Книга - We’ve Always Got New York

We’ve Always Got New York
Jill Knapp


The second book in Jill Knapp’s fabulous series about dating in New York picks up after Amalia Hastings returns to Manhattan from her trip to Brazil – and finds that life has indeed gone on without her.Fresh off the plane, Amalia’s feeling anxious and unresolved; left alone to pick up the pieces and deal with the repercussions of choosing her own path over Michael.Without an apartment, without a job, and starting to wonder if she’s even without a best friend, she finds herself holding on tightly to the one thing she is familiar with, New York City.Sometimes you have to let go of who you were to become who you will be…









We've Always Got New York


JILL KNAPP






A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)


HarperImpulse an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

77–85 Fulham Palace Road

Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2014

Copyright © Jill Knapp 2014

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Jill Knapp asserts the moral right

to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is

available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International

and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

By payment of the required fees, you have been granted

the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access

and read the text of this e-book on screen.

No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,

downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or

stored in or introduced into any information storage and

retrieval system, in any form or by any means,

whether electronic or mechanical, now known or

hereinafter invented, without the express

written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © November 2014

ISBN: 9780007594689

Version 2014-10-22

Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.




Praise for Jill Knapp (#ub0a7bd1d-de2e-5398-809d-35cf0d298b7e)


"Fall in love all over again. With men, Manhattan and yourself."

Shiri Appleby, actress, HBO's Girls

"A subtly addicting, fun, and fast-paced story about the realty of twenty-something dating in NYC."

Courtney Hamilton, author, Almost Royalty

"A fast-paced, roller-coaster ride through the giddy peaks and Death Valleys of dating in your twenties in the big city, looking for love, and finding yourself."

Phoebe Fox, author, The Break-Up Doctor

"For any woman who has ever chased love only to find themselves…this book is for you."

Mandy Hale, creator & author, The Single Woman

"…Knapp’s book combines love and life in a beautiful twist within the borders of one of the loudest, craziest cities in the world, New York City. But what's most interesting is how the characters find solace in the noise, find happiness in the chaos, and find love in the unique."

Kate Avino, The Huffington Post and CEO of Her Culture magazine

"What Happens To Men When They Move To Manhattan? is a fun and enjoyable read about a young woman in search of her happily ever after. Take it to the beach or snuggle up in bed and dig in.”

Emily Liebert, award-winning author, You Knew Me When and When We Fall


For my mom


“Yet high over the city our line of yellow windows must have contributed their share of human secrecy to the casual watcher in the darkening streets, and I was him too, looking up and wondering. I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.”

F. Scott Fitzgerald


Contents

Cover (#ubbcb8a4d-59c9-53d1-9537-9ff938cfbeb8)

Title Page (#u8df75045-9b36-5fef-9830-fe36d1b765e3)

Copyright (#ua51f6271-d124-56ae-9b52-e1376b796f04)

Praise for Jill Knapp (#uf59063fc-d391-5688-9281-13028e7c0709)

Dedication (#u4c61ec0c-29be-5a60-8c50-1dbebd2e055a)

Chapter 1Amalia (#u45d1011c-4f3a-5c95-a2ad-cc051b01f4c9)

Chapter 2Olivia (#u2ba623d4-f040-5978-b70d-a2ad54b16eec)

Chapter 3Amalia (#ua3d93a2e-0ac6-5b99-a5a8-cc8f7b99d5e3)



Chapter 4Olivia (#ud49627c2-f64f-56aa-a7e0-00c669cfe611)



Chapter 5Amalia (#u199e9b04-714d-525c-8162-35483664d4d0)



Chapter 6Olivia (#u8da92e96-f31c-5aaf-87db-1ad476b2ac58)



Chapter 7Amalia (#uf128d04d-f386-5a1f-9142-9013ad26387f)



Chapter 8Olivia (#u459aaa63-79af-57c0-9853-9ac4d561116b)



Chapter 9Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 10Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 11Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 12Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 13Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 14Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 15Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 16Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 17Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 18Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 19Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 20Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 21Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 22Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 23Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 24Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 25Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 26Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 28Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 30Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 31Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 32Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 33Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Jill Knapp… (#litres_trial_promo)



Jill Knapp (#litres_trial_promo)



About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter 1 (#ub0a7bd1d-de2e-5398-809d-35cf0d298b7e)

Amalia (#ub0a7bd1d-de2e-5398-809d-35cf0d298b7e)


I could tell by the look on her face that she was expecting something from me. She was expecting something to be different. For me to be, in some way, changed.

I’m Amalia Hastings, and on August 20


at 9:17 pm, I was home.

Home. The word seemed funny to me because I didn’t have a home to go back to. I moved out of my apartment right before leaving for Brazil and after my friend-with-benefits, Michael, showed up at my apartment, asking me to stay. I hadn’t thought it through properly; I just knew I didn’t want to live in that apartment anymore. Before my trip to Brazil I packed up what little stuff I owned and put it in storage for when I returned, assuming I would deal with it then. Well, “then” has become “now”. So for tonight I was staying with my best friend Cassandra. Who was currently waving at me.

I knew what she wanted. She wanted stories. Juicy ones that involved hot hookups on the sand. She wanted to see pictures. Pictures of the places I went, the food I ate, and the hot guys I met. She wanted me to run up to her in a sun dress, hair braided and skin tanned, and explain, no, to pontificate, to her how life-changing my trip was. She wanted me to playfully link her arm around mine and gush about how amazing it all was. How I was changed forever. That I had a new appreciation for life, food, and music. She wanted me to tell her that I would never be the same.

But this isn’t the movies and I’m not Julia Roberts.

The florescent lights above me flickered, making the airport look dark and ominous. I looked down at my hand as I pulled my rolling suitcase across the sticky, tiled floor. Not even my hand had acquired a tan. Three months in the Brazilian sun and my skin remained as pale as ever.

Cassandra was looking right at me with wide, unblinking eyes. I walked a little slower.

For some reason I couldn’t pinpoint, coming off the plane felt like a surreal experience to me. Although I was relieved to have landed, and I wouldn’t have wanted to stay in Brazil any longer, I still wasn’t utterly happy with being back. I wondered if it merely had to do with the fact that I had no apartment to go back to and was feeling pretty untethered from not having a proper home.

There’s an old saying. I’m not really sure where it’s from or who said it first. Kind of the proverb equivalent of The House of the Rising Sun. It proffers, “Wherever you go, there you are”, and up until about one month ago I had no idea what it meant. But now it means everything. It rings in my ears like a scolding mother, repeating itself over and over again until I submit.

