Page 46 of Whiskey Weather
It feels bizarre to imagine those things when we’ve spent such a short time together, I’ll admit. But I’m not inexperiencedin the dating world. I’m old enough to know what it feels like to be with someone that I don’t picture a future with, and I never felt that way with Izzy. All I want is a chance to find out if it’s the real thing like I think it is.
I feel like a dumb teenage boy mulling over how to get the prettiest girl in school to love him while simultaneously planning a life together before she even agreed to talk logistics about dating in the first place.
That side of me doesn’t care what the odds are. I’d rather have her than anyone else, and if that means working through long distance and not seeing each other very often, then so be it. I don’t fucking care about how frequently I can have her to myself. I want her just the same.
I don’t have the heart to flat-out ask her about it because I’m scared she’ll say she isn’t sure how this could work between us. And that’s not where I want this to go.
The rusted gate swings closed behind me, and I turn to flip the chain through the slot. By the time I get back to the barn and plop down on a black metal chair in the ranch office, I’ve already sent her two texts.
The first was a picture of the sourdough bread that Sarabeth made me eat half of, and the other was to ask her if her flight went okay. Both with no reply from her. I lean back, straightening one leg and opening the unread text from Mom instead of sending another unanswered message to the girl I can’t get out of my mind. It’s a link to the livestream of the awards gala that’s taking place tomorrow night.
Swiping to my recent calls, I click Izzy’s name and lift the phone to my ear.
Straight to voicemail.
Without thinking, I stand to walk back to my truck, click on Fletcher’s name again, and wait for him to pick up the call on the way.
“Sup,” he finally answers.
“Change of plans.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Izzy
The dualityof joy and anxiety is the worst part of imposter syndrome. Each conflicting emotion is a force to be reckoned with, and they fight to the death to cancel the other out when you achieve something.
The negativity pops up sporadically and with no notice. One moment, you’re fine, and then the next, your inner voice gets too loud to ignore.
Remember all that you’ve accomplished and how proud you felt of yourself this year? Yeah, here’s a list of all the reasons you didn’t deserve it, just in case you forgot.
Inconvenient timing before receiving the biggest award of my career so far. Even worse, considering the word vomit voicemail I left Ledger a few hours ago.
Nights like tonight make you take stock of your life and the things you want. It was a goal of mine to achieve this award for a long time, and now that I’ve accomplished that, what’s next for me?
In every scenario I pictured, Ledger was there. It scared me to think that way, but it’s his own fault for being so damn supportive. The sweet things he says to me over the phone, theway he pays attention and remembers everything that I mention and the calm that comes over me every time I remember our weekend together . . . it’s hell trying to ignore it or feed into the theory that no woman in her right mind could feel that way about someone so quickly.
Getting ready for tonight, my emotions were raw, and I called him to talk about things more serious thanhow was your day. The call went to voicemail, and I couldn’t stop myself from admitting every wild thought I’ve had about him in the last month.
Dread sets in as I check my phone one last time to find that he still hasn’t called back. Realizing I don’t have time to sulk, I rein in the emotion for now. In an act of confidence, I straighten my shoulders and sit as tall as I can. Smoothing my palms over the front of my dress, I lift my chin and shift my focus to the audio playing over the speaker instead of the sea of people seated around me in the auditorium.
I have no choice but to put the anxious thoughts about receiving this award and of Ledger behind me for the time being. Kindly fuck off, brain. This is my moment, and I’m not going to ruin it by buying into your trickery.
A soothing voiceover narrates while videos and pictures of my travels and published work paint the screen above the stage.
“In the editorial category, we recognize the photographer whose images convey the most striking message. In publication, the shots used must tell a story. Our next award winner does so uniquely by including the human experience immersed in the elements of nature. Her portfolio this year is impressively international and is highlighted by her most recent image chosen as the upcoming cover of Cowgirl Magazine. Please help me in congratulating the accomplished Isadora Blake.”
Running on pure adrenaline, my feet carry me from my seat in the second row, up the stairs, and finally to center stage.I’m vaguely aware of the surrounding applause, but I don’t acknowledge it yet. Instead, I stop with my back to the crowd. A smile breaks out across my face at the picture of Ledger’s mom on the screen. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime picture, and I’m so glad it’s getting the appreciation that I’d hoped it would.
“This way,” a voice whispers in my ear.
The woman holding the crystal oval-shaped award places a hand on my arm, leading me toward the podium. I take the award from her, clutching it in my hands while I step closer to the microphone.
“Thank you,” I say, still wearing a broad smile. The applause dies down, and I take a deep breath. “I love my job so much. Just—thank you. Again.”
The crowd laughs, with a few scattered claps.
“I knew exactly what I wanted to do from a very young age: travel and take pictures. Recently, I—” Oh no. I refuse to choke up, but emotion bubbles up despite my protests, and I have to clear my throat. “Recently, I visited a special place. The people there . . . I can’t forget it. It was alife is worth livingmoment, you know?”
