniel, she thought of her familia and what advice they would give in this situation. Papi would give her some tamales along with his paternal wisdom, and Hilda would cop a "I'm your big sister, so you better listen to me," attitude all while feeling just as worried as the rest of them. And Justin—sweet, wise beyond his years Justin—would know exactly what to say to cheer her up. After imagining such a scenario, she would feel so homesick she couldn't breathe and would have ridiculous ideas of quitting her job and moving back home to her family's supportive arms.
But Betty couldn't quit. Working for a magazine that dealt with the issues she was passionate about was her dream job, and being an editor at the age of 25 was the delicious icing on the cake. She couldn't leave London with its intriguing humanity and history. This city was the only thing sustaining her.
She loved the fast-past, paradoxical world where past and present collided in a kaleidoscope of color and excitement. Where modern skyscrapers towered over ancient Roman stonework and a faddish coffee shop overlooked the enduring, ineffable St. Paul's Cathedral. London was different. London was unique. London was her.
She just had to stay and weather her homesickness as best as she could. London, with its emphasis on change and progress, was just the change she needed. Besides, Daniel would want her to fail and return to New York, and she wouldn't give him that satisfaction, regardless of the reason for his recent behavior.
****
The next few workdays passed quickly due to the anticipation she felt for the weekend. Christina had called and arranged a short trip to London! Whenever Betty felt an inkling of homesickness, she quelled it with thoughts of the plans she had for her and her friend.
Friday evening arrived at a snail's pace, but eventually she found herself standing outside the Café Nero where they had promised to meet. Betty scanned the mass of pedestrians making their way home, searching for the familiar tawny head of her friend. She heard the Scottish brogue before she saw its feisty owner.
"BETTY!" Christina shouted. Several heads turned to stare at her, but she ignored them and bustled over to the petite Latina.
"CHRISTINA!!!!" Betty let out an excited shriek and embraced her friend. They jumped up and down, each yelling out random exultations that were lost amidst the din of London.
Christina took in the bright blue patchwork coat Betty was wearing. "Don't you look stylish! Turn around," she ordered, twirling her finger for guidance.
Grinning, Betty did as instructed. "It's a Christina McKinney original."
"My, what a talented designer," Christina joked. She did a double take of Betty's lovely face. "And new glasses, too? You are quite the fashionista."
Betty dismissed the compliment with a wave of her hand. "It was a gift from my family. I happen to miss my red glasses."
The two entered the café and soon were seated with espressos at a cozy table in the corner. "So Ms. Editor, how are you enjoying life in London?" Christina asked.
Betty fingered the lid of her drink, not meeting her companion's eyes. "It's great. I love my job, and the city is so fascinating. Have you been to the National Gallery? I could spend days in there—"
"So what's wrong?" Despite the fact that they hadn't seen each other in quite a while, Christina could still read Betty like an open book.
Betty swallowed around the lump in her throat and looked up, something wet prickling her eyes and threatening to overflow. "I miss my family, and Daniel . . . he was . . . he didn't –" And then the tears came in a torrent, running down her nose and fogging up her glasses. Soon she was blubbering into her coffee as she explained the events that had transpired before she left.
As she burdened her sorrows unto Christina, she felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders. It was nice to be able to confide in someone face to face. Sure, she spoke, texted and emailed her family daily, but there was something so comforting in having an actual person there listening to everything she said and nodding at the appropriate times. Slowly the tears abated, and the group of curious bystanders she had elicited during her sob story quickly dispersed.
"The worst part is I don't even know why he's acting this way," she concluded. "I mean, everybody has their theories, but I don't know if I believe any of them." She squinted at her friend through her tear-stained glasses and rummaged through her purse for a glass cloth to wipe them down.
For a moment Christina was silent. Then she fixed Betty with an appraising look and smiled mischievously. "I knew you were quitting the fashion world, but I thought you would at least keep up with the current issues of Mode."
Betty scrunched up her forehead in bemusement. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about the most recent letter from the editor, or should I say 'resigning editor.'"
