by S. H. Kolee
Love Left Behind
by S.H. Kolee
Copyright © 2012 S.H. Kolee
All Rights Reserved.
This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
Chapter One
How far can obligation take you? It almost took me to the altar. Marrying the boy you started dating at fifteen is either a fairy tale or insanity. Sean Somers and I started dating our freshman year of high school. We grew up together through a parent's death, a divorce, proms and pregnancy scares. I loved Sean, although a part of me realized there was no passion in our relationship. He was like a trusted confidante, a best friend. But the love of my life? I wasn't so sure.
I assumed that college would be the wedge that would make us drift apart. I had accepted a partial scholarship to the University of Chicago and Sean was staying behind in Maryland to attend the local university. It wasn't for lack of trying that Sean didn't attend the same college as me. However, the University of Chicago had rejected him, and a small secret part of me had been happy. I could start over in Chicago and become a new person. I was tired of being boring Emma Mills; dependable daughter, straight-A student, church volunteer.
However, I had underestimated Sean's persistence and determination. Although we had promised each other that we would call and visit faithfully, Chicago was an expensive plane ride away. I didn't think it would actually happen. I hadn't realized that Sean had been squirreling away his paychecks from his summer jobs, saving enough money to be able to visit me every month.
And college hadn't been what I had expected it to be. I thought I would become a fascinating new person, with exciting friends and adventures around every corner. Instead, I realized I was still the same Emma Mills. I was still dependable. I was still earning straight-A's. I was still volunteering at church.
It became easier to go with what was comfortable. Sean was comfortable. He was dependable, just like me. So when he suggested that I move back to Maryland after graduation and take a job in D.C. so that we could start a life together, I agreed.
For three years, I was tolerably happy. Everyone envied our relationship. We both liked our jobs and enjoyed living right outside of D.C. in an up-and-coming neighborhood in Maryland. We rarely fought and I believed that I would spend the rest of my life with Sean. Therefore, when he proposed to me on my twenty-fourth birthday by stuffing a ring inside my birthday cake, I accepted with glee. My life was proceeding right on track.
But as the wedding day came closer and closer, I started to feel as if I was suffocating. We had our life totally mapped out before us. Sean was an analyst at a prestigious financial firm and was on track for a promotion to manager. I was a marketing executive at an ad agency, and we figured I would work there a few more years until we started having children. Then I would be a stay-at-home mom.
I tried to buy into the vision, but I began to realize that it wasn't the mapped out life that was really bothering me. It was the person I planned on spending that life with.
Sean didn't like to travel. He liked to stay home and watch television. Our sex life had been reduced to a chaste daily kiss with an obligatory roll in the hay once every couple of weeks. He bored me to tears, and I was sure I did the same to him. Yet every time I would question how happy he was in our relationship, he claimed that he was perfectly content.
The further we got into the wedding planning, the more my doubts grew, but it became harder and harder to think about calling it off. I had already sent the invitations out, for Pete’s sake. How tacky would it be to have to rescind a wedding invitation? So I went along and picked out our wedding cake, listened to different bands, and had long drawn-out conversations about which caterer to use.
Until my bachelorette party. My girlfriends and I had done the predictable thing and gone to Vegas. We squealed in mortification and delight over the Chippendale dancers, we lost money on the slots and we drank ourselves to oblivion.
On our last night, my best friend Trisha and I were at a club sitting at a table by ourselves while our friends gyrated on the dance floor. She leaned over to me and asked, "Can you believe you're getting married in less than a month?"
My answer was no. I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. I couldn't spend my whole life being boring, predictable Emma Mills. It was selfish of me. It was horrible of me. But I knew I was saving Sean and myself from a mind-numbingly boring life together.
So I called it off.
The day I got back from Vegas, I sat Sean down in the living room of our apartment. The one we had spent months decorating together by going to estate sales and flea markets, trying to restore pieces of furniture ourselves to save money. It reminded me that for all the dull moments in our life together, there had been sweet moments as well. We were comfortable together. But comfortable wasn't enough for me anymore.
When I had explained why we didn't belong together, that we were no good for each other, Sean had been shocked and devastated. He didn't understand where this was coming from. He thought I had been happy all these years. And a part of me had been happy, but it wasn't enough.
Sean's coaxing and tears weren't enough to sway me. I had made my decision and was sticking to it. As embarrassing as it was to call off the wedding and return all the presents, I was relieved. I felt like I had narrowly escaped.
Now I was furthering my escape by moving to New York City. I had accepted a job as an executive assistant there. It was several steps below my position in D.C., but I was grateful for anything that would get me out of Maryland and away from the scandal of a jilted groom.
I was taking the train to New York since I had sold my car back in Maryland. I had no need for a car in New York and all my belongings fit into two big suitcases. Sean and I had broken the lease on our apartment and sold all our furniture, splitting the profits, so I was literally traveling with all my belongings. It felt freeing.
