“Suit yourself, kiddo.”
She tossed the remainder of her bun to the squirrel in their pathway, yet again following in her father’s footsteps.
Chapter Seven
Mallory turned the page of the book she was reading and realized absently that she’d never actually eaten dinner that night. Her thoughts shifted to her grumbling stomach and whether she should head to her pantry in favor of her standard salt-and-vinegar potato chips or branch out and go for BBQ. Tucked in for the evening on her couch, underneath her favorite green cashmere blanket, Mallory’s wild Saturday night had consisted of a glass of merlot and her old buddy, John Grisham. Before she’d made any firm potato-chip decision, her phone buzzed from its spot on her coffee table, and she glanced at the readout, a text from Brooklyn in all caps.
MIDNIGHT CHOCOLATE. MIDNIGHT CHOCOLATE. MIDNIGHT CHOCOLATE.
She pushed herself into a seated position and considered the text. Okay, so something was definitely up. The question was what. She slipped from underneath the warmth of the blanket and set the book aside. MCs were called only in the event of something major happening to one of the four of them. Something that simply could not wait and required urgent friend attention or counsel.
And they always figured it out.
It’s what made Midnight Chocolate the foolproof go-to that it was, dating back to the night they first came together and had chocolate waffles in the Village. She fired off a response.
“I’m in. See you there.”
“There” was Sam and Hunter’s loft apartment, formerly Sam and Brooklyn’s apartment. Either way, it was only four floors down from her own and the most convenient place for them all to meet. When she saw texts fly in from Hunter and Sam, both confirming for tonight, she checked her watch. God, it was literally eight minutes to midnight. Talk about last minute. She changed into her red plaid pajama pants and soft white T-shirt, grabbed an unopened bottle of Red Zin and some gourmet double-chocolate cookies from the deli on the corner, and was out the door.
She slid open the door to Sam and Hunter’s place with ninety seconds left to spare, which was good because she refused to be late to anything. Not in her DNA. Now Brooklyn was another story. “She’s not here yet, is she?” Mallory asked Sam, who stood behind the island uncorking a bottle of white.
“What do you think?”
“I think that Brooklyn, who called this MC, is not here, but that you have a chocolate spread on your counter sent from Baby Jesus above. Is that an Oreo cream-cheese ball? I will tackle you right now if that is an Oreo cream-cheese ball.”
“Aww, you noticed,” Sam said, swiping the dish in sidestep of the tackle and carrying it to the coffee table. Mallory pitched in as they transported malted-milk balls, four dishes of chocolate ice cream, hot fudge, sprinkles, a basket of miniature Snickers, the cookies she’d brought from upstairs, and of course a tin of MollyDolly truffles, a new staple.
Hunter emerged from the bedroom and lifted the wine Mallory brought from the counter and turned it around to face them. “This looks like the good stuff. Is this the good stuff?”
“It is, in fact, quite good,” Mallory assured her. “A ninety-two from Wine Spectator.”
“You really love us,” Sam said to Mallory, her hand placed over her heart. Her auburn hair was pulled into a loose ponytail that had her looking relaxed and happy in her PJs. But then again, maybe that was all Hunter’s doing, she thought as her two friends exchanged a rather heated glance. Okay, yep, there’d be some definite action at this place later. Note to self: do not linger.
As Hunter opened the Zin, the door slid open and a rather tentative-looking Brooklyn made her way into the room clad in blue-and-white striped pajamas covered by a short trench coat. “Hi, everybody,” she said rather meekly.
“Hiya, Brooks,” Mallory said, moving to her friend. “You okay?”
She nodded and held Mallory’s gaze, an attempt at a smile making its way onto her lips. “I am. Can we sit?”
“It’s kind of ordained that we sit at an MC,” Samantha pointed out as they grabbed spots on the floor around the coffee table. Hunter distributed glasses of wine, and plates were filled with amazing chocolaty goodness, the absolute best part of any MC.
“Oh, I almost forgot!” Brooklyn said, racing to her coat on the rack and returning with a small bag. “My contribution to tonight.”
