20. Special Delivery

September 28, 2009: My first day of work as assistant editor of the Texas-based magazine. Also, my birthday.

I had only been at my desk for an hour or two, and I already knew I was going to love it there. I was one of only two girls on staff, which was quite a change from previously working with ALL women, aside from the token Jim Halpert-type (who I'm pretty sure everyone had a crush on at one point or another), and one older male editor who was usually out of the office exploring the mountains or playing with bears or whatever it was he did.
I came back from lunch to see a beautiful bouquet of flowers on my desk. My stomach dropped. Were they from Cayden? I hadn't talked to him for almost two weeks, a record for us. I grabbed the tiny envelope hidden between the stems and ripped it open.
"Happy Birthday! We're so proud of you! -Mom and Dad"
I was relieved and disappointed. If they had been from Cayden, then I'd have to reopen communication with him, which I knew I couldn't do. At the same time, it would have been nice of him to send me something, being that I had put a lot of thought into his gift earlier that month. Jerk.
I thought it was cute that my parents sent me flowers considering I was living in their house. You know, to save a buck or two until I could get my own place. I was more than enjoying the free rent while I could. First I'd buy a car, then I'd look for an apartment. The hour-and-a-half commute, on the other hand, made me want to die a little twice a day.
My new editor, Hal, walked by.
"Wow. Who sent the flowers? A boyfriend?"
"Haha, close. My parents. Sweet, right?"
At that point I realized I wasn't only the new girl, I was the new girl with a bouquet of flowers on my desk. My new coworkers were going to think I was some kind of spoiled princess. But they knew it was my birthday, so surely they'd forgive me.
The door opened again.
This time, a delivery man came in with a bigger bouquet: roses.
The delivery man laughed and shook his head, "Well, aren't we just popular today?"
Shit. Now I was the new girl with TWO bouquets on her desk, in an office full of men. At least women would understand. Awesome.
I reluctantly reached for the card, praying this one was from one of my siblings, or maybe an old coworker. Although roses would be a little weird. Maybe I had a secret admirer?
I saw the name at the bottom before I read the note. "Cayden"
I held my breath, but the card down on my desk, and closed my eyes for a minute. Did I want to know what it said? What if it said, "Turn around," and then he was sitting there in the lobby? I stood up and my eyes darted around the lobby next to my cubicle. Nothing. What was wrong with me? He doesn't want to be with me, of course he wouldn't have flown all the way over here to tell me happy birthday, although a huge part of me wished he did.

"Happy Birthday, Whitney. Hope you have a great birthday, and good luck with your first day at work. -Cayden"

I folded the note back up, pissed off that he hadn't even put in the effort to hand-write the note. But then I remembered, he's a guy. Guys don't think about shit like that. They just give themselves a pat on the back for remembering your birthday and placing the order.
Hal walked by again on his way to the printer.

"OK, now who are THOSE from?"
He pointed to the embarrassingly large rose arrangement.
Crap, what do I do? It was my first day, I wasn't about to tell the story of Cayden to my new editor. And our office was so quiet, I knew everyone could hear.

"They're from a friend in London."
"Oohhh, a friend in London? Those roses look like they came from more than a friend," he joked.
I laughed and shrugged. "Well, Hal, that's a story for another day."
He retreated to his cubicle.

I sat there for a little while, trying to decide if I should respond. I could send a short email. Just, "thanks for the flowers" Just like that, no punctuation or capitalization. That sends a message. In the end I decided not to reply.

That was 7 months and 27 days ago. I still have four of his roses hanging upside down on my cubicle wall, with his note attached.

