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The publishing conference attached to the fellowship orientation materials I’d practically memorized over the summer. The one I would have attended if the fellowship had started the way it was supposed to.

Liz catches my expression.

“Delaney.”

“I’m fine.” I fake a smile.

“I know this isn’t what you planned, nor is it how any of us wanted your first few months to go.”

“Really, I’m fine.” I try again, struggling to hide the disappointment.

Her expression softens. “We’ll get you to the next one.”

I nod because I know she means it. By lunch, most of the senior editorial team is headed to the airport. By two, I’m eating my second dove bar. By three, Avery has apparently sensed my despair from a few blocks away.

Avery: Don’t forget Halloween party tonight!

Me: Rain check?

Avery: That wasn’t a question.

Me: It’s a work night.

Avery: And pretty much the whole office is gone and you’re working the rest of the week from home because of the conference.

Me: How do you know all of that?

Avery: You told me yesterday when you ate your feelings with a maple scone.

I stare at the screen.

Right.

Avery: You need fun.

Me: I wanted NYC.

Avery: NYC doesn’t have me… or Ken.

Me: True. But they do have The Strand.

Avery: Does the Strand have abs?

Me: It has eighteen miles of books.

Avery: You’ve got me there.

Avery: Name one thing you’ve done this week that wasn’t work, apartment hunting, writing, or Ken.

Me: I didn’t DO Ken.

Avery: Not yet…

I refuse to answer.

Three dots appear.

Avery: I have your costume.