I finally stood face to face with Cassandra, who was grinning like a fool at this point. She was dressed down for the night, wearing a purple racer-back tank top that showed off her summer glow, jeans, and gold flip-flops. Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose, messy bun and her make-up was minimal, apart from the extra-shiny, coral lip-gloss she was wearing. She reeked of summer.

“Hey,” I offered, looking down at my sneakers. I wished I had more energy for her, but after ten hours on a plane it was all I could muster up.

Cassandra cocked her head to the side and smiled. Her hair swung back and forth and she popped her hip out like a model in training. She looked as fierce as ever, even dressed-down in comfortable summer clothes.

“That’s all I get? Get over here!” she said, pulling me in for a hug.

I hugged her back for a moment and then pulled away, overcome with exhaustion and jet-lag. I smiled at Cassandra. She smelled like a salty coconut and I realized she had probably come straight from Fire Island, a beach not too far from Long Island and just outside of the city. That explained the dressed-down attire, but not the lip-gloss. Unless, of course, we were going straight back there from JFK airport.

I looked back at the gate. Most people I knew hated airports, but I liked them. They offered a chance to escape. Get on a plane and in six hours from now you could be across the country. You could be in a different town, in a different house, with a different group of people. I think we all took that for granted.

I could go back to Brazil right now. Or I could go somewhere else. I’ve never been to Cincinnati; I wonder what it’s like there. Or maybe Savannah. I could definitely live in Savannah! I took a step backwards, away from Cassie. Back toward the inside of the airport. She just smiled.

“Very funny, Amalia!” she said through perfectly white teeth. “Don’t sneak away from me now. I’m so glad you’re back, I really missed you.”

Cassie threw her arm over me and smushed our faces together. She whipped out her iPhone and flipped the camera application around so the front lens could be used and snapped a picture of the two of us. Before I knew it, she uploaded the picture to Facebook with the caption “So excited, Amalia is officially home!”

Without glancing back, she walked a few feet in front of me and remained glued to her phone. The back of her Havaianas smacking onto her heels echoed throughout the now nearly empty hallway. I let out a long sigh that Cassandra didn’t hear and pulled my suitcase toward the exit. Yep, it was official. I was home.




Chapter 2 (#ub0a7bd1d-de2e-5398-809d-35cf0d298b7e)

Olivia (#ub0a7bd1d-de2e-5398-809d-35cf0d298b7e)


“Would you like a glass of wine?” Alex asked me, as he glided over to the liquor cabinet.

“Red, please,” I craned my neck to answer.

I was quite cozy on the couch. The last week of summer had come and gone in a blur of tapas restaurants and strolls in Central Park. Monday marked the first day of our second year in graduate school and I couldn’t wait for it to begin. Ask most people and they’ll tell you summer is their favorite month. Not me, I’m partial to autumn. Summer is too crowded here in Brooklyn. The restaurants open their side entrances to create manufactured, outdoor seating areas so New Yorkers can pretend like they’re enjoying a nice day outside. I’ve often heard people say that the city clears out on the weekends during the summer months. But I have yet to see this happen.

Frankly, I’m a little sick of it.

During the summer months, everyone is in “vacation mode”. Vacation mode for girls means they’ll actually go a day without flat-ironing their hair, and for guys it means they’ll just hookup more than usual.

Autumn is different. Autumn is the time of the year that signals a new start for me. I always remember my mom putting me in my knee-length red dress and tucking my long brown hair behind my ears while scooting me off to school with a kiss on the forehead. Every first day of school, she would take a picture of me flaunting my new lunch box. For first grade it was “Where In The World Is Carmen Sandiego?”

Now that I am an adult and no longer living in Rhode Island, I look forward to autumn even more. I do this essentially because I want everyone’s “vacation mode” to end, and for everything else to just go back to normal.

Alex slipped in beside me, put the wine glasses down, and put his arm around my shoulders. I immediately let my head drop to the side to rest onto him. I was really into Alex. His deep, soulful eyes still sent as many shivers down my spine as the day we met. Next week would mark a year since we’d been together, and we had already made dinner reservations at some restaurant on Roosevelt Island that I had never heard of. Sandwiched in between Manhattan and Queens, Roosevelt Island was a small area in New York City. There isn’t a ton of nightlife there, but the housing is more affordable than Manhattan, and most apartments offer large, sweeping views of the Manhattan sky-line. It was mainly inhabited by young families. I didn’t really understand why he wanted to live there, but I guess there are worse places. Like the Bronx.

“Last weekend before school starts back up, baby,” he said. He raised his right hand and smoothed down his hair. “Are you ready to do it all again?”

“Just one more year after this, and then it will all be over,” I said, reaching for my wine.

The fact that we still had two years left in school was wearing on me now more than ever. Alex and I were in a good place, but I worried about what all the stress of schoolwork was going to do to our relationship. At first it seemed perfect, we had something crucial in common. But I started to question if the pressure of finishing school and beginning our careers would be too much for our relationship to handle.

“Have you spoken to Amalia yet?” he asked, now running his fingers through my hair.

“No, I haven’t heard from her in a few weeks, actually. Why?”

“I just saw on Facebook that she’s back,” he said, through a smirk.

I had forgotten that Amalia was coming home tonight.

“That’s right, today is the 20


.” I rubbed my forehead and let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

Alex rolled his eyes and leaned back into the couch.

“Why don’t you like her?” I asked, with a smile. “She’s never done anything to you.”

“I’m just kidding around,” he uttered.

I shot him a look.

“What? I am!” he added. He cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

I let out a small laugh. He was too cute to be mad at.

Alex winked at me and took a sip of his wine. Alex and Amalia had always been terse with each other. Now that he and I were in a relationship, I really wanted them to get along. My college boyfriend, Nate, and my old roommate never saw eye to eye, and it made those two years of my life more difficult than needed.

“I’d really appreciate it if you tried a little harder to be friendly toward her,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “She’s pretty cool, once you get to know her.”

Alex took a large gulp of wine and widened his gorgeous eyes. They were my favorite feature about him.

“Okay, Olivia, I’ll make you a deal. As long as she doesn’t give me a hard time, I will do my best to be her, you know,” he turned away.

“Her what?” I goaded, smiling at his discomfort.

“You know. Her friend,” he dramatically stuttered over the word “friend”.

“That’s very noble of you, Alex. I appreciate the gesture.” I rolled my eyes.

“It’s what I’m here for, my dear,” he whispered softly.

He leaned over and brushed a piece of my hair from my face that had fallen out of my ponytail. I looked in his eyes and he kissed me. Softly and slowly. A moment later my blood pressure kicked up a few notches. I playfully pulled away, but then kissed his forehead to show my affection.

“You kiss by the book,” I mumbled jokingly.

“And you’re adorable,” he said with a smile.