I was moving in with Claire Ranson, the daughter of a family friend who had been living in New York for a few years. Claire was an aspiring actress with a revolving door of roommates since they were also mostly actors and tended to go where the jobs took them. We had already talked on the phone several times and I was excited to meet her in person.
The train conductor called out the impending stop of Penn Station and I felt a quiver of excitement go through me. Finally, at the age of twenty-five, I was going to make a different life for myself. I was going to become a new person and embrace everything New York had to offer.
Before the train even came to a halt, people were jumping out of their seats to rush off the train, haphazardly pulling their suitcases from the overhead baggage compartments. I looked up at my two large worn and unfashionably burgundy-colored suitcases with resignation. Having never traveled much, I hadn't owned m
uch luggage. I had bought these suitcases at a second-hand store when I made the decision to move to New York and had stuffed them to the brim.
Now I was unsure as to how I was going to get them down and lug them all the way to the East Village, where my new apartment was. When I had boarded the train, a nice man had helped me put them overhead, but he was long gone. I grimaced in determination and grabbed a handle to pull them down. The new Emma Mills was independent, a go-getter. She could handle anything, least of all two suitcases.
The thought was fleeting, as the first suitcase came crashing down. I wasn't able to support the weight of it, and it slammed into the aisle with a loud thud. Well, that was one way to do it. Reminding myself that I had nothing fragile in my suitcases, I hauled down the second suitcase using the same method.
I was finally able to lug the suitcases off the train and navigated my way around the station, pulling them behind me on their little worn wheels. I caught flashes of designer luggage and imagined I looked a sight with my huge shabby suitcases and disheveled hair. It really was true that New York was full of beautiful people, even in the train station.
Shrugging off those thoughts, I maneuvered the two suitcases up the escalator and squinted as I got my first sight of the city as a New Yorker. I had visited New York once before with my parents when I was in middle school but it was a fuzzy memory. Now I was one of them; one of those people rushing around with important things to do. If I was aware that I stuck out like a sore thumb, standing on the sidewalk and gawking at the view, I didn't let it bother me. New York was for everyone. And I was everyone.
Hailing a cab was easier than I thought since they were lined up outside the station. I had been prepared to step out into the street with bravado and hail a cab with a casual wave of the hand, like I had seen Carrie Bradshaw do so many times. But my Sex in the City moment would have to wait.
"Where to?" the cabbie asked brusquely after he threw my suitcases into the trunk and slid back into the driver's seat.
"1st avenue between 8th and 9th street." I had practiced that line beforehand, not wanting to seem green and having the cabbie drive me through Brooklyn to take advantage of an unsuspecting out-of-towner.
The cab driver barely nodded as he sped away from the curb. I watched the crowded sidewalks, feeling a thrill go through me. Everyone seemed to be walking with purpose, coffee cups in hand and an air of determination. I, Emma Mills, was now a New Yorker.
My first experience as a New Yorker was trying not to throw up as the cabbie made abrupt stops and weaved his way in and out of traffic as if we were in a video game. I had to hold on to the door handle to prevent myself from being thrown against the plastic partition. By the time the cab stopped on my street, I was taking deep breaths and willing myself not to regurgitate the bagel I had eaten that morning.
The cabbie dropped my bags on the sidewalk after I had paid him and took off. I looked up at my apartment building, feeling a bit of trepidation at the dilapidated sight before me. The building looked worn and outdated, obviously not having been well maintained. Claire had emailed me pictures of the inside of the apartment and it had looked cute and cozy. I hadn't seen the crumbling brick on the outside or the steps that were in desperate need of repair.
I took a deep breath, reminding myself that the new Emma Mills took all these things in stride. With that thought, I pressed the buzzer to apartment 4C.
"Hello?" said a female voice.
"Claire? It's Emma. I made it!"
"Great! I'll buzz you up! Do you need help with your bags?"
I paused, looking down at my gigantic suitcases. I definitely needed help, but the last thing I wanted was to have my new roommate lug them upstairs.
"No, I'm fine. See you in a sec!"
The front door buzzed and I pushed it open, dragging my suitcases behind me. Looking at the stairs before me, I figured it would take more than a second to get upstairs. The apartment was a walk-up and I wasn't relishing having to drag the suitcases up three flights of stairs.
By the time I made it to the fourth floor, sweat was dripping off me as if I had just run a marathon. Since it was a warm May afternoon, the corridors of the apartment building were hot and muggy.
The door to 4C was ajar and a gorgeous girl with long blonde hair and stunning blue eyes was looking at me with her mouth open.
"Oh my God! How did you lug those things up by yourself?! You should have told me you needed help!"
She stepped out from the doorway and grabbed the handle of one of the suitcases. Her attempt to lift it was laughable. The cheap plastic sides of the suitcase strained up with her effort, but remained unmoved.
