“At best. It’s a good plan. Uh, let’s see. Well, I’ve been struggling a bit with how to handle a next-door-neighbor situation.”
“What? Loud music. I find it’s best to just dance along.”
Jessica laughed, and Brooklyn had to say it looked really good on her. She should do it more often. Then and there it became Brooklyn’s mission to make that happen. “Not exactly what I’m dealing with.” Jessica went on to describe her concerns for the neighbor, a teenage girl named Ashton. Once she finished the story, she sat back in her chair and regarded Brooklyn. “It helps just telling someone about it. It’s been on my mind a lot.”
“You know what I think?” Brooklyn said, once she finished. She had definite opinions on the topic and wasn’t shy about expressing them. It was an issue near and dear to her heart. “I think that kid has to come first. You can’t worry about whether it’s appropriate for you to get involved. I’ve seen that happen way too often, and the end result is the suffering of the child.” She shook her head in wonder. “Everyone’s afraid to ruffle a few feathers. It doesn’t make sense. Think of the big picture. If this girl’s well-being is at stake, it’s worth it to intervene. I wish someone had done that for me on more than one occasion. And trust me, there were opportunities.”
The advice seemed to register. And Brooklyn was glad. She spoke from years of experience, both personal and observed. She’d had it rough, but in all honesty, she’d been one of the lucky ones.
“I think you’ve put it in perspective for me. Thank you. I mean that.”
Brooklyn sat forward in earnest because this wasn’t something she could just let go. “So you’ll watch out for her?”
“I will. I promise.”
A beat before Jessica scrunched up one eye. “I don’t want to pry, but did you ever decide what to do with that phone number?”
Brooklyn took a deep breath. It sure was a popular question these days, but she was making progress with the situation. “I’m actually planning on calling her tonight.”
“That must be terrifying. You know, you can call me if you need to talk. I mean that from a sincere place. No ulterior motives. I won’t even hit on you, which would be hard.”
Brooklyn smiled at the implication and took in the offer. “I appreciate it. I’m sure I’ll be fine. It’s a big step, but it’s time.”
Things were getting a little heavy for Brooklyn, and she decided to shake things up. She rested her chin on her palm. “Your hair is up today. I’ve never seen it this way.” Then that familiar current of electricity hummed between them again. Jessica seemed to pick up on it too as color dusted her cheeks and her eyes softened.
“I’m not as creative as you when it comes to fashion, but I try my best.”
“You don’t have to try hard.” Brooklyn had no idea why in the hell she was flirting with Jessica, but it seemed an inevitable part of their relationship. Her mind just naturally drifted there, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy it, enjoy Jessica and the little spurts of time they stole together. In fact, she found herself secretly looking forward to them and wondering when she’d next see her, even after an argument like the one they’d had.
“It’s letting up a little out there,” Jessica pointed out in a reluctant tone.
“It is. But, um, you know, I think I’ll stick around and finish my coffee.”
Jessica met her gaze. “Yeah, me too.”
As the rain outside played on, so did one of the nicest mornings Brooklyn could remember having in quite a while. Lost in conversation and the laughter that she could always count on where Jessica was concerned, Brooklyn let herself relax and enjoy the connection that was still so very unexpected.
The real world could wait.
*
The Purple Post-it of Fate. That’s what Brooklyn took to calling the square of paper in her hand. She stared at her own handwriting, the shaky curves reminding her how nervous she’d been when she’d taken down the number. She shook her head. They carried such power, those ten little digits written in blue ink.
She’d been holding the Post-it in one hand and her phone in the other for well over an hour now. It was humbling, really, for a slip of paper to have so much influence.
One last time, she ran through the possible series of events, prepping herself for whatever happened. She’d made a plan for what she’d say if she was routed to voice mail, and a plan for what she’d say if someone else actually answered the call, and a plan for what she’d say if it was Cynthia Mathis herself—which was easily the most daunting scenario of all.