14. Sweet Little Lies

Was I interested in the job? I don't know. Yes, I told the editor I was interested; that's just the way we play the game. I liked living in New York, but did I have my heart set on living there? No. Unlike most journalists, NYC was never my goal. It may be the magazine capital of the U.S., but I didn't care. I loved Texas. I remember one time when I was a junior in college, I was in the Big Apple for a group trip to tour magazines. I was with one of my best friends, mentors, and previous editor, Gayle. I distinctly remember we were standing in Central Park, drinking coffee on a bridge, when she looked at me and said, "I don't want to live here. I'd be perfectly happy working at a big-city magazine in Texas. This isn't for me."
I took a look around. The trees were turning from green to gold, and I could hear the wind whistling through them. But behind that I heard the taxis honking, bringing me back to reality.
"Me neither." I said, and meant it.

So, how did I end up there? I graduated. All throughout college we were told if we did everything right, set ourselves apart, went above and beyond, we'd get hired before or soon after we walked across the stage. Well, that was bullshit if I ever heard it. I graduated Summa cum Laude, I had three national magazine internships on my resume and a handful of local ones. I applied for every magazine job in Texas. I had multiple interviews and pored over lengthy edit tests until my brain was fried. And guess what I ended up doing? I became a nanny. Three days a week I'd take care of the cutest little 3-month-old baby girl, and she was absolutely precious. Yes, I spent $80,000 on that journalism degree, and I was going to pay it back changing one diaper at a time. I really couldn't complain though. While the baby slept I'd get to read Laurell K. Hamilton books while doing crunches in the ab lounger with crappy daytime TV playing in the background. "So this is what it's like to be a graduate," I thought to myself.
Three months into my nanny career I received an interesting phone call.
"Hi, Whitney, I'm calling to see if you're still interested in the internship you applied for at our national women's health magazine."
"Of course I am!" I had no idea what internship she was talking about.
"Well, we looked over your resume and clips, and we love what we see! I'd like to set up a phone interview with an editor. You do know that the job is in New York, right?"
"Sure do. I actually have a place up there already, just looking for an excuse to move in." The lies just kept on flowing.
"Great! Let's set up a call with a senior editor named Lucia tomorrow at 2."
"Looking forward to it!"
I hung up and searched through my past sent emails, trying to figure out what the hell I was getting myself into. After all the Texas magazines rejected me, I started applying to anything and everything, whether I had heard of the publication or not. I found the email in my sent mailbox. I had applied for this job three months ago.
The phone interview with Lucia went well. I lied again about my apartment in the city and my strong desire to move there. I just really wanted to see if I'd get an offer.
A few days later the phone rang again. I got the offer. I'd work 40 hours per week at $10 an hour for 6 months. Did I accept? Oh, and could I start in two weeks? I suddenly saw it as an adventure, a challenge. Living in New York City making only $10 an hour? Let's do it!
I now faced two very big problems. I had two weeks to sell my car, my baby, my pride and joy. I loved that car. The other problem: My imaginary apartment wasn't going to come out of thin air. I wouldn't have the money to put a deposit on an apartment until my car sold. I was in quite a predicament.
I was supposed to start work Aug. 11, 2009. My car sold on Aug. 9. I jumped on a plane on the 10th and landed in LaGuardia, homeless. For some reason, I wasn't scared. I knew Craig and his mighty mighty list had my back. I hopped on Craigslist at the airport and looked for temporary housing, available that day. I found three options. I called the first one. The voice on the other end sounded friendly and encouraging.
"If you don't like it, you can always drop your bags off here and then go look at your other two options. That way you won't have to lug your bags around."
What a sweet offer. Could be a serial killer.
My taxi pulled onto Saint Marks Place, between 1st and A, and I fell in love. I didn't care if I was about to get murdered. I'd die happy. The weather was beautiful, everyone seemed to be outside, eating at an outdoor cafe or drinking on the patio of the bar. I got out of the cab and called Cole, the friendly potential serial killer.
"I'll be right down!"
I was so overwhelmed with the atmosphere on that street that I didn't think about what my last words might be.
"Whitney?"
I turned around to see an attractive blond guy with a welcoming smile holding his hand out to mine. Well, he sure didn't look like a murderer.
"That'd be me. Nice to meet you, Cole." We shook hands and I immediately wondered if he had a girlfriend.
He carried both of my bags up to the top of the fifth floor walk up before I could make it to the third carrying only my purse, wheezing and coughing. The apartment was located directly above a charming Irish bar. Awesome, I could get shitfaced and then just crawl back up to my apartment. When I finally made it to the fifth floor, red-faced and bent over at the waist, I walked inside the apartment and was pleasantly surprised. It was colorful. So colorful. The kitchen and living room shared an exposed brick wall, and the living room was painted with bright green and darker green stripes. An old antique couch sat on one side of the living room and a black leather chair on the other. A flatscreen TV hung nicely from a nail in the exposed brick. I believed this is what one might call luxury in NYC.
"And this is my room, soon to be your room if you decide to stay." While I hoped that was an invitation for a slumber party for two, I knew he'd be sleeping in his new apartment, a few doors down. I looked around the room. There was a full-size bed taking up three-fourths of the room, then there was a dresser and a closet that might fit one shoe and a jacket. One wall was painted dark crimson, and there was just enough room to walk from the door to the closet with a thin pathway between the bed and the wall.
"I'll take it."

