by Jen Morris
I press my fingertips to my eyelids. “First of all, I didn’t know she was his ex-wife.”
“What? I told you at New Year’s.”
“No. I think you were going to tell me, then Kyle arrived. Anyway, he didn’t do anything to her. She was the one who cheated on him.”
Cat blinks. “What?”
“She was the one who cheated,” I repeat. “Not him. He told me everything.”
“Are you kidding me? You believe him over her?”
“I do, actually, but it doesn’t matter. I made a mistake with him and it’s over.”
She snorts. “Well that doesn’t mean you haven’t hurt Mel. I can’t believe you would do this to her.”
I examine Cat’s face and frustration bubbles up inside me. She’s so loyal to Mel, but Mel doesn’t deserve her loyalty at all. “She’s full of shit, Cat.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I grit my teeth, suddenly at the end of my rope. This hideous woman has no regard for anyone else’s feelings and somehow I’m the one being crucified. I can’t believe Michael thinks I’m like her.
“You know her new secret man? It’s Mark. She’s dating your ex-husband.”
Cat’s jaw drops. “Wow. I cannot believe you would say that.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s true.”
“No. She would never do that to me.” Cat stares at me for a moment, screwing up her face. “I can’t believe you’re doing this, after all we’ve done for you.”
I jerk back, stunned. She thinks I’m making this up to hurt her? I open my mouth to say something, then close it again as the words die on my tongue. What’s the point? She’ll never believe me over Mel. Mel is too good a liar.
Cat stands, raking her eyes over me with disgust. “I thought we were friends, Alex. But obviously I was wrong.” And with that she stalks up the hallway to her room, slamming the door.
I stare after her, my heart pounding, my breathing shallow. I know she’s just angry, but her words sting all the same. Before I know it, the tears are coming hard and fast, and I bury my head in my hands. It feels like everything is falling apart and I don’t know where to turn. I just want to crawl into bed and sleep for a million years; forget I ever came to this bloody city.
I trudge over to my nook and sink down onto my bed, but now this little space that has brought me so much comfort is just making me sad. I don’t belong here, in this apartment with someone who doesn’t trust me, in this building with the man who hurt me.
I don’t belong here at all.
With trembling hands, I reach under the bed and grab my suitcases, quickly gathering my things. I take my clothes down off the rack and empty the drawers, stuffing the contents haphazardly into my bags. As I pack, I remember the day Cat told me I could live here and feel a fresh spasm of hurt. I can’t believe she thinks I would lie to her, that I would make up something so hurtful. But she’s known Mel for years and I’ve only been here for a few months. Of course she believes Mel over me.
My cheeks are wet as I finish shoving all of my possessions into my suitcases, wishing so badly that things had turned out differently.
Then I take one last look at the apartment I’ve called home since I arrived, and with a heavy heart, head out the door for the one place I have left to go in the city.
By the time I’m ringing the buzzer to Geoff’s apartment, it’s nearly midnight. From the street I can see the lights are on, and he lets me in quickly, waiting at the door when I get to his floor. His face falls when he sees my puffy eyes and he ushers me inside without a word, taking my suitcases and guiding me over to his sofa.
“I’m so sorry to show up unannounced. I didn’t know where else to go.”
He pats my arm. “Don’t you worry about that. Of course you’re welcome here.”
I sit stiffly, playing with the hem of my dress, holding my breath. I know if I say anything more, I’ll burst into tears.
“Is this about Michael?” Geoff asks tentatively.
I nod.
“Oh, hon. What happened?”
Ugh, it’s no use. Fresh tears spill onto my cheeks as I tell him about the week away with Michael that wasn’t supposed to happen, about everything between him and I in the cabin. I tell him about Mel and the hospital, getting the job and the argument with Michael. And then I tell him about Cat.
“Wait. So Michael’s ex-wife is Cat’s friend, Mel? What are the odds of that?”
I shrug. “I think Cat knows Mel because she used to live upstairs.”
“Oh. Right.” He’s quiet for a moment, then speaks again. “I have to ask… are you sure you want to end things with him? You two are so good together and I know how much you like him.”
“I don’t have a choice, Geoff. I thought things with him were real, that he understood me and supported me, but… I was wrong. Like I always am. And as for Cat—” I break off and look down at my hands as my throat tightens. Here I was thinking Cat and I were friends, but she won’t believe a word I say. How can you have a friendship with someone who doesn’t trust you?
Geoff puts an arm around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze. “She’ll come around.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“If Mel is with Mark—if the things you said are true—then she has no reason not to. She might just have to learn it the hard way.”
I sag back on the sofa, overwhelmed with exhaustion. Not just from the emotional roller coaster of everything with Michael, or the drama with Mel and my writing, or the argument with Cat; from everything here in New York. It feels too hard, all of a sudden.
“Maybe I should go home,” I mumble.
Geoff gives me an encouraging smile. “Yes. I’m sure Cat will—”
“To New Zealand.”
His face falls. “Oh, no. Oh, please don’t. I know this feels shitty right now, but things will get better.”
I swallow as tears fill my eyes again.
