The Watchmaker's Gift

I

One step forward, or two steps back?

Dr. Anaya Jones felt like she asked herself that same question every time she stepped in front of a mirror. It'd become so common, she almost wanted to skip shiny surfaces altogether. But she couldn't—a professional always had to keep up appearances.

As long as I look the part, right?

This particular mirror was unavoidable, affixed as it was to the wall inside the elevator of The Regency Hotel. She glanced at her reflection, just long enough to make sure there were no hairs out of place, or buttons undone. Her black hair was still pulled into a ponytail. The charcoal jumpsuit she'd picked from her wardrobe of exclusively black, grey and navy items hung on her reedy frame. Anaya's umber eyes appeared dark and flat, and her skin paler than her normal olive tone under the unflattering light of the fluorescents above.

That wasn't why she dreaded looking in the mirror though. It wasn't looking at the shell she feared. It was facing the woman within.

Her reflection didn't answer back.

That was probably for the best. Anaya never liked whatever her inner voice had to say and didn't need another laundry list of mistakes she'd made where she'd zigged instead of zagged.

It was like her decisions had a life of their own, as if they were determined to be Anaya's archnemeses. Every single one. Whether to stay or start again in a new town, choose to become a physician or do something else with her life, give someone a chance or cut her losses and run... She wasn't the only human on the planet faced with important options. She was thirty-five years old, yet still didn't understand how anyone else got through it. Every time she thought she was doing the right thing, all the progress she'd made just to get to that point was undone.

And what about now? Should she honor this invitation as promised, or do an about turn, go straight home and keep to herself?

Ping. The sound announced her arrival on the third floor—she was out of time.

Anaya took a deep, bracing breath and started towards the wine bar.

I can do this.

It was only a few drinks with two coworkers. She could survive that, couldn't she? They were nice enough, but geniality wasn't the problem here. She just didn't have a burning desire to engage in hours of grueling conversation with people who had everything figured out. People who were passionate about their jobs and happy with their lives.

Standing in the ivory and gold facade of the archway entrance, she scanned the scene. Chandeliers made from wine bottles glowed softly from the vaulted ceiling and the soothing melody of an accordion floated through the space. They'd fashioned the tables from old barrels and the bar stools were in the shape of corks. The entire bar was an homage to the world of wine. She'd only been to Truffle a few times, but the caliber of the forty or more patrons already well into their wine and assortment of cheeses gave it the air of a gathering spot for successful professionals.