Hunter leaned forward and took the bag from Brooklyn in reverence. “Milk-chocolate-covered potato chips? This is a thing? I’m going to die of gratitude if this is a real thing.”
“It is now.” Brooklyn beamed. “And it’s the best thing.” They passed the bag around and sank in surrender at the sweet and savory combination until all eyes slowly settled on Brooklyn in anticipation of the main event.
“So what’s going on with you, Brooks? Lay it on us,” Hunter said, leaning back against the couch.
Samantha placed a hand on Brooklyn’s knee. “You know that we’re here, whatever it is.”
Brooklyn nodded and took a deep breath, pushing the hair back from her face. “Okay, so this is pretty major,” Brooklyn said and took a deep breath in preparation. That’s when her eyes filled with tears and Mallory’s heart clenched.
It killed her when her friends cried. Killed her. Mallory liked to be in control, and that meant protecting the people she loved from anything bad that could possibly happen to them. It was maddening when she couldn’t do that, and seeing Brooklyn well up now had her wondering even more what had happened to her friend. Her mind raced with possibilities.
Brooklyn had reconnected with her birth family the year prior, and Mallory said a silent prayer that everything was okay on that front. Then there was Brooklyn’s reckless-driving tendency. Maybe her warning streak had finally come to an end and she’d lost her license. Or maybe a fight with Jessica.
“One moment,” Brooklyn said, holding up a finger. Mallory watched in suspense as Brooklyn returned to her coat for a second time and walked the short distance back to them.
But she was smiling now through the tears and extended a shaky left hand toward her friends. Mallory sat a little taller and sucked in a breath when she saw the rather impressive diamond sparkling back at her from Brooklyn’s ring finger.
“Whoa,” Hunter managed, and pointed at the ring. “Is that what I think it is?”
“I’m engaged,” Brooklyn said, beaming at them.
Sam flew to her feet and practically tackled Brooklyn with the hug she planted on her. “Oh, my God, this is amazing.”
“Isn’t it?” Brooklyn asked. “I still can’t believe it myself.”
Mallory had tears in her eyes now too. Tears of relief. Tears of happiness, because this really was the best news ever. She moved to Brooklyn with outstretched arms and pulled her in for a warm embrace. “Brooklyn Campbell is going to be married,” Mallory whispered in her friend’s ear. “I can’t even express how good this news is.”
“Thanks, Mal,” Brooklyn said, and after holding her gaze for a few important moments, she turned to Hunter, who instead of hugging her, pulled Brooklyn into a headlock that prompted laughter and protestations from Brooklyn until they fell into a heap on the floor.
“Congratulations, Brooks,” Hunter said sincerely and ruffled her hair.
“Now tell us all about it,” Sam said, retrieving her wineglass and sitting on her knees eagerly.
Brooklyn looked skyward and smiled as if drifting off into a wonderful memory and then struggling to find the words to describe it. “It was like something you’d see in a movie, you guys. We were supposed to go to dinner at this upscale restaurant with some business associates in town to see Jess. So I put on my turquoise dress, anticipating a boring dinner at a nice place.”
“That’s a good dress,” Hunter said, nodding in approval.
“Right?” Brooklyn said, nodding. “I like it too. But when we got on the elevator, Jessica hit the button for rooftop access rather than taking us down to the lobby. I didn’t pick up on it until
the sensation clued me in to the fact that the elevator was climbing instead of descending, but Jessica wasn’t talking. She looked ridiculously beautiful, by the way. Black cocktail dress, swept-up hair, diamond earrings, as in take-my-breath-away good.”
“And then?” Samantha asked with the excitement of a kid on Christmas morning.
Brooklyn sat a little taller. “The elevator opens, we step out, and that’s when I realized we weren’t going anywhere for dinner. The rooftop had been transformed. I’m talking flowers, candles, and those tiny twinkly white lights. The place was romance central with a candlelit table for two in the middle of all of it.”