I pulled myself out of the daze and redirected our attention back to the topic at hand.

“I wonder what’s going to happen with Michael now that she’s back,” I turned around on the couch and leaned into Alex. His arm immediately wrapped around me as I laid my head on his chest.

“What do you mean?” he asked. He lifted me slightly and gently leant his head on top of mine.

“Well, you know.” I took a sip of my wine and returned to using him as a body pillow.

“I’m just wondering if it’s going to be awkward between the two of them now that she’s back,” I offered, stretching to reach in my purse for my cigarettes.

“Why would it be awkward?” he asked, stealing a cigarette from my pack.

He inched up a bit and pulled a green lighter from his back pocket, lighting both of our cigarettes.

I inhaled deeply and let the nicotine rush over me. I had been smoking since college and every year I swore I was going to quit.

“Because they were hooking-up for the better part of last year,” I said. “And it’s probably going to be a little weird for them now. Honestly, I just don’t want to deal with any of the drama. Amalia’s my friend, but you should have heard her go on and on about Michael last semester. It was exhausting.”

I took another long drag of my cigarette, and ashed into the ceramic tray centered on the coffee table.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he said, now gently moving me to sit upright. “When were they hooking-up? Wasn’t Michael dating that Marge chick last year?”

I hadn’t spoken about Amalia and Michael’s indiscretion to Alex. I had always assumed he knew, that Michael had at some point told him. But even if Michael had never said anything, he really should have been able to figure it out by now.

“Wow, babe.” I muttered, shaking my head. “Just wow.”

I guess the cat was now out of the bag.




Chapter 3 (#ub0a7bd1d-de2e-5398-809d-35cf0d298b7e)

Amalia (#ub0a7bd1d-de2e-5398-809d-35cf0d298b7e)


“I was thinking it would be fun if we could go for brunch Sunday,” I said to Cassandra. “We and Olivia should have a girl’s day. You know, before school starts back up on Monday. What do you think?”

It was noon on Saturday and I had just woken up. I had spent the night in Cassandra’s guest room. After she persuaded me to go out to Fire Island last night, the two of us came back to her place. I caught her while she was heading to the kitchen to make coffee. She was wearing gray sweatpants and an oversized men’s T-shirt. Her freshly colored blonde hair was hanging straight to the middle of her back.

Apart from Michael’s, Cassie had my favorite apartment in the city. From what I had seen of my friends’ homes, at least. She lived downtown, in Chelsea. A convenient five-minute cab ride to most of the NYU buildings. Her apartment building was a walk-up, but she only lived on the third floor, so taking the stairs wasn’t too bad. At least not until you were coming home tipsy in three-inch heels. I was currently parked in my pajamas on her white suede couch. Unlike Cassandra, I hadn’t drank anything last night. I felt crappy enough from the jet-lag.

“Can I let you know?” she asked, reaching for the kettle. “It’s just that I might have a date with this guy Brandon.” She wasn’t making eye contact and her overall demeanor suggested she was distracted by something. I just chalked it up to her being tired. We were out until very late last night. Cassandra had dragged me out to a bar and wouldn’t even think about leaving until last call.

“Brandon? Who is this Brandon? Tell me about him!” I jumped up from the couch and joined Cassie in the kitchen area. It had been all summer since Cassie had regaled me with tales from her dating world, and I was chomping at the bit to hear one.

“What’s to tell?” She carefully peeled a banana.

“What’s to tell?” I laughed. “How about everything? For starters, how old is he?”

“I think he’s thirty-one,” she offered, taking the now-whistling kettle off the electric stove top.

“Well, where does he work?” I smiled, trying to encourage Cassandra to dish. “And more importantly, how did you meet?”

“He works in advertising.”

I nodded and waved my hands around, gesturing for her to continue. She handed me a mug and motioned for me to sit on one of the counter stools.

“Did you meet at some fabulous work party?” I joked. One of the perks of Cassie’s job was that she always had an invite to the opening of one of Manhattan’s up-and-coming hot spots. She had been working at the magazine ever since college, and it seemed with each passing year her job became more and more demanding. But at the same time more rewarding.

“I wouldn’t exactly say fabulous, but yes. We met at a new bar that just opened on the Lower East Side,” she explained, sipping her coffee.

I smiled but felt myself cringe at the same time. The Lower East Side had to be my least- favorite neighborhood in all of Manhattan. It was littered with “up-and-coming” bars and night clubs, which I referred to as “seedy-chic” establishments. I thought back to the Manhattan I knew when I was a kid. I always thought of it as classy and romantic. Like an old black-and-white movie. Or at least that’s how everyone pretended it was. I wondered when we traded in our Audrey Hepburn phase for a more dilapidated version of New York.

“Do you like him?” I asked, encouraging Cassie to move the conversation along. “Is he your type?”

She just nodded and smiled.

I waited a few more seconds for her to tell me all of the juicy details, as usual, but she just sat quietly finishing her coffee and banana. I stared at her for a moment and tried to read her facial expression. She was acting unusual. Usually after a date she’d give me a play by play of the night’s events, down to the brand of lipstick she had chosen. Instead, she continued to sit quietly until a few seconds later, when her phone buzzed, and she reached for it with her free hand and was soon completely absorbed in the email.

“Hey, Cassie,” I stared. “Is everything alright?”

“Of course,” she said, collecting the now-empty coffee mugs. The mugs were black; part of a matching set her mother had given her when she first moved into this apartment. Along with coordinating bowls and dishes. She crossed over to me and gave me a weary smile. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

I know she was trying to come off as being polite, but the question sounded more like a challenge.

“I’m not sure,” I said quietly. I tucked my hair behind my ears and shrugged. “The thing is, I just got back from my trip. And you don’t really seem all that happy to see me.”

I wasn’t sure why, but I felt nervous bringing this up to her. Cassandra and I could usually talk about anything. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but something about her seemed different.

She rinsed off the mugs and walked back over to the counter top.

“I am happy to see you,” she uttered, sounding exasperated. She started fidgeting with her long blonde hair, pulling it in and out of a ponytail. “I am just really stressed out with work, and I’m not even sure what time I am going out on this date on Sunday. I absolutely want to spend time with you, I have just been really busy lately.”

“Of course. I understand,” I replied, quietly studying her laminate counter top. Her explanation had sounded more like a scolding. I wasn’t sure why she was acting this way, but my gut told me something strange was definitely going on.

“Listen, if anything changes I’ll let you know,” she offered. She wasn’t even looking at me now, her attention was completely dominated by her cell phone.

“Sure. No problem,” I grimaced.

I waited a few more seconds and then, without Cassie even noticing, I slipped off the counter stool and headed back to her guest room.