Finally, she decided thinking was overrated. Turning off the rational voice in her head, she leapt without looking and dialed the number.
The individual rings seemed to last a lifetime, and just as she was losing her gumption and about to hang up, a female voice was there. She’d said hello. Brooklyn took a second.
“Hello?” the voice repeated. “Is anyone there?”
Her heart was pounding out of her chest, but it was go time. “Yes, I’m here. Um, I’m calling for Cynthia Mathis.”
“This is Cynthia. Who is this?” She sounded distracted. Not rude, just busy. Maybe it was a bad time. Now or never.
“My name is Brooklyn Campbell. I was given this number by an adoption reunion registry.”
Silence.
“It’s kind of a crazy thing to say to someone, but I think you might be my birth mother.”
More silence.
Brooklyn waited it out and stared upward at the ceiling.
And then she was back. “I…um. Oh, my. Your name is Brooklyn,” she stated reverently.
“Yes.”
“They kept your name.”
She took a minute with that. “Oh. I wasn’t sure where it had come from, actually.”
“From me. It’s what I picked out. I just figured your adoptive parents would have changed it.” She took a breath. “ I’m sorry. This call, it’s caught me a little off guard. Let me sit down.”
“I can try back another time.”
“No!” she practically shouted. “No, please. I’m so glad you called. It’s just…”
“A lot,” Brooklyn supplied, standing up because she didn’t know what else to do with herself. Movement seemed to help alleviate the extra energy so she paced the length of her small bedroom.
“Yes. Where do you live? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“New York City. I work in advertising. I’m a partner at a boutique firm.”
“That’s great. A partner? That’s impressive.” She heard the emotion in Cynthia’s voice. Actual emotion, and it was doing a number on her.
“Where do you live?’
“Connecticut. I’m a nurse. Labor and delivery.”
Kind of ironic, Brooklyn thought, given the last time they’d seen each other. It was a lot to take in, but she craved more information, like some sort of drug she wasn’t proud of. She needed the details that she’d obsessed about for years. “Are you married?”
“Yes. I live with my husband. We have two children.”
She’d known it was a possibility, but to hear for certain that she had siblings out there was enough to steal her next breath and force her to sit back down on the bed. She covered her eyes with the back of her hand as the information worked its way in. “Wow.”
“So you have a brother and sister. Great kids. Ethan is twenty-two and just graduated from UConn with a degree in engineering. Cat, short for Catherine, is seventeen and about to be a senior in high school. Rambunctious.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” A pause. There seemed to be a lot of those. But they were warranted. “I’d love to meet you.”
And here we go. The panic alarms were ringing in her head, and she wasn’t sure how to shut them off. “Maybe.” It was all she could commit to.
“You could come to Connecticut. I live in a small town named Avon, near Hartford. We could have dinner. I’ll pay
for your expenses. Or I could come to Manhattan. You know, whichever is easier or preferable for you.” She exhaled into the phone. “I’m sorry if I’m jumping the gun. Sometimes I do that. I’m just so excited that you’ve called, to hear your voice. I’ve imagined this moment…well, a lot.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Of course. Yes. That’s fair.”
“I should go.”
“Right. Okay. Thank you for calling, Brooklyn. You have my number. Please call again. Anytime.”
Brooklyn felt a slight smile touch the corners of her mouth. It was small, what Cynthia had just said, but it meant something. “Okay. I will.”
*
“It was a short conversation. But I think I needed it to be short,” Brooklyn told Samantha as they sat at a table in Bryant Park. They’d met with an up-and-coming candy company in midtown that morning so Sam could work up a potential budget for their account. It had gone well, and because they had to, they’d stopped at one of their favorite lunch spots in the park.
It was kind of their place, hers and Sam’s.
As they ate from the cardboard containers that held their deluxe cheeseburgers and fries, Brooklyn recounted the phone call from the night before. “She was an actual normal-sounding person, Sam. That’s what’s so crazy. With a home and a job and kids. I just wasn’t expecting that and still can’t wrap my mind around it.”