Mallory smiled at the description, the idea of what was to come warming her heart already. “It sounds so picturesque.”
“I can’t even begin to tell you,” Brooklyn said. “A dream come true.”
“Keep going! Keep going!” Samantha practically shouted, pulling Brooklyn back to the story.
“Okay, okay,” Brooklyn said, clearly enjoying the telling. “Jess takes my hand and walks me to the railing, and we look out over the beautiful cityscape around us. My heart is pounding out of my chest. She starts listing all the things she loves about me and her eyes fill with tears, which of course make my eyes fill with tears, and my cool-as-a-cucumber girlfriend, who clearly had a speech prepared, fumbles it all over the place in the most touching moment of my existence. Then she takes out this ring, which is when the tears really kick in, and asks me if we can spend the rest of our lives together.”
“Did she say the words?” Hunter asked, leaning in. As laid-back as Hunter generally played it, she seemed just as excited by the details of the proposal as the rest of them.
“She did,” Brooklyn said. “She asked me to marry her.”
Sam was again up and pulling Brooklyn into a jumping up and down hug. “You said yes, right? You said yes?”
“Of course I said yes. We had dinner on the roof, and I spent the next hour and a half staring into the beautiful eyes of the woman I’m going to marry. I’m getting married, you guys. Me!”
“You’re getting married,” Mallory breathed, as her chest filled with joy for her friend.
Brooklyn nodded. “And really fast too.”
“How fast are we talking?” Hunter asked, cradling her wine.
“Two months,” Brooklyn said and then flashed an oh-my-God face. “We decided not to make too big a production out of this. It’s just that so many people get more caught up in the wedding plans than the commitment itself, and I don’t want that for us. Simple and beautiful is the way to go.”
“Never underestimate simple,” Samantha tossed in and snagged a truffle.
Brooklyn nodded and stole one herself. “I thought it might be nice to get married on the deck at Highline just as the sun’s going down. The view of the Hudson is gorgeous that time of day and would make the perfect backdrop. Jessica’s going to see if she can pull some strings and get us a booking.”
The idea was perfect, Mallory thought. But then Brooklyn was known for her fantastic ideas. Highline Park was a mile-and-a-half-long linear garden located on an elevated section of railroad tracks long since retired by the city. It was picturesque, unique, and so very Brooklyn. The photos alone would be to die for.
“What can we do?” Mallory asked, snapping into project-manager mode. “Name it.”
“Be in the wedding, first of all,” Brooklyn said. “All three of you. No maid of honor either, just my three best friends standing up there with me when I say ‘I do.’”
“I think I speak for all of us when I say that nothing would make us happier,” Mallory said, and the other two nodded emphatically, clearly just as touched.
“Oh! And help me with the details,” Brooklyn said, most pointedly to Mallory.
“Details are what I’m known for,” she said, holding her hands palms up. “You’re in luck.”
Brooklyn beamed. “I’m counting on it.”
“Wait a minute,” Hunter said, slightly confused. “Where’s Jess now? She proposed and you just left?”
“Not right away. We had dinner. Did some rather toe-curling kissing. But I had to share this news with you guys on the very night it happened,” Brooklyn explained. “Jessica’s at home now, awaiting my return, and trust me, I will make it worth her while. But she knows you guys are my family and that I’d want to share right away. That’s the best part about Jess. She gets me.”
“She does,” Mallory said in appreciation. “When you first fell for her, I wouldn’t have imagined that would ever be the case, but she really, really does get you. You’re perfect together. It was meant to be.”
*
As Mallory lay in bed that night, sleep evaded her. She took stock of the workweek ahead and made a mental list of goals to accomplish in the short term. But her thoughts drifted to the rather exciting evening as she played back Brooklyn’s story and smiled all over again at how truly happy she had appeared recounting the proposal. For someone who’d had a hard time of it for so much of her young life, Brooklyn deserved every bit of that happiness.