Chapter 4 (#ulink_0864e858-1ae2-5b62-84f5-1f593099b319)

Olivia (#ulink_0864e858-1ae2-5b62-84f5-1f593099b319)


I had just gotten off the phone with my dad when I heard a loud, urgent knock on my door. I glanced at the clock, four in the afternoon. I wasn’t expecting anyone. When I opened the door, I was shocked to see Amalia. She was standing there with a suitcase and a broken smile. Her curly blonde hair was frizzier than usual, and her blue eyes were wet and red. She had either just been crying or she was coming down with the flu.

“Holy crap! What are you doing here?” I gasped.

She rolled her puffy eyes and placed her suitcase on the floor, all the while still standing in my doorway.

“I’m back!” she said, with faux enthusiasm. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes, I can see that. Well, welcome back!” I pulled her in for a hug. “I thought you were staying with Cassandra!”

“Well, I am. I mean, I was,” she mumbled. “I think. I’m not sure anymore.” She paused for a moment. “I don’t think I want to stay with her.”

“What do you mean? Why not?” I motioned for her to come inside. “Did something happen?”

Amalia sat down on my couch and ran her fingers through her hair. I think she noticed how frizzy it was becoming because seconds later she pulled a small mirror from her purse and tried to smooth it out.

“Well, I got there last night and she just seemed so distracted. I mean I understand everyone has their own shit going on, but I had just come home after being gone for three months!” she said, her eyes tearing up. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and began again. “I wanted to just crash when I landed, but she dragged me out to Fire Island until four in the morning! I have no idea who any of the people were that she was hanging out with. In all seriousness, she flat-out ignored me the whole time we were there. I mean, I just got back to New York and I figured she’d want to spend some time with her best friend, you know?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but she wasn’t done yet.

“And then this morning, I’m trying to ask her about this guy she ’might have a date with‘, and she acts like I’m the C.I.A debriefing her on her latest mission. I don’t know what’s going on with her, but I don’t feel comfortable staying there. I don’t feel welcomed.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand why she acted that way,” I offered, genuinely unsure.

“I don’t either. It’s like she’s changed. Or something,” she muttered, shaking her head. Her face was washed with disbelief and anxiety. “Did the two of you hang out at all this summer while I was gone?”

“No. I haven’t seen her since that day at your apartment when we all said goodbye to you,” I said. Amalia sunk her shoulders. “I’m sorry, I wish I had more to go on.”

She looked at the floor and then back up to me. Her eyes started to water-up again, but she shook her head in an effort to compose herself.

“Great to be back,” she mumbled with a cracking voice.

“You must be exhausted,” I placed my hand lightly on her back. “Do you want some tea?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

I walked into the kitchen and turned on the electric kettle, a little gift from Alex. Looking back at Amalia, who was now holding her head in her hands and shaking her head. She had come so far last year, realizing she didn’t want to put up with Michael’s indecision anymore. Last year was a nightmare for her. She had gotten dumped cold by her boyfriend, Nicholas, only to fall head over heels for Michael. We all knew Michael had a girlfriend who lived in Arizona, but he kept his personal life so private I could see how easily Amalia could have put it in the back of her mind. From my perspective, he strung her along all semester. When he finally decided to break up with his girlfriend, Marge, Amalia was already packed and ready to leave for her trip to Brazil. I was so proud of her for not abandoning her plans. After all her growth and self-discovery, it was hard for me to see her have to deal with Cassandra’s selfish personality.

“Where are you going to stay?” I called from the kitchen.

She let out a soft, breathy laugh.

“Well, it looks like I am heading back home to stay with my parents,” she called to me. “I haven’t even spoken to them since I left, so that should be interesting.”

I could see new tears forming in her eyes. Between the crying and her unkempt disposition, she looked like a crazy person.

“It’s fine, really,” she waved her hand and let out a soft hiccup. “I mean it only takes about 15 minutes by train for me to get to the ferry, and then it’s only half an hour on the ferry itself. Followed by another 20 minutes on the subway and then a short 10-minute walk to school.” Her hands were starting to shake. I wondered how long it had been since she last ate something. “So you know, if I have class at 8 in the morning, I have to leave my house by about 6:30 just to play it safe. But hey, I’ve always been a fan of watching the sun rise.”

Her eyes were wide and unblinking. She brought her hands up to her face and just left them there, as if she needed to hold her head up to stop it falling off. It was obvious that she was desperately exhausted, probably still jet-lagged.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, pouring the now-boiled water. “You can stay here for a few days.”

“Are you serious?” she said, suddenly perking up. She removed her hands from her face and clapped them together. “I won’t be in your way, I promise.”

I laughed and handed her my old University of Florida mug that I got at orientation my first day of college.

“I’m completely serious. It’s not a big deal at all,” I said. “But you might want to avoid any further homelessness by finding an apartment of your own.”

I always wondered why Amalia got rid of that fantastic apartment she had in the Village. I assumed it was because of all the bad memories. Or the high cost. Money was something our group very rarely talked about. We all just sat in silent wonder about how the other afforded their apartment.

“I think I’ll grab The Village Voice while I’m out today and start checking some listings,” she offered.

“That’s a good idea,” I sipped my green tea. “You know what else might be a good idea?”

“What?” she asked.

“A shower.”




Chapter 5 (#ulink_88febdd3-e4f8-5deb-bed2-1b241e3174e9)

Amalia (#ulink_88febdd3-e4f8-5deb-bed2-1b241e3174e9)


I slept throughout the night. Hard. A solid eight hours had never felt so good. Bright and early the next morning, I began my quest for the perfect apartment. There was no possible way I could move back in with my parents and survive the school year. Or just survive in general. Being twenty-three and living with your parents isn’t something I’d wish on anyone, especially not in New York.

Like anyone shopping around for a new place to call home, I had a few requirements. To begin with, I preferably wanted a one-bedroom. I’d settle for a studio if it was all I could afford, but the one thing I did not want anymore was roommates. Overall, Christina was fine. She was respectful and quiet. Liz, on the other hand, was a terrible roommate. Completely inconsiderate and rude. I felt like it was time to try living on my own. I craved the privacy.

The next requirement was that it be close to school. Anything higher than 40


Street, and I’d have to rush to get to class on time every day. Unfortunately my school was located in Washington Square Park, which was anything but affordable, so living in that neighborhood wasn’t an option. And finally, and most importantly, I would not even consider living in any other borough. That meant no Astoria, no Bushwick, and definitely no Long Island City. And don’t even think about uttering the words Hoboken, New Jersey, to me. I told Olivia all of these requirements over breakfast in her apartment this morning, to which she scratched her head, pursed her lips, and said, “Good luck with that.”

