and better gig at a marketing firm back in Berkeley. Even the time Nora had spent with Austin had been comforting: however frustrating he could be, it was good to remember how well they’d always worked together, how he trusted her expertise and valued her input, even on projects she wasn’t all that enthusiastic about.
But it had also been clarifying. In person, there was no denying the way Austin had changed, the way his priorities had shifted. And now that he’d revealed the full extent of his plans—the move to LA, the shift away from sustainability alone, the pivot to celebrity and influencer brands—Nora had known there was a reckoning coming for her and Austin. After the full team meeting in the afternoon, he’d pulled her aside and practically begged her to come back to California. “More money,” he’d said. “A new title, whatever you want. But this will go smoother if you’re with us in person.”
He’d left that if there as a concession—not quite telling her that remote work was off the table, but definitely not pledging his ongoing support of it, either. Certainly not if she wanted more money, or that new title.
A few years ago—a few months ago, really—she would have felt that tug of loyalty to him, would have genuinely considered it: a move to a city she wasn’t overly fond of, an uprooting of her life for someone who’d always been firmly in her corner.
But now, Nora was different. She knew, deep down: she didn’t want to leave Chicago.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
And it wasn’t just on account of her loyalty this time. When she’d chosen Chicago last fall, she’d done it because Nonna had needed her, because Nonna had wanted her to stay. She’d known she was going back to a place and to people she loved— the building, Nonna’s apartment, her neighbors. But now, something else drew her there; now, she was choosing for herself. She wanted to go back to the building and her apartment and her neighbors, but also to the neighborhood and the city around it; she wanted to go back for the weirdly Midwestern beaches and the sights she hadn’t seen, to the big, brutal seasons and the collective attitude of a city that didn’t get nearly enough respect.
And she wanted—maybe foolishly—to go back to Will.
“Honestly I can’t believe he hasn’t called like a million times already,” Dee said, and without thinking, Nora answered.
“I did basically tell him not to.”
Dee furrowed her brow. “Wait, you did? I thought at the meeting you told him—” She broke off and nudged Nora with her foot, obviously clocking the flush Nora could feel heating her cheeks. “Haaaaaaaaa,” she said, happy teasing in her voice. “You’re thinking about him again!”
Nora took another sip of her wine, skipped the shrug this time. No point trying to fake it, since in between the many work rants and resolutions she and Deepa had both participated in over the course of the week, they’d also spent a fair bit of time talking through what had happened between Nora and Will.
“Ice-cold, Eleanora,” said Dee, laughing. “About to tell a whole man you’re going to leave him, and you’re already on to the next one.”
“It’s not the same,” said Nora. “Austin is my colleague. And also, I think we have well established by this point that I am not, in fact, on with Will.”
She shifted, uncrossing her legs and adjusting so that she and Dee faced each other, both of them now with backs against either arm of the couch, legs stretched alongside each other. Dee wiggled her feet against Nora’s ribs, a gentle, teasing comfort that made Nora smile.
“You’re going to be okay?” Dee asked. “If he doesn’t come around?”
Nora dropped her head back, closing her eyes. Behind her lids the words Good luck flashed irritatingly, so she opened them again, staring up at Dee’s ceiling and sighing out a disappointed breath. It wasn’t fair, maybe, to be upset that Will hadn’t reached out, especially not after all the times she’d said it was better to wait until she was back. At first, she’d set that boundary out of fear—fear that she’d cry, fear that she’d blurt everything she felt out into the open air and freak him out forever. Even as she’d listened to the message he’d left her the morning of her flight—Nora, he’d begun, in that perfect way, I wanted to hear your voice before you left—she’d still forced herself to finish packing, to get all