13. Copy and Paste

"Thanks for thinking of me! Of course, I'd love to hear more about the position. Let me know what the first step is in applying. My current resume is attached. Thanks!
-Whitney"

Then I sent an email to Cayden explaining the whole situation. This is his response:
"Whitney, that's absolutely fantastic news about the offer of a job, I'm really pleased for you. You've got a huge decision to make now, a nice situation to be in though, haha. Upsides are that you would be close to your family and friends who you obviously miss, it's a higher position, it'll pay more and allow you to save, you'll get free travel to places, and it's a fun magazine, which is what you've always wanted. The downside is that you won't have that New York experience for much longer and you'll leave your friends that you've made there. I think it's definitely worth saying that you're interested and asking more about it. Once you've got all of the facts you'll be able to make a more informed decision.
I'll try and give you some advice after almost a decade of working in different jobs in different places. In most of the jobs I've done, I've liked them to start off with, but after a while that novelty wears off after about a year. Only now am I in a job that I don't hate but that's my first one out of about 8, so if a dream job comes up, I would seriously think hard about taking it. If you stayed in New York, you might want a different challenge eventually but it's whether or not there will be any more around when you come to looking. The place where you live is important, too. I lived in Cyprus with beaches etc for 3 years, but after a while I stopped liking it and had to move back home.
Only you can make the decision Whitney, and you've got to go with what you feel is right, but whatever you decide, have no regrets because that'll just wear you down. You're obviously talented and whatever you choose to do, you'll do just fine in both.
I'm a completely different person to you when it comes to family, and also prefer living in a city, so for me, i'd probably see what the company is offering, then mention to your current company that, as much as you like being there, you've had a great offer nearer to home. If they really want you, they'll pay you more or promote you.
For you though, if I'm honest, I think you should take the job in Texas. I don't know you too well, although it feels like I do haha, but one thing I do know is that you love your family very much and your friends too. If you can be around those AND have pretty much your dream job then I think you'd pretty much have nothing to feel down about in life. Not a bad situation to be in. On top of that, for that editor to get in touch with you directly, they obviously really value you and that's what you don't always get in a workplace.

Your experiences in New York will have a huge impact on your life. I think the biggest experience you'll learn from it is not to kick the ass of an English guy in a bar, when he doesn't live in the same country as you, haha.

-Cayden"


Yes, this is an actual email from Cayden, copy and pasted (with his permission of course), and yes this is how long our three-times-a-day emails were, if not longer.