"What?" Betty squawked. "Daniel stepped down? "
"Yeah, and he gave entire control to that she-devil Wilhelmina Slater. It's one of the biggest stories in the fashion world right now."
"But why? Why did he step down?"
Christina shrugged. "I'm not sure why, though he did allude to something about it in his letter. You should check it out, Betty." She patted her friend's hand encouragingly. "I think you'll find the answers you're looking for."
****
Betty wasn't much company the rest of the evening, and she said goodbye to Christina around ten, blaming her heavy workload but promising to be in a much better mental frame the next morning when they went for breakfast. Luck seemed to be with her, as she didn't have to wait long for the late train at the underground. She found herself back at her flat in fifteen minutes, and five minutes later she was searching the internet for news about Daniel's departure from Mode.
Most of the reports were infuriatingly unhelpful. Apparently Daniel had been vague at his press conference, citing a lack of "drive and passion" as his criteria for leaving. And then she hit the goldmine. Several articles referred to his last letter as Editor in Chief, even going so far as to declare that Daniel Meade had given up his family's crown jewel for a woman.
A woman? Betty's heart jumped to her throat as she sped over to the official Mode website in search of this important epistle. And there it was, under a snapshot of old back issues and the bold inscription of MODE.
The first two paragraphs held little significance to the matter at hand, just some rambling about the ever-changing nature of the fashion world. The third paragraph featured the one allusion to his resignation, so subtle that she almost missed it:
It's one for which I admit I am not a natural fit, one for which Wilhelmina is.
"Oh," she exhaled. She knew that fashion had at one time been his passion. Papi had even encouraged him to hone in on his skills rather than sleep with the entire city. Was it possible that sometime during the last two years he had grown ambivalent to the fashion world? And if he had, what was the reason?
She continued reading, hoping to get the answers she so desperately desired. The very next paragraph revealed something very important:
I ask you, dear reader, to think back to a time when you experienced a major shift in your life. Was it an external change, something that happened outside of you, and forced a change of attitude to help you adapt to the future? Perhaps you saw a friend demonstrate a prowess that cast her in a new light. Heck, maybe it was as simple as your friend getting a makeover. Or perhaps that friend was undergoing her own life change, one in which she would no longer be present in your life, compelling you to make your own change to keep her in it, even if it were in a new context.
Even though he was hurt and angry over her decision, he was still thinking about her. He was thinking about her so much that he mentioned her in his last letter. A note that could have been filled with memories about his time at Mode was instead devoted to her.
She felt her throat close up, and her eyes again grew moist. She was utterly relieved to discover that he didn't hate her. As much as she was annoyed with him for his recent actions, she couldn't stand the thought of losing him as a friend. But if his behavior hadn't been a product of hate that meant something else was the cause—perhaps something similar to what Claire had suggested. Betty shook her head to rid herself of the notion. Regardless of the fact that she couldn't think of any other plausible reason, it was still so hard to fathom that Daniel could have romantic feelings for her.
Betty glanced down at the clock in the corner and realized it was past twelve. She was about to shut her computer down when she noticed the proceeding paragraph. The content made her jaw drop:
Just as important: Maybe the change was an internal one. Maybe you realized you were no longer interested in maintaining your status quo. Perhaps you wanted to try new challenges not only in your professional life, but also in your personal one. Or maybe one day something just changed inside you in the way you saw that good friend, causing you to want her to be more than, well, just a friend.
"Oh," she said again, softly as a sigh. This time the tears fell silently, no sobs, no sniffles. And as she cried, she laughed. Claire had been right. Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place. The irrational behavior, his tears, the burning of her contract and his absence at her party were all a result of his feelings for her. His romantic feelings.
Betty went over each scene in her head, this time concentrating on any subtle clues she might have missed. His declaration that he couldn't live without her came to mind, as did the fond looks he gave her. Those devastating looks that had made lesser women to turn to putty.
Betty plopped onto her sofa, exhausted yet satisfied. The answers which had been evading her were now in her grasp. With this new knowledge, Betty was assured that Daniel would come to see her and apologize. And when he came, she would forgive him. When he came, she would listen to all he had to say.