It’s been six weeks since I arrived in New York. I’ve done things I’ve never done in my life—and I’d never have been able to come this far if it hadn’t been for the hard work and dedication that my parents instilled in me when I was young. I feel confident that I’m becoming my own woman, that my life has something better in store.
I wanted to tell him that, but I was afraid my voice would betray me—and the last thing I want is Christo’s pity. I want his help, but I’d die if I saw pity in his eyes. He would have hardly known that the pain in my voice would have been due to the loss of my parents, not the loss of the business they’d built. Because losing Kelly’s opened up opportunities for me I’d never seen before, and I’m learning to see the loss as a blessing.
When I arrive at my apartment, I hear sniffling and I peer into the small living room and find Sara on the living room couch, her hair a mess, another mess of used tissues on the side table we use as a small coffee table. “What happened?” I ask.
“I got fired.” She looks up from a tissue, her face breaks. “I had no idea they’d start making cuts and I’d be the first to go.” She blows her nose and tosses the tissue down in a ball to join the others. “What am I going to do?”
I grab a wastebasket, toss in all the tissue balls and the empty box of tissues, and set a fresh box before her. “You’ll get a new job.” I sit down beside her.
“It’s not that easy—”
“You can walk dogs with me.”
“That’s your gig.”
“I’ll split it with you. I won’t be able to dedicate as much time to it as I want to—I’ll be too busy working on the startup.”
“Really? How are you so confident you’ll get the money?”
“Because I saw him again tonight. And I’m hoping I can wear him down.”
“It’s not wishful thinking? Sorry to break it to you, roomie, but half of the city wants this man’s backing. Everyone thinks they have a genius idea or wants someone who’ll help them make their stupid idea genius.”
“Maybe. But I still mean to wear him down.” I grin, pour two cups of tea, and then hand one over to her. “You okay?”
“I don’t know,” she says, smiling wanly at me, as if thankful I asked. “I just can’t figure out what’s gone wrong with my life.” She rubs the tissue along her nose and crumples it up only to get a new one. “I went to ballet school. I broke my ankle just before graduation. So with ballet no longer an option, I tried Broadway. Two years and nothing. So I become a concierge, and even then, something supposedly easy, I fail.”
“You didn’t fail, Sara. It wasn’t your end game, it was your in-the-meantime job.”
“Yeah, well.” She hikes up one shoulder in a sad shrug. “I’m starting to wonder if most of us aren’t destined to be stuck in our in-the-meantime.”
I don’t know what to say. I wonder that too. “I may agree,” I say. “But then you see someone, someone who had it worse than anyone, and who made it big. Not because he got lucky—he worked for it. It makes sense that if we work hard enough, we can go somewhere too.”
“You really like this guy,” she says, eyes flaring as if it’s just dawning on her that I really do know Christos. And like him, like she says.
“No. I mean…” I quickly interject. “I admire him. We were in high school when we met, and I admired his gumption. I suppose I liked him too,” I finally admit, “but I could never understand how he made me feel. I guess I liked him enough that it confused me.” I shake my head violently. “But enough about that. I’m excited about the startup. If this takes off and you don’t have a job, I’ll hire you.”
“When do I start?” she smirks.
“Who knows? Call God’s number and ask?” I show her Christos’s card, then notice the surprise on her face and laugh.
“Give me that,” she says when I pry it back.
“Over my dead BOOTY. It’s my Golden Ticket and I’m not giving it up even to you. I’ll give you some of my chocolate, though.” I pull out the Godiva chocolate I have stashed away in my nightstand and toss it in her lap. Sara groans happily. “Do we have any ice cream?”
“Anything else?” I ask as I pull out an ice cream tub from the fridge and bring it over, along with two spoons.
“Yes. Can I adopt you?” she asks as she sits straight when I join her on the couch.
“Come on. I’m two years older than you are.” I roll my eyes and we sit together, eating ice cream while she thinks of her job, and I think of Christos.
“I know what else I’m missing. Confidence. I seem to have lost it somewhere,” she says, frowning thoughtfully at our silent TV screen.
“I have confidence in you,” I counter.
“Good. ’Cause I have confidence in you too. Boss.” She grins, the tissues forgotten.
After binging on chocolate and ice cream, I fall asleep with my laptop on my bed, my designs scattered around, and an image of Christos telling me he wants it.
Christos 8 years ago…
DEPARTMENT STORE OWNERS KILLED IN VEGAS FIRE
“Fuck.” I scrape my hand down my jaw. An image of Bryn’s parents comes to mind as I scan the paper. I want to punch something.
“Christos? Are you ready?” a familiar female voice asks from behind me.
I shut the paper closed. “Give me a minute.”
I check on the burial time, glance at my watch and realize there’s no time for me to bury my own blood, catch a flight, and be there on time for hers. But I can’t put a lid on my instinct to protect her. Be there for her.
I pull out my wallet, punch in a number of a local florist, and ask for a bouquet of gardenias. Her favorite.
“The message, sir?” the attendant asks.
“Wish I were there. Love, Aaric.”
“Erick?”
“Double A, R, I, C. Aaric.”
“Got it.”
“Love, Aaric,” I repeat.
Yeah. That’s not how I planned to tell her I loved her, but I go with it anyway. Today I bury someone else I never got the chance to love.
Seems stupid the way we hold back on these things now.
Bryn lost her parents—the same day I lost my little girl.
I recite my credit card number, hang up, slip the card back into my wallet, and grab my leather jacket. Much like the one Bryn gave me once.
Bryn
Instead of taking me to reception, the number on Aaric’s card takes me straight to a direct line that I’d never had access to before. I rush on to say, “Hello. I was calling to schedule an appointment with Mr. Christos.”
“Who’s calling? And would this be the youngest or eldest?”
“Eldest. Aaric. And it’s Bryn Kelly.”
“Ah, yes, Miss Kelly. He asked me to shuffle his schedule around if you called. If you can be here at 6, I’ll get you in before he leaves the office.”
Whoa.
He did?
My heart skips a little.
“I appreciate it. Truly. Thank you!”
Noticing it’s 4:51 p.m. already, I lay out my outfit with care, do my hair, apply makeup—not a lot, but enough to make me look polished—and add my faux diamond studs from Macy’s.
“Are you still up for doing some dog runs?” I ask Sara after a brief knock on her bedroom door.
She’s watching TV, still in pajamas. On a Monday.