With Olivia’s help, I had three viewings lined up this afternoon. Originally it was four, but when the words “up-and-coming neighborhood in Brooklyn” fell out of her mouth, I quickly emailed the real-estate agent to put the kibosh on it. One apartment I was viewing was a studio close to school in the West Village, another was a one-bedroom in Murray Hill, and the third was a studio that was somehow ”converted” into a one-bedroom in Hell’s Kitchen. The last one in Hell’s Kitchen was far from school, but I conceded to a viewing just to make Olivia happy.

After a quick caffeine-fix at Bourbon Coffee on 6


Avenue, we made our way up to 7


Avenue and then walked a few blocks down to check out the first apartment in the Village.

“315,” I said, squinting up at the address on the top of the building. “This is it.”

It was one of those last truly warm days of summer. In about two weeks, fall would kick in and the city would go back to normal. Gray, windy, and cold. Today, the sun was glaring down on me, reminding me of the strong rays I felt in Brazil.

“How’s Aaron doing?” Olivia asked quickly, as if she forgot my brother existed. Aaron and I had gotten much closer last year when his girlfriend broke up with him. He spent some time sleeping on my couch and bonding with my friends. Even though he was a few years younger than me, he was mature enough to hold his own in Manhattan any day of the week.

“He’s good,” I replied. “Busy with school.”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “Aren’t we all?”

“I miss him, though. Hopefully he comes for a visit soon.”

“What about Cassandra?” Olivia asked, holding the door open for me. “Have you spoken to her?”

The bleak, gray apartment building wasn’t very tall, maybe about five or six storeys high. I could see as soon as we entered that it was a walk-up.

“Not since I called her to let her know I was staying with you,” I said, climbing up the first set of stairs. Each step made a loud, echoing sound throughout the empty stairwell. “And by called her, I mean rambled to her voicemail because she didn’t answer the phone. She hasn’t actually called me back, either.”

“When was this?” Olivia asked, holding onto the banister with each step.

“Last night,” I answered. “You had already fallen asleep.”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t called you back yet,” she grimaced as we made our way up the second flight of stairs. “She’s still your best friend.”

“Believe me, no one’s more surprised than I am,” I puffed. I took a deep breath and held it in for a second. I stopped short and grabbed the metal railing for balance. “Okay, no more talking until we get to the fourth floor.”

Olivia let out a long breath and nodded in agreement. A short eternity later, and one quick realization of just how out of shape I was, we made it to apartment number 427 and knocked on the door. A short, dark-haired guy answered. He was wearing a checkered button-down with the sleeves rolled up, tight jeans, and a pair of Converse sneakers. He rubbed his blood-shot eyes, and reached toward a small table by the front door of his apartment, retrieving a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses. He looked like someone who was rejected from the line at the Limelight back in 1989.

“Hey,” was all he managed to spit out. He peeked his head out past the threshold and darted his eyes around the poorly lit hallway.

I turned to Olivia and raised my eyebrows, but she remained cool and composed.

“Hi, I’m Olivia Davis,” she said, politely extending her right hand and gave the guy a warm smile.

The guy turned his attention back to us, but stared at her blankly.

“We spoke on the phone about renting the apartment,” she continued, sounding a little more annoyed.

“Oh right!” he said, suddenly coming to life. “I’m Eddie, uh, come on in.”

We walked into the dim apartment and were immediately hit with thick, blanketed air. I turned to Olivia and made a fanning motion with my hand in front of my nose.

“Did we interrupt something?” I asked, my eyes darting to a half-smoked joint burning in the ashtray.

“Oh shit,” he sprung over to the coffee table. “I must have forgotten to put that out. I’m sorry, I thought you were coming over at 4 o’clock.”

“It is 4 o’clock,” Olivia answered softly.

There was a brief moment of silence. Eddie laughed nervously and walked over to the window, struggling with it until it opened. It made a shrill sound as it slid up, and Olivia and I both winced. I made eye contact with Olivia, who was now shaking her head. The apartment was very small, about the size of my childhood bedroom. The floors looked like fake hardwood and were actually starting to peel up in some corners. The walls were painted gray, but had more than a few white spackle marks covering some decent-sized holes. The fake granite-looking counter top had a red stain on it, which appeared to be permanent, and the refrigerator had a moderately sized dent in the middle. There was no couch, just an old futon, which appeared to function as both a sitting and bedroom area. The only thing missing was a swinging bare light bulb and a rotting corpse in the corner.

“Do you know how much the landlord wants for this apartment?” I mumbled in a near whisper, silently wishing we were in the wrong building.

“Um, actually the payment won’t be going through the landlord,” Eddie said, brushing some moldy potato-chip crumbs off the brown futon. “I’d be handling it on my end.”

“What do you mean?” Olivia asked, suspicion in her voice. “Why would you be handling the payment instead of the landlord?”

“Well, I’m not moving out for good,” he took a seat on the futon. I scrunched my face as I wondered how anyone could sit on something so foul. “I’m going to be subletting the apartment. You know, while I’m on the road with my band.”

“Okay, then. Does your landlord know about this?” I asked, “And how much would you be charging?”

“The rent’s $2,000 a month,” he said nonchalantly, as if he was rattling off the price of a cup of coffee.

“Right,” I nodded, waiting for Olivia to smile. I let out a low, breathy laugh and repeated him. “2,000 dollars a month.”

I looked at this guy, expecting him to burst out laughing and tell me it was a joke.

“Also, the landlord doesn’t technically know I’d be subletting it to you,” he continued. “So you’d have to be really quiet and stuff. Like, you definitely couldn’t have a dog.”

I put both of my hands in the air and shook my head.

“You’re not kidding about the price?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

Eddie just shook his head and twisted his face into a look of pity. I was getting pity from the guy who lived here.

“Okay wait a minute, let me get this straight,” I moved a little closer to him, stepping over a pile of comic books. “You want me to pay $2,000 dollars a month, to illegally sublet your 300-square-foot, potato-chip-encrusted stoner pad?”

“Yeah,” he said in a flat tone. “This is New York. That’s what apartments go for.”

I turned to Olivia, who had already slid into the hallway. I kept up my right hand to the guy, who was now silently judging me.

“No thank you, Eddie,” I said, backing away toward the door. “I’d rather live in Weehawken.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, closing the door behind us. As soon as I heard the lock turn, loud music started playing from his apartment. I could feel the hallway floor vibrating from the base. This was not a safe building.

I let out a loud grunt and dramatically pointed toward the staircase. Olivia gave me a shy smile and patted me on the back.