“I promise things will get better. Don’t leave.” He hugs me again, tighter. “Besides, what would the bookstore do without you?”
I give him a watery smile. As much as I love working there, that’s the least of my problems now.
“Get some sleep,” he says, standing and gathering a pillow and blankets for me. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
He takes my hands and hauls me up off the sofa, then sets about pulling out the sofa bed and making it up while I stand there numbly. With another hug, Geoff pads to bed, flicking the lights off as he leaves. An eerie glow falls over the room, cast by the street light outside the window. I shiver as I peel my clothes off and pull on my pajamas. I haven’t had a chance to do my laundry since getting back from the cabin, and my clothes smell like Michael after spending so much time wrapped up in his arms. As I climb onto Geoff’s sofa bed, my heart hurts so much I can’t sleep. Instead, I just curl up in the darkness and sob into the pillow.
When my eyes open the next morning, there’s a blissful moment where I don’t yet remember what has happened. But as I gaze around Geoff’s apartment, it all comes screaming back to me.
The week at the cabin with Michael, his kisses on my lips, his hands on my skin. Him telling me he’s falling for me, then telling me to give up my writing, making me feel stupid about my parents, comparing me to his nasty ex-wife.
It was awful, but despite everything, misery settles over me when I think about the fact that I told him it was over. And lying here now, alone, I physically ache with missing him.
Did I make a huge mistake?
No. Because all I have to do is remind myself of his words, and bile rises in my throat. How could he know me at all? And how could he care about me, if he can’t care about what matters to me?
God, I was deluded, believing I could have a happily ever after with him. Of course it was just a fantasy. Everything with Michael felt too good to be true. I just didn’t want to see it until it was too late.
I prop myself up on my elbows. The sofa bed squeaks beneath
me and I let out a weighted sigh. Because I didn’t just lose Michael yesterday. I lost Cat and my apartment. And maybe, I also lost my fledgling career.
Pulling myself up, I grab some fresh clothes and head to the bathroom. I’m weak with gratitude when I see Geoff has left a towel out for me. I don’t know what I’d do without him.
I step under the stream of water and rinse myself, determined to find a way out of this mess. Things might not have worked out with Michael, but that doesn’t mean my life is over. In fact, now that Michael’s gone, I could write the column for Justin—if Mel hasn’t already ruined that opportunity for me. It might not have come about exactly as I wanted, but the important thing here is that I need to do what’s right for me. And that’s putting my writing first.
My mind drifts to the fight with Cat as I scrub. I so desperately want to talk to her again and explain myself more clearly. I said everything in the heat of the argument; no wonder she didn’t believe me. And if she went to Mel afterward, Mel would have simply denied it. But I know if I can explain myself calmly and rationally, Cat will have to listen to me.
And then another thought occurs to me. If Cat did talk to Mel after I left, then Mel will know I told Cat about Mark. And that will make Mel even more determined to hurt me. If she thinks I not only hooked up with her ex-husband but also tried to turn her best friend against her, she would have no reason not to convince Justin to rescind his offer. She would set out to destroy me.
My gut roils as I step out of the shower, processing this. There’s a very good chance, then, that Mel has in fact told Justin everything. And knowing her storytelling abilities, I imagine it’s a rather embellished version of what happened. She’s probably in tears in Justin’s office right now, telling him what a monster I am and how stupid they’ve been to trust me.
And, if that’s the case, I’ve lost the opportunity to write the column. And that means that, now, I’ve lost everything that matters to me here in New York.
I try to ignore the anxiety tightening across my chest as I pull my dress and tights on. When I catch sight of myself in the mirror, I pause. The girl gazing back at me is the girl that’s always been there: the one from the small town who wasted years in a dead-end job, dreaming of happily ever after, with nothing to show for any of it. She’s still there, only now she’s in New York.
I throw a bitter laugh at my reflection. Why did I think that coming here would be any different? How on earth did I think that being in a different city would magically make me a different person? What kind of wishful thinking is that?
Biting back tears, I shuffle into the living room and stuff my pajamas back into my suitcase. I pick up my phone to check the time and there it is: a missed call.
From Justin.
My stomach plunges. There’s no voicemail, but it doesn’t matter. Because there’s only one reason he would be calling me this early. Mel’s been in touch with him.
I stare at the screen, tears stinging my throat. Well, that’s it. I’ve lost everything I’ve worked for with my writing. I’ve lost Cat. And I’ve lost Michael.
There’s only one thing left to do. It’s the only sensible thing anyone in my position would do.
I gather my suitcases, scribble Geoff a note to thank him for everything, and head out onto the street, hailing a cab to the airport.
It’s time to go home.
42
“There’s really nothing?” I tap my credit card on the counter, eying the United Airlines attendant.
She shakes her hair-sprayed head and not a single hair moves. “Sorry, the flight is completely full. I can get you on another flight to Los Angeles, then you’ll have a twelve hour layover before the connecting flight to New Zealand.”
I frown. A twelve hour layover doesn’t sound ideal, but I do want to get out of here—the sooner the better. God, how I wish I could just click my heels together and be home already.
