by Jen Morris
Cat gestures to the corner. “Come and have a look.”
I set Stevie down and wander over, stepping into the nook behind the partition. She’s sewed some thick, dark curtains and hung them from the ceiling, with big ties to hold them back when I want to open them up. She’s made up a double bed with fresh linen, put a dresser and lamp in the corner and even put up a rail to hang my clothes. And while it’s not quite where I imagined myself living in all my fantasies of New York, it’s a cozy space with a roommate I know and like.
“Are you sure?”
She smiles. “Of course. We can come to an agreement on the rent.”
I cast my gaze around the nook, feeling relief sink into my bones. I can’t believe she went to all this trouble to set this up for me, after everything I’ve been through. Grateful tears prick my eyes and I quickly blink them away. “Why are you doing this?”
She looks down at her hands, lifting her shoulders in a light shrug. “I know you’ve had a hard time finding a place. And the more I thought about you leaving, the more I realized I’ve been enjoying the company. So, if you want to stay, you’re welcome.”
“I’d love to stay, Cat. Thank you so much.” I drag my suitcases into the nook with a happy sigh. Stevie jumps up onto the bed and watches as I begin to unpack.
“Oh shit, is that the time?” Cat’s glancing down at her phone with a frown. “I’ve got to get ready!” She disappears into the bathroom and I hear the shower turn on.
I put away all my clothes, taking my time to fold and hang everything neatly. Once all my things are in their new home, I slide my suitcases under the bed, glancing around. Cat appears in the living room, giving me a fright. I’d forgotten she was home, she’s been in there so long. But I can see why; she looks stunning.
“Hot date?”
“Sort of,” she says, reaching over to stroke Stevie’s back where she’s curled up on my bed. “Mel and I are going on this group date thing. They can be fun, but the guys are a little…” She rolls her hand, searching for the right word.
“Disappointing?”
“Exactly. But it’s fun going out with Mel, at least. Ooh!” Her eyes brighten. “You should come with us!”
“Oh…” I sink down onto my new bed beside Stevie. “I don’t think so. Thanks, though.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod. “I might take a break from men, focus on my writing for a bit.”
“Because of your ex?”
I think of Travis and how jaded I’ve been feeling about love recently. “Something like that,” I mumble. “Anyway, I came all the way over here to write, so I need to work on that. If I could just figure out what to write about.” This morning I was excited to begin my romance novel, but after seeing the amusement in Michael’s eyes when he caught me with my stack of books, the thought of doing that now makes me feel deflated.
“Why not write about not dating?” Cat suggests.
“What?”
“You said you wanted a project to help you focus. You could blog about all that—about moving here and not looking for a man. Write about what it’s like to be single in the city.” She shrugs as she grabs her purse off the counter. “Could be interesting.”
I rub Stevie’s back, thinking. I guess I could blog about that. It’s similar to what I used to blog about, after all. But when I sit with the idea, something is missing. It doesn’t excite me in the same way my romance novel does—or, at least, it did this morning. Still, it’s the best idea I’ve got right now.
Cat turns to me, smoothing her hands down her dress. “Okay, how do I look?”
I give her a once-over as she fusses with her purse and reapplies her lipstick. Instead of her jeans and combat boots—the funky style I’ve gotten used to—she’s wearing a slinky black dress and heels, her lips now a deep shade of red. It’s sexy, but it’s kind of jarring after the way she’s looked since I met her. It’s like she doesn’t quite look like herself. But then I guess I’ve only known her for a couple of weeks.
“You look amazing,” I say truthfully. I’m not sure I could pull off a dress like that.
Cat gives a humble smile, putting her lipstick into her purse and snapping it shut. “Thanks. So, what are you going to do this evening?”
“Write. I’m going to write.” I wave as she heads out. “Have fun!” The door closes behind her and I pull my laptop out, powering it on. Silence rings through the apartment, my fingers hovering over the keys.
Great. Time to write. Here we go.
I stare at the glowing screen, willing the words to come. But they don’t. Instead, all I can think about is Michael, in his suit, taking me on the floor of the book aisle.
12
Ugh, this is stupid. Why on earth am I thinking about that asshole? He was nothing but rude to me.
I stuff the thought of him back into that dirty little box in my head, and pad into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. As the kettle boils, I look around the apartment—officially my New York home, now—and feel a smile creep onto my lips. Between this and my new job, it’s finally starting to feel like things could work out for me here in the city.
Now if I could just get myself to write something.
I take my tea and settle onto my new bed beside Stevie, determined to get some words down. Picking up my laptop again, I mull over Cat’s idea to blog about being single in the city. It could work, I suppose.
I’m about to open up my browser and sign into my blog when I notice that Emily is on Skype. We’ve been texting but I haven’t spoken to her properly since that first day in Starbucks. I click on the icon to call her and a second later her face lights up my screen.
“Hi!” Her cobalt-blue eyes are bright, her shiny blond hair pulled up in its usual ponytail. Just seeing her face makes me miss her.
I adjust my screen so the camera catches me properly. “Hey.”