“Lucky number 2?” she said, her face turning red from holding back laughter.

I just glared at her and shook my head. I was unable to speak, too stunned by the experience.

“Come on, Amalia, say something!” she threw her arms in the air, but quickly lost her balance and reached back for the bannister.

“Ugh, this is New York,” I mocked, in a deep pseudo-masculine voice. “That’s what things cost.”

“I know, he’s ridiculous!” she said. “That’s about what I pay for my apartment in Brooklyn, and mine’s almost twice the size of that!”

“That apartment smelled like old Chinese food and blood,” I declared, making my way down the first flight of stairs.

“Don’t forget weed,” Olivia added.

“Ugh! I couldn’t if I tried,” I cringed. “I feel physically dirty after being in that place. Also, I definitely need a drink.”

Olivia let out a laugh and sighed. Her brown hair bounced as we made our way down the stairs.

“When I was first-apartment hunting, I almost moved into this place up on East 103


street that I swear had a meth lab in it. So it could be worse!” she said, carefully descending the staircase. “Besides, you can’t really smell blood. It doesn’t have a smell.”

“I can smell it,” I said, emphatically. “And someone was definitely murdered in that building.” I pointed back up the stairs.

“You’re a liar,” she laughed, as we reached the bottom level of the building. “You can’t smell it.”

“There are two types of people in this world, Olivia,” I started, as I held the door to the outside world open for her. The light flooded over us as we made our way outside, and I suddenly felt grateful for the sun. “Those who can smell blood and those who can’t.”




Chapter 6 (#ulink_4526bbb8-7115-56f4-8ce2-e443e2c282da)

Olivia (#ulink_4526bbb8-7115-56f4-8ce2-e443e2c282da)


The Village is my favorite area in Manhattan. Cute little boutiques and coffee houses, random cobble-stone streets, and not to mention the high-end shopping on Bleeker. You also see more dogs being walked around there than any other neighborhood. So when Amalia’s first apartment viewing didn’t go very well, I was still secretly enjoying my day. I tried to lift her spirits by taking her to Bosie’s Tea Parlor on Morton Street.

“I know it was disgusting, but I promise the next one will be better!” I said confidently as I led her toward the café. After all, it couldn’t get much worse.

We were walking fast, zipping through a crowd of young girls in black high-low dresses and chunky platform heels. A super-thin red-head then flicked her cigarette on the ground, nearly hitting me by accident.

“Seriously, Olivia, I felt something go through me in that apartment!” she said, dramatically shaking her head back and forth. “How can that guy afford $2,000 a month?”

“I have no idea,” I laughed. A couple of cute guys in suits walked past us. One of them smiled at me and I immediately turned red and looked away. Amalia was too irritated to notice them. I redirected my attention back to her and said, “Maybe the landlord doesn’t know he lives there either.”

“Ugh!” she gasped, jumping in the air and pretending to wipe things off of her clothes. “Okay, I am moving on. How far is this place we’re going to?”

“Just about a five-minute walk,” I said, taking the lead. “Calm yourself.”

I swung my handbag in front of me and dug around for my sunglasses. Realizing I had better savor the last few days of warm weather while I could.

“So, Amalia, you never told me about Brazil,” I dug around for my phone too while I was at it. “How was it?”

“Hot,” she said, slowing down. “Even hotter than today, if you can believe it.”

“Hot?” I raised an eyebrow. “You were gone for nearly three months, and that’s all you have to say to me?”

“I’m sorry,” she came to a stop. Her eyes darted around the city. “You’re right, I’m totally pulling a Cassandra right now.”

“Pulling a what?” I asked, dropping the sunglass case back into my bag and reaching for my cigarettes, suddenly feeling a craving coming on. I grabbed her hand to steer her away from oncoming traffic.

“I’m being evasive. You know, like she always is,” Amalia shrugged. We crossed over to Bleeker and made our way to Morton Street. “Is there food at this place? I’m starving.”

“Yes, there is food,” I said, with fake anger. “But seriously, tell me about Brazil. Did you meet any guys?”

“No, that would be too obvious,” she said with a tight smile. “Little ole me runs away to Brazil, meets some hot guy named Gabriel, and sets up shop in Rio, only to be heard from by the occasional postcard.” She stopped walking again and I took the opportunity to light my cigarette. “Honestly, I spent a lot of time alone, thinking. All of the other time I spent with my cousin who lives there: Julia.”

“But you had a good time, right?” I slowly inhaled my cigarette. The smoke rushed through my lungs, and then out again as I slowly let the air leave my body. The craving leaving with a swift wash of relief.

“Yes”, she said with a smile. “It was fun. It was a vacation.”

“Alright,” I said, deciding to back off the subject for now.

“What about you and Alex?” she brightened up. “Are you officially a couple?”

It was the first time she had really said anything about me and Alex dating. I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth.

“Yes, officially,” I laughed. “There’s a certificate being printed as we speak.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said through a huge grin.

“I’m really happy with him, Amalia.” Just thinking about Alex made me feel warm inside. Like Amalia, he and I were hiding our relationship. Unlike Amalia we were both single at the time. We kept it a secret because I was worried about too much involvement from out tight-knit group of friends. As much as it had been fun and sexy sneaking around, it felt refreshing to be able to talk about it freely with my friend. I felt my cheeks flush and I dropped my head down in an effort to hide my blushing. “Let me just finish this cigarette and then we’ll go inside. Bosie is right around the corner.”

She slowly nodded at me then and turned her gaze toward the ground. Amalia stared at an old piece of gum stuck on the floor for a few seconds and then shook her head. She looked downcast and I worried I had said something wrong. Her blonde curls tousled around her face for a moment until she wiped her eyes, causing her hair to fall behind her ears. I faintly heard her nose sniff, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Amalia, are you alright?” I started, but her eyes were no longer on me. Her attention was caught by a young woman walking toward us. She looked sort of familiar, like maybe I had seen her picture before. She had very long, very dark, brown hair. Her skin was alabaster white, and as she got closer I could see she was a few years younger than us, most likely twenty or twenty-one years old. Amalia cocked her head to the side and lowered her eyebrows. I could tell she was searching too. Trying to figure out where she knew this girl from.

“Excuse me?” the girl shouted from halfway down the block. Her brown eyes were narrowed and fixed on Amalia.

“Yes?” Amalia and I both said in unison.

The girl made her way up to us and stood about a foot away from Amalia’s face. She was short, about five foot one or so. She wore plain, light-wash jeans and a brown T-shirt. Nothing spectacular. Minimal make-up except for black kohl liner on the inside of her bottom lids. Her pin-straight hair was tucked behind her ears in a child-like way. I noticed she was wearing a gold necklace with a single ruby floating in the middle of her neck. She looked like an average girl. If she hadn’t been darting towards us at high speed, we probably wouldn’t have noticed her.