The attendant glances between me and the line of people forming behind me. “What would you like to do?”
I fiddle with my credit card. For some reason I feel myself hesitating, and she purses her lips impatiently.
“Why don’t you take a minute to think about it? It doesn’t leave for four hours and there’s plenty of seats left.”
I give her a brittle smile, then drag my suitcases over to a bench and sink down, closing my eyes. Touching the book charm around my neck, I feel another wave of misery. Going back home is hardly what I want to do. I feel like a complete and utter failure, but what choice do I have? There’s nothing left for me here.
I should call Mum and tell her I’m coming home, but I can’t face her pity, her saying—probably word for word—“I told you so.” And worst of all, I’m worried that maybe she was right all along.
Because what the hell have I done? I’ve wasted thousands of dollars trekking across the planet for nothing. Still, I guess I can always earn more money. Worst of all is the damage I can’t undo; the hurt I’ve caused Cat and the writing career I came so close to having, then threw away. All because some hot guy wanted to get in my pants.
That’s the thing that hurts the most. I trusted Michael. I let him see who I really am, let him see the things that have hurt me. And then he just went and hurt me too.
Despite all this, for some reason I’m not marching over and buying a ticket home. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but something is keeping me rooted to this plastic chair. It’s like I need someone to tell me it’s the right thing to do, to push me. But who? I don’t want to hear my mother’s voice right now. I’m too ashamed to call Emily and tell her I’m about to crawl back home.
Before I know what I’m doing, I thumb through my contacts and lift my phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Harri.”
“Hey!” My sister’s voice is bright and happy, and I burst into tears. “Shit. What’s wrong?”
A woman two seats down from me gives me a peculiar look and I try to pull myself together. “Sorry. I’m just… I’m at the airport. I think I’m going to come back to New Zealand.”
She’s quiet for a beat. “Okay. Why?”
I tell her everything, trying to keep my emotions in check. When I’m done, I lean back against the plastic seat, feeling hollow and spent. I know she’s going to convince me to stay here, keep trying, etcetera, and I don’t have the energy to fight her.
“Well, okay then,” Harriet says at last. “Come home.”
“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “You think I should?”
“What’s stopping you?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble. “Mum and Dad will make me feel awful.”
“Oh, yeah. They will. But you need to do what’s right for you. If that’s the only thing stopping you, then you should come home.”
I fiddle with the book charm, looking around the airport concourse at the people with excited faces, about to embark on adventures. That was me a few months ago. And now I’m back here, feeling as if I’ve just given up.
Harriet sighs. “Look, I know you’ve always struggled with what Mum and Dad think, but you need to find a way to get past that. I had to learn to. Remember when they wanted me to go to university? We had a big fight about it.”
“You did?” I ask vacantly. “Why was that, again?”
“They assumed that since you’d gone, I’d go. They couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to.”
“But they were annoyed when I left for uni!”
“I know, I remember,” Harriet says with a laugh. “That’s my point. It doesn’t matter what you do, they’ll always find something to complain about.”
I think back to the last conversation I had with Mum, when she was negative about me meeting someone—hot on the heels of lamenting me staying single. And what about my writing? When I was making strides with that she had complaints, then when she thought I’d given up on it, she wasn’t bloody happy either.
Shit, Harriet is right. It doesn’t matter what I do, they’ll always
find something to pick at. I could write a bestseller or marry a prince and there would be something wrong. There always is.
Ugh, I do need to get past this. I need to learn how to do what’s right for me and stop letting Mum’s voice nag in my ear. My parents have been like a ghost, following me around my whole life, casting a shadow over everything. I even let them follow me all the way to New York, for Christ’s sake. But I don’t want them here anymore. I’ve had enough.
“Thanks, Harri,” I say, wiping my nose. For a younger sister, she’s surprisingly wise.
“So you’re coming home?”
Home. The word appears in my mind, glowing and warm, like a marquee sign lit with yellow bulbs. But when I think of my old flat, that tiny town, my parents… I don’t feel that warm glow. The last time I felt like that was when Michael and I returned to the city, after our week at the cabin. And while part of that happiness might have had to do with him, I know that a huge part of it had to do with the city. Things might be shitty right now—my career and my roommate and my love life might have all given up on me—but the city hasn’t, I know that. New York hasn’t given up on me. And somehow, I just know it never will.
“No,” I say, pushing to my feet and gathering my bags. “I’m not. Because that’s not my home anymore. New York is.”
I end the call and stash my phone, turning for the exit. I’m not running away this time, because I’m in the right place. I’m where I’m meant to be, and I just have to find a way to make it work.
First thing’s first—I need to clear the air with Cat.
Actually, first, I need coffee. It’s been a nightmare of a morning and I haven’t had my usual dose of caffeine. No wonder I’m feeling so shit.
I spot a coffee shop across the airport and pivot, dragging my suitcases along.
“Alex!”
The word rises out of the din around me and I glance across the crowded airport concourse. But it’s just travelers, pushing past each other, and I shake my head with a chuckle.
“Alex!”
Okay, hang on. That was definitely my name.