12. Positions

He picked the dates. December 3-13. He was going to come see me for a full ten days. At the same time, I was toying with the idea of flying to London to surprise him for his birthday. His birthday is September 11th, and mine is the 28th. I knew he was having a big party for his birthday that weekend. So Every once in a while I'd take a break from work to look up flights. One day in August I found a flight to London on his birthday weekend for only $432. I almost hit "purchase," but then I had these thoughts: What if he had a girl up there, and she'd be at his party? Or what if he was going to have an ex there? Or what if he thought I was out of my freaking mind for showing up at his door uninvited. That last one is the real reason I didn't click "purchase." Well, that and the fact that Suzanne and Mac tried to convince me that I'd end up in a body bag or something. Just pessimists. Cayden was about to book his flight to NYC for that December trip when I got an interesting email in my inbox.

"Hey Whitney,
Any chance you're still interested in that assistant editor position? A position just opened up, and I know I told you I'd keep you in mind! Let me know right away if you're interested."

It was from an editor at a magazine in Texas. I had applied for the position last November, during a bout of homesickness. My family is in Texas, and I couldn't stand that I was missing birthdays and holidays because I couldn't afford to fly home. Back in November I did two phone interviews, critiqued the magazine, and completed an edit test. It came down to me and one other person. They offered it to the other person because she was local. Or at least that's what he told me. I was more than bummed, because I fell in love with the magazine. It was fun, witty, everything my current health magazine wasn't. There weren't many magazines in Texas, much less many good magazines, so I really had my heart set on it. I recovered from that rejection and got comfortable in NYC. But now this?
I thought about the pros. Aside from the fact that it's a more entertaining magazine, it's also near home. It's in a city with MUCH cheaper cost of living, so I could actually afford to travel if I wanted to. I'd be 3 hours from my brother, who was away at college. I'd be 3 hours from my younger sister, 30 minutes from my older sister, and 45 minutes from my parents. A lot of my college friends moved to that area. I've always wanted to love my job, and I think I'd love it there.
But then I thought of the cons. It's not NYC. I'd miss the crazy culture. I'd miss the subway (it's always such a bitch to friend a DD). I'd miss the beautiful buildings and my beautiful rooftop. Not to mention, I'd miss my NYC friends. I loved them. But, it could be career suicide. Once you leave the NYC magazine circle, you can't get back in. So if things didn't work out in Texas, I'd be screwed. And lastly, Cayden loves NYC, and wants to come visit me there, specifically.
I hit reply.