Amalia looked at me for help, but I didn’t know what to do.

“Do you need directions?” Amalia offered.

The girl ignored her question and looked Amalia up and down. A scowl permanently fixed on her face.

Amalia anxiously started to look around, and then back down at the sidewalk.

“Is your name Amalia?” the girl advanced to her, raising her chin to meet Amalia’s gaze.

“Yes?” Amalia answered, her voice rising at the end.

“Do you know who I am?” the girl said, not backing down.

“No?” Amalia recoiled, her eyes widening.

Apparently, that was the wrong answer because the next thing I knew the mystery girl pulled back her right arm and slapped Amalia’s left cheek. Hard.

“Oh, my God!” I cried. I reached to grab the girl, but Amalia held up her hand to stop me.

Amalia quickly took a step back and grabbed her face. She winced from the pain, but didn’t walk away. She just stood still, unnerved.

The girl shook her head and gave Amalia one final stare-down. Her brown eyes were still narrowed, and I wondered if she was going to hit Amalia again. A moment later, she composed herself and quickly walked away. I turned to say something to the mystery girl, but it was too late. She had turned the corner.

“Holy crap, are you alright?” I asked, rushing to Amalia’s side. She slowly removed her hand from her face and tested her jaw. She didn’t appear to be injured, just stunned.

Amalia brought her hand back up and rubbed her cheek. She swallowed hard, then blinked heavily a few times. She followed it up with a long sigh. I couldn’t tell if she was in pain or in shock.

“I think I’m alright,” she shook her head and then rolled it around on her shoulders. “That kind of hurt.”

“It hurt to watch,” I said, linking my arms with hers.

“Olivia, do you have an extra cigarette? I think I might need one.”

“What? Why?” I asked, still in disbelief at what happened. “Do you have any idea who that girl was?”

“Because,” she started to say, as she began walking again. “I’m pretty sure that girl was Marge.”




Chapter 7 (#ulink_3e824b1f-a578-5c3e-8b46-a7e6e859e357)

Amalia (#ulink_3e824b1f-a578-5c3e-8b46-a7e6e859e357)


“Let me get this straight,” Cassandra said, in a tone that resembled utter disbelief. “She just walked right up to you and slapped you?”

Later that day, after telling Olivia I was too upset to get tea and macaroons, we went back to her apartment to veg out. Olivia understood when I called the realtor and moved the last two appointments to tomorrow. Feeling the need to vent, I sent Cassie a ton of text messages until she finally called me back. Usually it only took one or two messages to get her full attention, but ever since I got back from Brazil she had been acting distant. I tried to put all of that on the back burner as I regaled her with my story.

“Yes!” I cried into the phone. “I just stood there, shocked.” I was pacing around Olivia’s bedroom, replaying the events of today over and over again in my head. “I mean, the girl must have figured out Michael was cheating on her with me somehow, hence the slap.”

Cassandra let out a deep sigh on the other end and then muttered something in Italian. Cassandra’s grandparents had insisted she learn Italian, so ever since we were younger she would spit out Italian phrases from time to time.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with this Marge chick?” she said loudly. I winced and held the phone away from my ear for a second. “Who just goes around walking up to people on the streets of New York, slapping them?”

I took a deep breath and collapsed onto Olivia’s bed. She was in the living room talking to Alex on the phone, so I took the opportunity for some privacy and ducked into her bedroom.

“Someone who was being cheated on?” I asked rhetorically.

“Yeah,” Cassandra agreed. “I guess that’s who.”

“I mean I totally deserved it,” I started. “Even though he was evasive about the details of his and Marge’s relationship, I shouldn’t have taken that as an open invitation to start something with Michael.” Suddenly images of Michael flooded my mind. The scent of sandalwood, the taste of his kiss, the way my heart would race whenever he would run his fingers through my hair. He had always kept his relationship with Marge to himself, to the point that there were times where I wondered if they had broken up. She lived halfway across the country, so at the time it felt easy to justify what we were doing. I finally came to terms with the fact that I was the “other woman” when he didn’t come out for our group’s New Year’s Eve plans, but instead caught a flight to visit Marge. As the memories swirled around in my mind, I felt a flush of emotion that I had locked away for the past few months. I immediately hated myself for it.

“I wouldn’t go that far, Amy,” she said. I could hear her moving around in her apartment, her high heels clacking against the fake-hardwood floors. “The girl essentially assaulted you on the sidewalk.”

“No, I’m fine,” I said, suddenly wondering why I was defending this girl. “It didn’t hurt that much. Besides, if her relationship with Michael was anything like mine, then he left her more than a little upset. Does it suck that she took it out on me? Sure. But at the same token, if Nicholas had been cheating on me I’d probably want to slap someone too.”

I had known Nicholas for years before we started dating. We met at Rutgers University and after we graduated he professed his love for me one evening. Apprehensively, I gave it a chance. It didn’t take long for his admiration to win me over. On my twenty-third birthday, we got into an argument and he stormed out of a surprise party that Cassandra had thrown for me. A few days later he broke up with me, leaving me absolutely destroyed.

“Have you seen him since you’ve been back?” Cassandra asked.

“Who, Nicholas?” I asked. “Or Michael?”

“Michael.”

“No, I haven’t. But luckily for me classes start back up tomorrow, so I’m sure I’ll see him around,” I said, feeling exhausted by the thought of having to begin studying and writing papers again. “We’ll most likely have at least one class together. There aren’t that many students in our program.” I sat up straight in Olivia’s bed and noticed a framed picture of her and Alex displayed on her nightstand. From what I could tell, the picture was recent. They both still had a tan and Olivia was wearing a coral-colored maxi dress. Alex had on a white polo shirt and aviator sunglasses. His arm was wrapped around Olivia’s waist. Olivia was turned toward Alex and she was laughing. I picked up the frame and smiled, then almost immediately after felt a pang of sadness and put down the frame. “As for Nicholas, I honestly hope I never see him again.” After Nick and I tried to get back together months after our break-up, I realized we had both changed and it could never work. The person he had turned into was someone I could never be friends with. Pretentious, arrogant, and self-important.

“What if you saw him out one night?” Cassandra asked, her voice even. “If we were out to dinner at Nobu and he just happened to be seated a few tables away?”

“Then I would ignore him,” I said, declaratively. “Or if I really felt uncomfortable, I would leave.”

I heard Cassandra open her fridge and pour herself a glass of something. She paused for a few seconds and then loudly swallowed.

