2022-02-23 chapter 16
Swapna’s lips purse((with reference to the lips) pucker or contract, typically to express disapproval or irritation) thoughtfully. “But our brand is aspirational(having or characterized by aspirations to achieve social prestige and material success).”
“And Palm Springs is peak aspiration,” I say. “We’ll give our readers the vision—then show them how they can have it.”
Swapna’s dark eyes light up as she considers this, and my stomach lifts hopefully.
Then she blinks(shut and open the eyes quickly) and turns back to her computer screen. “No.”
“What?” I say, not even on purpose, just because my brain can’t compute that this is happening. There is no way that this, my job, is where the train goes off the rails.
Swapna gives an apologetic sigh and leans over her gleaming glass desk. “Look, Poppy, I appreciate the thought that went into this, but it’s just not R+R. It will translate as brand confusion.”
“Brand confusion,” I say, apparently still too stunned to come up with my own words.
“I thought about it all weekend, and I’m sending you to Santorini.” She looks back to the layout proofs on her desk, her face shifting gears from Empathetic but Professional Manager Swapna to Concentrating Magazine Genius Swapna.
She’s moved on, the signal so strong that I find myself standing even though, inside, my brain is still caught on a refrain of but, but, but!
But this is our chance to fix things.
But you can’t give up that easily.
But this is what you want. Not gorgeous whitewashed Santorini and its sparkling sea.
Alex in the desert, in the dead of summer.
Wandering into places before checking them out on Tripadvisor, unstructured days and late, late nights and full hours of sunshine lost to the inside of a dusty bookstore he couldn’t pass by, or a vintage shop whose clutter and germs have him standing, rigid yet patient, near the door as I try on dead people’s hats. That’s what I want.
I stand in the doorway of the office, heart racing, until Swapna looks up from the proofs(evidence or argument establishing a fact or the truth of a statement), her eyebrow arched inquiringly, as if to say, Yes, Poppy?
“Give Santorini to Garrett,” I say.
Swapna blinks at me, evidently confused.
“I think I need some time off,” I blurt out, then clarify. “A vacation—a real one.”
Swapna’s lips press tight. She’s confused but not going to push for more information, which is good because I wouldn’t know how to explain anyway.
She gives a slow nod. “Send me the dates, then.”
I turn and walk back to my desk feeling calmer than I have in months. Until I sit down and reality forces its way in.
I’ve got some savings, but taking a trip that’s affordable by R+R’s standards—and on their dime—is a very different thing from taking a trip that I can afford with my own money.
And as a high school English teacher with a doctorate
and all of its associated debt, there’s no way Alex could afford to split costs with me. I doubt he’d agree to take the trip at all if he knew I was funding it myself.
But maybe this is a good thing.
We always had so much fun on those trips we cobbled together on cents.
Things only started going downhill once R+R got involved in our summer trips.
I can do this: I can plan the perfect trip, like I used to; remind Alex how good things can be.
The more I think about it, the more this makes sense.
I’m actually excited by the idea of having one of our old-school, dirt-cheap trips. Things were so much simpler back then, and we always had a blast.
I pull out my phone and take my time trying to craft the perfect message.
Fun thought: Let’s do this trip the way we used to. Cheap as shit, no professional photographers tailing us, no five-star restaurants, just seeing Palm Springs like the impoverished academic and digital-age journalist that we are.
Within a few seconds, he replies: R+R’s okay with that? No photographer?
I unconsciously start waggling my head back and forth like the tiny angel and devil on my shoulder are taking turns tugging it from left to right. I don’t want to outright lie to him.
But they are okay with it. I’m taking a week off, so I’m free.
Yep, I say. Everything’s all set if you’re okay with it.
Sure, he writes. Sounds good.
It does sound good. It’ll be good. I can make it good.
7
This Summer
AS SOON AS the plane touches down, the four babies that spent the full six-hour flight screaming stop at once.
I slip my phone from my purse and turn off airplane mode, waiting out the flood of incoming text messages from Rachel, Garrett, Mom, David Nilsen, and—last but absolutely not least—Alex.
Rachel says, in three different ways, to please let her know as soon as I land that my plane didn’t crash or get sucked into the Bermuda Triangle, and that she’s both praying for and manifesting a safe landing for me.
Safe and sound and already missing you, I tell her, then I open up the message from Garrett.
《People We Meet on Vacation》
by Emily Henry 从朋友到恋人
只是搬运工加个人笔记。
