Summer Fridays

by Suzanne Rindell

A pair of early American lit lovers, family vacations on Walden Pond. Moleskine journals in your stockings for Christmas. The kind of people who always assured you it was perfectly fine to take out student loans and major in English.”

She was starting to feel like she had what it took to be a top editor—someone who read carefully and whose mind automatically flexed like a muscle, gravitating naturally to all the places that could use a little tightening and brightening, and knowing where to suggest cuts.

Calling yourself a writer required a kind of hubris Sawyer found embarrassing.

“Do you ever…dream in Russian?” “I do.”

so riveted that she felt self-conscious and embarrassed; it was as if, if someone were to look over at her, they’d be able to see a kind of naked intimacy on her face and in her eyes.

But it’s OK to avail yourself of others every so often.”

“I think I’ve made it pretty clear what I want, Sawyer,” he said finally, in a low, steady voice.