Sam popped a fry. “Did she say why she gave you up? Because who’d want to part with you? You’re adorable.”
“Right? But, no. We didn’t go into it. Like I said, it was a short call.”
“Seriously though, a monumental conversation like that? I can’t even imagine what that must be like. For her or for you.”
“I think it’s safe to say that this is new territory for everyone.”
Samantha sat back in her seat and regarded her, shaking her head. “I’m proud of you, Brooks. This was a big step and I wasn’t sure you’d find the courage. I’m happy you did.”
“Me too. But to be honest, if it weren’t for you guys and Jessica, I’m not sure I would have.”
Samantha held up one finger. “Slamming on the brakes for a second. Jessica Lennox knows about your mom?”
Brooklyn took a pull from her Diet Coke to buy some time, realizing that with that one little comment she’d showed her cards regarding the time she’d spent with Jessica recently. But in all honesty, she didn’t mind doing that with Sam, divulging a little more. Sam was the sensitive one, the romantic. If Brooklyn could make anyone understand the unique relationship she had with their toughest rival, it was Sam. “I’ve talked with Jessica about all of this, yes.”
“As in, recently?”
“As in yesterday. And also that first night we met.”
“Whoa. That’s a little unexpected, you have to admit. You don’t open up easily. It took you two years to tell me your favorite color.”
“That is so not true.”
“Yeah, I made it up, but you get the gist. Trust is a huge process for you, which is why revealing intimate details of your life to someone you just recently met is entirely out of character.”
“I know. That part is true.” Brooklyn sat back in her chair and let her eyes brush the treetops as she thought through all the things Jessica made her feel. And the list was long. “It’s crazy, Sam. I just click with her. And before you say anything, I’m beginning to think all the horrible rumors about her are false. She’s not that person.”
“Then how do they persist?”
Brooklyn shrugged. “Because I don’t think she minds them and never puts them to rest. It makes her seem like some businesswoman-badass. In fact, I think she sees all the talk as a helpful leg up. In this scenario, she gets to be feared without having to be scary. Not a bad deal if you think about it. More fries?”
Samantha stared at her, her mouth falling open.
Brooklyn set the cardboard container back on the table. “What? What’s with the look? You hate French fries now?”
“You’re falling for her a little bit, aren’t you?”
Brooklyn sighed. “It’s not like that. Well, it is, but it’s not. I would never let it go too far. Yes, I let myself flirt with her, and we spend time talking on occasion. You know, when forcibly trapped in elevators together. It’s what people do. But come on, Sammie, I’m horrible at relationships, and one like ours has too much working against it already. So, to make a long story short, I’m indulging myself a little in the fun department. I like spending time with her. I like staring at her, lusting a little. Who does it hurt?”
“I just hope it’s not you.”
“Way to cloud the issue with logic.”
“It’s my job to look out for you.”
Brooklyn accepted the sentiment and nodded. “I won’t get hurt. Trust me.” A beat. “I did make out with her in the elevator, though.”
“And you’re just now mentioning this?”
“Why would I ever bring something like that up, given everyone’s well-known opinion? You guys would have freaked out. Mallory especially. She would have written a dissertation on all the ways it was bad for business and taped it to every wall in the loft.”
“Look at me. I’m not Mallory. But I am one of your best friends and your roommate, for heaven’s sake. I don’t want to be shut out of your life. You hear me? There will be no shutting out.” The fierceness in her voice said she was hurt, and it resonated with Brooklyn.
“I do. And I’m sorry.”
She softened, leaning in. “So this kissing. It was good?”
Brooklyn closed her eyes. “Samantha, there aren’t words. I’ve tried to find some. Trust me.”
“I have to meet this woman one day.”
“You won’t have to wait long. Foster Foods is having a swanky cocktail party on Friday night, and we’re all invited. The fancy invite came to the Savvy loft yesterday. They had some super-private meeting the other day and have now announced a new division that will focus solely on, get this, alcoholic beverages. The party is a sort of an unofficial kickoff. They rented out The Frick. I kid you not.”
