A week later, Vanessa called.
I was in the middle of a work project, my phone face down on the desk, when the buzz of the call came through. I picked it up, saw her name on the screen, and almost didn't answer. But I did.
"Elena," she said. Her voice was bright, that practiced brightness I'd come to recognize. "I haven't heard from you. Did you get the invitation?"
"I did."
"Oh, good. I was worried it got lost in the mail." A pause. "You haven't RSVP'd."
"I've been busy."
"Busy with what?"
I could have told her. I could have told her about the fellowship, about the interview, about the dress. But I didn't. Something had shifted in me, slowly, over the past few weeks, and I no longer wanted to give her anything she hadn't earned.
"Work," I said. "You know how it is."
"Of course." S