“Are you having a blast over there? How’s it going?”
“Good,” I say, unable to contain the grin pulling at my mouth. I grab Stevie and hold her up to the camera. “Meet my new roommate. Cat asked me to move in.”
“Oh!” Emily’s smile widens. “That’s fantastic. She’s great, isn’t she? And Stevie is so cute.”
I nod happily, setting Stevie back down. She curls her tiny body into a warm ball against my leg.
“So tell me everything. What’s been happening?”
I fill her in on the past few weeks: the wedding dress ordeal, Geoff giving me the job at the bookstore, meeting Mel and getting inspired for my writing. But I pause at this point as Michael’s mocking face flashes into my mind again.
“What is it?” Emily asks, narrowing her eyes.
“Nothing. I just…” I let out a sigh as I reach for my cup of tea on the nightstand. “There’s this guy—”
“Ooh!”
“No.” I hold my hand up. “No ‘ooh.’ Because he’s a total dick.”
She scrunches her pretty button nose. “That sucks.”
“Yeah. I mean, he’s gorgeous.”
Emily raises her eyebrows, smiling playfully.
“But he’s rude and arrogant and cynical,” I add, before she gets any ideas. “And the worst part is, he lives upstairs from me, so I keep running into him.” My mind drifts to him showing up at the bookstore today, and how he claimed he’d forgotten I worked there. What was that about? Did he actually forget, or did he seek me out just to taunt me? I shake my head to clear the thought and focus my attention back on Emily. “Anyway. How are you?”
“Oh, you know, same old.” She laughs, but it sounds hollow.
“What’s going on?”
“I got passed over for a promotion that I was pretty sure I was going to get.”
Emily has been working in marketing for years. I’m not entirely sure what she does, but it’s something to do with sports or athletic gear… I think.
“Oh that sucks, I’m so sorry.” I make a face. “Did they say why?”
“Nah. But it might b
e time for me to move on from this company soon anyway. I’m over all the politics.” She’s quiet for a moment. “So… did you, um, hear about Travis?”
“No. What happened?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she says, glancing away from the screen.
I roll my eyes as I take a sip of tea. She’s hopeless. “Come on, Em. What is it?”
“Okay. He has a new girlfriend.”
I lower my tea, feeling a strange sting. I haven’t been thinking about him much since I’ve arrived in the city but this is kind of a surprise. A new girlfriend, already? It’s only been a month! Must be some exotic woman he’s met while on his travels.
“Oh,” I say eventually. “Well… good for him.” I take another sip of my tea, ignoring the tightness in my chest. Here I was thinking I’d mostly moved on from Travis, but the mention of him with someone else has me feeling a bit ruffled.
“Yeah,” Emily says. “She lives here, though.”
“How’s that going to work?”
Emily clears her throat, chewing her nail. “Well, he’s not going overseas anymore.”
“Wait. I thought he’d already gone?”
“Er, no. And now he’s not going at all.”
“What?” I rub my forehead. “How do you know all this?”
“Your mum told me. Apparently she was talking to his mum, and he said he fell in love with this chick really quickly and can’t leave her now, or some bullshit.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No.” She cringes. “Sorry, hon.”
“I can’t fucking believe this,” I say through gritted teeth. “He dumped me because he wanted to travel and live this amazing life, then a month later he falls in love with someone else and isn’t going?”
“I know,” Emily says, nodding vigorously. “What a dick.”
I nod too. And then, to my surprise, I hear myself laughing. This is kind of funny. Maybe not in an obvious way, but it is. I moved all the way over here because he told me I was living a small life. Well, I’ve certainly proved him wrong, haven’t I? And the irony of this whole thing is that he’s still there, living a small life. Just with someone else now.
The laughter dies in my throat as hurt settles over me. He said he was leaving me because he wanted a bigger life, but now he’s staying there. And that means it wasn’t our life that wasn’t enough for him—it was me.
I look down at my tea, feeling stupid. If I wasn’t enough for Travis, then there’s no way I could ever be like the chic women of New York. I come from a tiny town that no one has ever heard of, in a country that most people assume is part of Australia. I wear clothes from discount chain stores, or thrift stores when I find them in my size. I only own one pair of heels. I don’t get Brazilian waxes or manicures. I don’t go to spin classes or Bikram yoga or pilates. I only, just the other day, learned that Fendi is a designer and not a car manufacturer. I’d never thought much about these things before, but after being dumped and then thrust into the glamor of New York, I just feel like a dork with my funny accent and lack of sophistication.
And that just makes everything crystal clear. Because I don’t think I could find romance over here even if I wanted to.
Still, that’s not why I’m here, I remind myself. I’m here to write. Except that’s not really happening either, is it?
I sag against my pillow with a weighted sigh.
“You okay?” Emily asks, leaning closer to the screen.
“I don’t know. I’m so grateful for Cat and Geoff. But… I’ve hardly written anything. What if moving here was a mistake?”
“What? No way.” She shakes her head. “You just need to give it some time. It’s only been a few weeks! Of course you haven’t written anything. You’re probably still dealing with the culture shock and getting settled in. Once you’re more settled, you’ll write. But I think moving there was such a good thing for you.”