“The Frick? As in the museum, not some restaurant that knocked off the name?”
Brooklyn laughed. “No, that would be the museum itself.”
“Oh, my sweet goodness, that is high-end. I get to wear my fancy clothes.”
“I’m telling you, we need these people to be our clients.”
“Yet, so does Jessica.” Samantha smiled and batted her eyelashes flirtatiously.
“Stop it. Jessica is not a factor when we’re talking business. And in case I haven’t mentioned it, I’m taking a date to the party. So there will be no confusion on the issue.”
“Wow. You’re a busy girl. Who is it?”
“Sophie. The woman I met at Showroom the other night.”
“Aha.” Samantha smiled knowingly. “I spoke to her briefly. She seemed really into you. She’d have your babies.”
“And I’m into her.”
Samantha sent her a dubious look. “Of course you are.”
“Shut up.”
Sam considered this. “Pass those fries over here and we have a deal.”
Brooklyn obliged. “One last thing.”
“Try me,” she said mid-fry.
“Can we not tell the others about the Jessica stuff? Mallory wouldn’t understand, and Hunter would high-five me and then forget that she wasn’t supposed to tell Mallory.”
Samantha sighed. “They won’t hear it from me.”
“Fantastic. This is why you’re my favorite.”
“Well, I also let you hold the remote.”
“That too.”
Chapter Nine
When Jessica arrived at The Frick on Friday night, she was escorted to the Garden Court, a breathtaking indoor collection of plants and flowers complete with a stunning centerpiece fountain and towering Ionic columns.
A beyond-beautiful space.
The reception was in full swing, and she took a minu
te to assess the room. Well-dressed guests mingled over cocktails and appetizers among the symmetrical planters. It seemed Foster had invited all of New York’s big players to help kick off the new launch. And they were all there, as who doesn’t love an expensive party? As she perused faces, it was like a who’s who of big business. Jessica was glad she’d forced herself to attend, despite the migraine she’d been fighting most of the day. Luckily, the new prescription her doctor supplied her with really seemed to be at least one step ahead of the problem.
She said a few hellos and accepted a glass of champagne from a waiter. She’d yet to see Bentley, who’d agreed to meet her there, so she set out in search of Royce Foster to properly greet her host.
A jazz band played just inside The Music Room, which, after a glimpse inside, stole Jessica’s breath. The circular room, where the heart of the event seemed to be taking place, had a glass-domed ceiling, damask walls, and an open dance floor. It surpassed even her most opulent expectations for the night.
She immediately lamented leaving the fancy jewelry at home. She’d chosen an off-the-shoulder black cocktail dress and simple heels. She’d worn her hair down, which was less sophisticated, but a necessity when dealing with an impending migraine.
“You look stunning, Boss,” Bentley whispered in her ear. She turned around and kissed his cheek, then ran her palms down the lapels of his Armani suit.
“And you’re incredibly handsome in this suit. Very slick.” And he was. His six-foot-two frame made him one of the more noticeable men in the room. If she wasn’t a lesbian, she was pretty sure his debonair good looks would carry a different sort of weight altogether. At any rate, she was constantly on the lookout for the perfect girl to accentuate his arm. But Bentley and settling down didn’t seem to go together.
“Thank you. You’ll find Royce Foster at three o’clock.”
“It’s like you can read my mind.”
“That’s why we work so well together.”
She grinned at him. “Meet me in the garden in fifteen minutes?”
“Deal.”
Jessica circled the room once, saying a few hellos before making her way over to Royce Foster. He was definitely the man of the hour, with throngs of people to both his left and right. However, once she inserted herself into the mix, the crowd seemed to part just for her. Her reputation came with certain benefits, and she wasn’t afraid to use it. He smiled widely as his eyes settled on her. “Jessica,” he said, leaning in to kissing her cheek. “So good of you to make it.”
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