It seemed like just yesterday when the four of them had first become friends their sophomore year at NYU. She shook her head and marveled at where they were now: running a successful business together in one of the most cutthroat cities in the world. Brooklyn was settling down and getting married. Samantha and Hunter were deeply in love and probably ravishing each other four floors down, and she was snuggled up making mental notes about client presentations while living vicariously through her friends.
But was there really anything wrong with that?
No. Because at the end of the day, when everyone headed home in time for dinner by six, someone had to be there to turn the lights off, and that was her job. And what’s more, she liked that it was her job, that she was the one they all depended on. Plus, she loved the business she’d created, she loved her apartment, and she loved her friends.
Did she really need anything beyond that? As she turned over and vowed to fall asleep if it killed her, the answer to that question tugged at her uncomfortably.
*
By the time Monday afternoon rolled around, Hope had already had quite a day. It started at an ungodly hour when Mrs. Warkowski, her across-the-hall neighbor, had knocked on her door incessantly at seven that morning. After pulling herself from her comfy bed, after only a few hours of much-needed rest, she pulled on a pair of yoga pants to be greeted by her panic-stricken neighbor.
“Hope, Matt Lauer is broken! Hurry!”
Hope blinked a couple of times to not only wake up, but to try to understand the meaning of that nonsensical sentence. It didn’t work. “Matt Lauer is broken?” she asked slowly.
“Yes, he won’t come on and it’s after seven. I’m missing it!” This was apparently a very big deal in Mrs. Warkowski’s world. While Hope didn’t know the elderly woman very well, they did exchange pleasantries in the hall, and Hope did her best to keep an eye out for her elderly neighbor, as she lived alone and didn’t seem to get too many visitors.
Hope did a quick assessment of the facts. Mrs. Warkowski was missing something that was supposed to happen at seven. The Today Show, her brain filled in. Matt Lauer was on The Today Show.
“Are you having trouble with your television?”
“Yes!” Mrs. Warkowski said in desperation. “That’s what I said. C’mon!” With that, the short little lady toddled back across the hall to her apartment door, which was standing open. Hope didn’t see any other option, so she followed her to take a look. The TV, a relic that looked more like furniture than electronics, sat on the floor broadcasting a blue screen. Recognizing a cable box similar to her own, Hope turned to Mrs. Warkowski.
“Do you have the remote?”
“I don’t have a remote,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“No? So you get up to change the channels? We could probably order you one so you don’t have to do that.”
“Oh no. I have the clicker for that.”
“There’s my sexy man! You fixed him!”
“I didn’t do much,” Hope told her. “You had the power to your TV turned on, but not the cable box,” she said, pointing at the box for Mrs. Warkowski. “So there was no signal. Do you see now?”
“I didn’t know it had its own switch. You want to watch with me?”
She opened her mouth to explain that she really needed to try to catch some more sleep, but the hope-filled eyes peering up at her made her decision for her. “Um…sure. I can watch for a bit.”
“I’ll make us some coffee and scones,” Mrs. Warkowski said happily.
Hope had heard of scones, but she’d never actually seen one. Turned out they were pretty awesome, as was the coffee. As they watched the morning’s headline news segue into feature stories, Mrs. Warkowski took great care explaining to Hope who each one of the anchors was and what she liked and certainly did not like about each one.
“This Willie Geist is nice, but he needs to know his place more.”
Hope smiled at her. “He’s no Matt Lauer.”
“Exactly! He’s no Matt. Would you like another scone?”
“No, thank you. But let me take some of these dishes in.”
Mrs. Warkowski seemed impressed with this offer. “Someone brought you up with manners,” she told Hope.
Well, not exactly, but she’d picked them up all the same. “You were nice enough to invite me over. The least I can do is help out.” As she ran water over the small plates they’d used, Mrs. Warkowski joined her at the sink.
“Maybe you can come watch again with me on another day?” And there were those big hopeful eyes again. Geez, what was she supposed to do here?
“Sure. Maybe someday.” A pause. Seeing this as her out, Hope moved to the door. “Well, I better head across the hall and get dressed. I have to leave for work soon.”
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