“My mother doesn’t think so,” I mutter, sipping my tea. She’s been calling non-stop and I’ve been avoiding her. I’ve texted her so she knows I’m alive, but with everything up in the air regarding my living situation I just felt like I couldn’t face her.
Emily snorts. “I know. She’s been calling me to check in.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. She wanted to see if I’d heard from you because you haven’t called her—which I totally get. You’re doing your own thing and she doesn’t understand that.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“She asked me to try and convince you to come home,” Emily admits. “She said you’re living in a fantasy world.”
“Seriously? What did you say?”
“I told her it was your choice and we shouldn’t interfere.”
I think back to the conversation I overheard the morning after my birthday, but instead of feeling upset, irritation shoots through me. I’ve moved all the way over here and got a job, made new friends—and now, thankfully, I have somewhere nice to live. How can she keep saying I’m living in a fantasy when I’m here, making it a reality?
Determination solidifies in my chest. Emily’s right; I was getting settled in and adjusting to everything. But now, I can commit to my writing. I might not be reeling in the men over here, but that’s fine. In fact, I think Cat’s suggestion was good. Being single is the thing I need to help me find my writing focus, at least for now. Maybe in the future I can date again, but right now the idea makes me want to scream.
I wrap up the call with Emily and sign into my blog, scrolling back through my old posts. They’re from a few years ago, and as I reread them, I can see the optimism in old Alex—the belief that Prince Charming was out there. And I think again of Travis, of how I’d convinced myself that he and I had a future, and how he’s with someone else now.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I delete all my old posts and give my blog a new name: Single in the City.
Then I open up a spreadsheet and start making a list of every online magazine, website and blog that I want to contribute to, so I can contact them. It’s time to put in the work and start taking this seriously.
I’m here to write, and I’m not going to let anything stop me.
13
My finger hovers over the “unfollow” button and, despite myself, I hesitate. I should have unfollowed Travis when we broke up, but because he never posts anything it didn’t occur to me. Well, he started posting, alright. That’s the problem with people getting all bloody loved-up—they want to share every sordid detail with the world. And if I have to look at one more picture of Travis with the new “love of his life,” I’m going to vomit.
With a deep sigh, I tap “unfollow” and toss my phone onto the kitchen counter. I don’t love how this whole thing played out, but I think it was the push I needed. After learning about Travis a week ago, I’ve been writing my ass off and reaching out to websites that I think would appreciate my writing. I considered asking Cat to give me Mel’s number, since she said she worked for a women’s website, but it seemed a bit forward to be asking her for favors, especially after everything Cat and Geoff have already done for me. Anyway, it feels good to be taking control of this and doing it on my own—even if no one has replied yet.
I pull the fridge open, contemplating my dinner options, and there’s a clatter out in the foyer. When I look through the peephole, Agnes is coming in out of the cold November air. She has a black and white hounds-tooth coat over her slightly stooped shoulders. I step into the lobby and my eyes land on a bag of groceries spilled across the floor.
“Hello, dear.”
I gesture to the groceries. “Can I help?”
She gives me an appreciative smile. “If you don’t mind.”
I gather her things into her carry bag and wander with her towards the stairs. She reaches a thin arm out for the bag and I’m about to hand it to her, then stop. “I’ll carry them up, if you like?”
“That would be lovely. Thank you.”
I sling her groceries over my arm and we beg
in to climb slowly, me helping her as we go.
“So, how are you liking New York?”
“I love it.” It’s true: after everything I’ve been through getting settled in over here, I do love the city itself. Sure, it can be smelly and dirty, it can be noisy and overwhelming. But it just has this energy, this life that pulses beneath my feet. And even though it’s starting to feel familiar I also, paradoxically, don’t think I’ll ever get used to the feeling of living in such a magical place.
“That’s good,” Agnes says as we step onto the second floor landing and turn up the next set of stairs. “I do love it here. This building has been my home for thirty-seven years now and I wouldn’t live anywhere else.”
I’m overcome with questions, wanting to know more about Agnes and her life over the past thirty-seven years. “What did you do?”
“Do?”
“For work, what did you do?”
“Oh, I didn’t work,” she says as we step onto the third floor landing and amble towards her apartment. “That was my husband. He was a good man—very loving, always looked after me.” She fumbles in her bag for her keys then raises a weathered hand to unlock the door.
I step into the apartment behind Agnes, taking in my surroundings. It’s like our apartment but it’s stuck in time a few decades ago. The kitchen is old, with bare wooden cupboards, tiles with stained grout, and a refrigerator so ancient I can’t believe it’s still working. In her living room she has a mustard-yellow velour sofa that is so old it’s fashionable again, and the whole apartment has a slightly musty smell.
Agnes heads into the kitchen, gesturing to the counter for me to place her groceries. “Would you like to stay for a cup of tea? It’s the least I can do to thank you for your help.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Agnes, I’m happy to help. But actually, a cup of tea would be nice.”