9. My Head in the Cloud

I remember the first time he called me. It was a few weeks after he'd been back in London. I had just walked out of my office building and I was heading south on Third Avenue when my phone rang. I checked the screen and saw Cayden's name pop up. (As I'm sure you've assumed, I added International calling to my phone plan). I quickly looked around for a quiet place to stand, but I was in Manhattan, during rush hour, which, come to think about it isn't all that different from Manhattan during non-rush hour. Cabbies were laying on their horns, bike messengers were whizzing by with their bells ringing, and hordes of people were shoving past each other, even though they're all on their way to the same place, Grand Central Station. I didn't want to miss the call, so I just stopped at the corner I was at, 45th and Third Ave, under the blue awning of an bodega that recently closed.
"Hello?" I plugged my other ear with my finger, but couldn't block out the rest of Manhattan.
"Hello, Whitney! How are you?"
"Ah, I'm great! I'm sorry, it's a little hard to hear you. I'm on the street and there are angry, impatient cabbies everywhere."
"That's quite alright. I just wanted to give you a call before I went to bed."
"What?"
"Just calling before I went to bed."
I pushed myself as far against the brick wall as I could, moving a little farther east down 45th because most of the madness was on Third.
"I'm sorry, one more time?"
I turned to face the wall and pushed finger so hard against my ear it hurt. I tried to hunch over to create a barrier, a haven for the phone. Then I realized how ridiculous I must look to passersby. Like a crackhead with a mad case of scoliosis talking to a wall. (I'm not hating. I actually do have scoliosis, just not quasimoto-style yet)
"Just calling to say goodnight!" He almost yelled.
I was wishing my phone had a record-button accessible so I could play back that beautiful accent before I went to bed hours later. There's a five-hour time difference between New York and London, and it was a pain in my ass.
"Oh, OK. I'll email you before bed. Thanks for calling! Sleep well!"
"Gnight, Whitney!"
I hung up.
I then experienced one of those overwhelming bouts of happiness. The kind that force a huge, goofy smile on your face and kind of take your breath away. You want to laugh. You want to hug the stranger next to you. I looked to my left and saw a short bald man wearing a business suit, sweating profusely and barking into his cell phone about expense reports. No thanks. I never understood how businessmen could walk around the city in the 80-something degree heat decked out in full suit and tie. Here's a bright idea: Take off your damn suit coat.
The sun was still shining and I was practically skipping to Grand Central with a smile plastered on my face.
I was still smiling minutes later as I waited at the 4/5/6 downtown platform, being shoved and smashed between sweaty suited men and women with their shirts plastered to their backs with sweat. This is one of the reasons I loved my business-casual dress code at work. I could wear a tube top if i wanted to, as long as I threw some kind of cardigan over it and a chunky necklace to distract from the too-low-cut-for-work cleavage. As soon as I step out of work, the cardigan comes off. But then again, I probably would have been voted Most Likely to Wear Inappropriate Clothing to Work had anyone asked my coworkers. I think I still rock that title. My "work clothes" and my "going out" clothes are pretty much the same. Don't judge. You try making less than $15 an hour paying $1000/month in rent and then tell me what you wear to work.
The 4 train pulled up and we all shoved in like sardines. This was my least favorite part of my commute because once the seats filled, everyone reached for the ceiling of the train to steady themselves. Yes, that means armpits in your face left and right. I can't tell you how many times I dry heaved on the 4 train.
--
Every day, three times a day, Cayden and I shot emails back and forth. I'd always have one waiting for me when I woke up, and I'd send one to him before bed so he'd have a morning email as well. If I woke up and didn't have an email from him, I'd know a phone call was on its way, so I'd shower with my phone on the ledge (it's OK. I flushed it down the toilet once and it completely disappeared for 5 Mississippies, but it resurfaced and still works!). Then I'd get ready as fast as possible, make a hot cup of Cuban coffee and sit on my balcony enjoying the sun and the view until the phone rang.
Remember how I said I only understood half of what he was saying in person? Well, on the phone that percentage decreases to about 20 percent. I have to close my eyes and concentrate very hard separating and translating his words. I know it wasn't a different language, but it really was a struggle. The first time he called me in the morning, I didn't want to hang up, so I walked in 20 minutes late to work, but I didn't even care. I was always on such a high after I talked to him.
When I'd sit through my tedious, sleep-inducing, hour-long Monday morning meetings, I only thought about Cayden, and what his next email was going to say. I knew I'd have one waiting for me as soon as the torture fest was over.
"Whitney, the status on your story?" My managing editor and half the room turned to look at me. My story? The story of Cayden? Where to begin.
"Oh, umm, it's on track." I didn't even know what story she was talking about, but that's the answer everyone gives to cover their asses in the meetings.
I'd go back to my desk, completely forget about whatever story I was supposed to be working on, and spend the next 20 minutes reading and responding to his email. When I say we emailed every day, three times a day, I'm not talking about short emails. I'm talking about long, detailed, insightful, informative novels. Nothing dirty or romantic really (aside from a few "I wish we were lying in bed together" comments), just back-and-forth getting-to-know-you emails.
Within a month, we reached 200 emails. (No, I didn't count. Gmail does that for me)
That's when I realized I had completely fallen for Cayden. The Cayden without an accent. The Cayden without an amazing body. Those were now just perks.
I wasn't about to say I L-worded him. I mean, hell, it had only been a month! And I don't know what love is anyway. I knew what deep-down 100% friendship love was all about. I could write a book on it. That's what I had with Will, my best friend of four years turned senior year boyfriend. That was an amazing kind of love, and I still have that love for Will. I always will. But the other kind of love? I know nothing about that.