"Pull," I wheezed as I tried to catch my breath, the exertion of dragging my luggage up the stairs taking its toll. I waved towards the bottom of the suitcase and was able to sputter out, "Wheels."
Claire took my direction and started pulling the suitcase towards her and inside the apartment. After we managed to drag the suitcases inside, we both plopped down on the couch.
"Well," I said after I caught my breath. "That was an inauspicious introduction. I guess I should say nice to meet you."
Claire laughed as she sat up on the couch. "I'd give you a welcome hug, but I have to admit that I'd rather settle for a welcome handshake."
I looked down at my sweat-drenched t-shirt and jeans that were sticking to my legs like wet cement. "I don't blame you, I'm a mess."
Claire grinned as she swept her hand, indicating the apartment. "Welcome to your new home."
Even though we had only talked on the phone, Claire and I had immediately hit it off. She was a year younger than I was and seemed as laid back as I was buttoned up. I decided that I would definitely let her rub off on me.
I surveyed the apartment, pleased that it looked just like the pictures she had sent me. The living room was small but comfortably furnished with a few knickknacks and pictures. The kitchen was more of a wall with a counter and appliances lined up against it rather than a separate room. A small breakfast table separated the kitchen from the living room. I knew the bedrooms were small too, but my room came furnished so I had one less thing to worry about.
The main feature that I had loved about the apartment was the small balcony off the living room. I stood up to look out the sliding glass doors. It looked out onto 1st Avenue and I could see people hanging out on their stoops.
"I love it!" I said with enthusiasm as I turned my head to look at Claire. "I can't believe I'm finally here. I always dreamed of living in New York, but now it's actually a reality."
"I'm happy you're here. The last roommate I had snored so loud that I could hear her through the bedroom wall. The only thing that saved me was stockpiling earplugs."
Claire rose and stood next to me, peering out the sliding glass window as well. She was much taller than I was with a willowy figure. I figured she had to be about five nine even without any shoes since she was barefoot. With my dark brown hair that was escaping my messy ponytail and a figure that had hips showing my love of junk food, I felt squat and average next to her.
But I wasn't here to compete for attention. The last thing I wanted to do after having just broken off my engagement was to start dating again. This time was for me, to establish myself as the person I had always imagined I could be. And I was grateful that I wasn't doing it alone. From our phone conversations, I already felt as though Claire was a friend.
"Let me show you your bedroom."
Claire opened one of three doors off the living room, ushering me inside. "I know it's small but mine’s the same size. I barely spend any time in mine anyway."
"It's perfect," I said, looking around the room. And it was. Even though it was small and cramped, it was mine. I could do whatever I wanted to it without having to check with someone else to see if they were okay with it. I still thought of Sean every now and then, and a part of me missed him. He had been a part of my life for ten years and I still loved him and wanted the best for him. As dull as I had f
ound Sean in our relationship, he had always been kind and considerate. He was a good person. I was the one that had changed the rules mid-game.
After Claire showed me the bathroom and helped me lug my suitcases into my room, she plopped down on my bed. I was grateful that she seemed to consider me a new friend, instead of someone just sleeping in the next room. As excited as I was to start my new life, it made it a lot less scary to have a ready-made friend.
"So, what do you want to do on your first official day as a New Yorker?"
I practically jumped up and down in excitement. "I don't know. Maybe we can just walk around and explore the neighborhood. I can't even think about unpacking right now."
"Sure. I'll show you around the 'hood, and then we can stop by Max's Tavern. It's a bar a couple of blocks away."
I looked at myself in the mirror that was above the dresser in my bedroom and grimaced. "Let me try to make myself look like a human being first. My hair looks like I stuck my finger in an outlet."
Claire laughed as she walked out of my room. "Sure, take your time."
I opened one of my suitcases and fished out my toiletries as well as a fresh pair of jeans and a tank top. Claire was flipping through a magazine when I made my way into the bathroom. It was a relief to change into clothes that weren't sticking to me. It was even more of a relief to wash off the grime of traveling from my face and put on fresh make-up.
"Tada," I announced as I stepped out of the bathroom. "This is as good as it's going to get today, but at least I don't feel gross anymore."
"You look fine," Claire replied as she dropped the magazine and stood. She was wearing shorts that accentuated just how long her legs were and a cute little tee that looked like it was sized for a toddler. It was a good thing that Claire was such a nice girl. It could be easy to be jealous of someone so effortlessly gorgeous.
Claire took me to all her local haunts and she seemed to know everyone on a first name basis. She had that easy charm that made everyone want to smile and talk to her. Claire was a good guide, explaining the different neighborhoods in New York and showing me where all the important places were, like the nearest grocery store and pharmacy. It was exciting just to walk around and soak up the atmosphere. And the East Village had plenty of atmosphere. It was a little grittier and a little dirtier than the New York I had seen through Carrie Bradshaw's eyes, but it didn't make me love it any less.