“I know he’s a jerk, but you’d really just cut someone out of your life like that?” she asked. “The two of you have so much history together, you don’t think one day you’d be able to be friends?”

I wasn’t sure why, but Cassandra suggesting I should be friends with Nick suddenly made me question her loyalty. Whose side was she on, anyway?

“Whether or not we could be friends one day is not even a thought in my mind,” I said, my blood pressure rising at the mention of having to see him again. “He hurt me, Cass. Worse than anyone ever has, at least yet. I don’t want to be friends with someone who could treat me like that. The idea of being around him makes me feel sick.”

“You won’t always feel that way,” she offered.

“Hopefully not,” I said. “Hopefully I will get to a point when someone mentions him to me I could honestly say I don’t give a shit about him one way or another. And don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I am still pining for the guy. I am completely over him. I’m just not completely over the way he made me feel about myself.”

“How did he make you feel?” she asked, the ice cubes in her cup clanking against the glass.

I took a long pause and stared back up at Olivia’s ceiling. I could feel myself getting emotional, the tears forming behind my eyes. But the emotion wasn’t brought on by losing Nicholas, it was from allowing him to treat me how he did for so long.

“Pathetic,” I said, steadying my voice. “He made me feel pathetic. And no one who can make me feel that way deserves to be my friend.”

Cassandra went silent for a few seconds. I took the opportunity to quietly let out a few tears. I glanced around Olivia’s room. I couldn’t help but be thankful for her. In the past year she had become a great friend. I had only ever been in here one other time; the day she, Michael and I were studying for exams. The walls were painted a fresh, light-gray color, and the furniture was dark brown. Not rustic-looking, but definitely antique. There was a framed Dashboard Confessional set list on the dresser, which was dated May 31st, 2009. I assumed it was most likely left over from her emo days in college. The bedspread I had now made a mess out of consisted of an off-white, eye-lit comforter with a burgundy quilt folded at the foot of the bed. The room felt very warm, cozy. Downright comfortable for Brooklyn, at least. The only problem, as with most New York City apartments, was the hideous HVAC wall unit that stuck out of the only window. Adding a certain sterile feeling to the room. Even with the curtains she had carefully hung, an obvious attempt to hide the eyesore, the fact that it was there would mean this room would never really feel like home.

“Amalia? You still there?”

“Yes” I said, suddenly remembering I was still on the phone. “I’m here. Sorry.”

“So how’s it going over at Olivia’s?”

“Actually, earlier today before the slap incident, we started apartment-hunting,” I said.

“For the both of you?” she asked.

“No, just for me,” I answered quickly. “I never want another roommate again. Not that Olivia would be a bad roommate. I just think it’s time for me to get comfortable living alone.”

“Did you see anything worth living in?” she asked. I heard her typing on a computer in the background.

“Not today,” I said, reliving the hell that was that apartment. “But I have two lined up for tomorrow after class. One in Murray Hill and one in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Nice, keep me posted.”

“I will”, I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. The thought of seeing two more apartments didn’t exactly fill me with hope, but it was something that I had to get done. “Hey, what happened with that guy Brandon? Did you end up going out?”

“Yeah, we had brunch at Morandi.”

“Well?” I said, raising the energy in my voice. “Do you like him? Did you kiss? Cassandra! Where are my details?”

“Yes, I like him.” Cassandra let out a soft laugh. “And yes we did kiss.”

“Nice!” I opened my mouth to say more, but she quickly cut me off.

“But listen, I have to go,” she said suddenly. “I just got an email from my boss and he wants me to take care of something.”

I looked at my watch. 8:00 pm.

“Oh okay,” I said, not pushing the subject. “But hey, let’s talk tomorrow and you can tell me more about your new man!”

“Sure, I’ll shoot you a text,” she said quickly, more typing in the background. Followed by a soft sigh.

“Okay. Bye Cassie.” I let out a sigh after I hung up, and wondered how much longer Cassandra was going to be distant.

I placed the phone down and smoothed over Olivia’s bedspread. I reached my arms above my head and let myself feel a small stretch. I was thoroughly exhausted. I rolled onto my side and checked my phone to see if I had any emails. There was one from my brother, Aaron. I hadn’t spoken to him since the day I left for Brazil. I sent a postcard when I had the chance, but other than that we had no communication for nearly three months. I really wanted to keep to myself during that trip. It was nice to clear my mind of everything that was happening in New York. I rationalized that I was too tired to read and write back to the email right then and there, so I left it for tomorrow. Aaron and I had gotten closer, but there was still room for improvement. I closed my eyes and let my head sink into Olivia’s down-stuffed pillow. I would get up in a minute and make my way over to the couch, but for now it felt nice. My phone began to buzz and I knocked it over on the floor. No more interactions for today. I was done.

I woke up the next morning to harsh sunlight pouring into my eyes, and the painful sensation of an elbow jamming into the middle of my back.

“Ow,” I murmured. I lifted my head up and pushed the nest of blonde hair out of my eyes. Olivia was sound asleep next to me, curled up into a ball at the end of the bed. Shit, I forgot to sleep on the couch. I slowly reached over her and grabbed my phone from the nightstand. 7:00 am. Class today was beginning at 9, and I figured now was as good a time as any to start the day.

“Olivia?” I said softly, lightly touching her shoulder. She didn’t move. “Hey, we have to wake up now.” I shook her gently. It was our first day of the new semester and I was happy we would be walking in together.

Olivia’s brown eyes flew open, like when you see a killer regain consciousness in a horror movie. She turned and looked at me, then squinted. She lifted up her head and began scanning the room with her tired eyes. When she was finished, she scrunched up her face and let out a grunt. “Sorry, I didn’t know where I was for a second,” she uttered through a hoarse voice.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep in your bed last night,” I said, suddenly feeling guilty. “I closed my eyes for a second and the next thing I knew it was morning.”

“Don’t worry about it”, she yawned. “What time is it anyway?”

“Seven,” I said, and then immediately yawned myself. “We have plenty of time.”

Olivia let out another grunt and then threw the covers off her body and on to my face.

“Okay, okay,” she mumbled, coming to life. Olivia stood up and did a full-body stretch. She shook her head around, making her brown hair fly back and forth. “I’ll put on the coffee and then we can walk over to school.”

“Oh, joy”, I muttered, dramatically kicking off the blanket.

We made our way into the small kitchen area and I plopped down on a child-sized chair that accompanied a bistro table in the corner of her living room. Or maybe it was her kitchen. They kind of blended into one room. Olivia grabbed the electric kettle and filled it with tap water.

“Don’t forget about your apartment viewings later at 4 o’clock,” she said, hitting the power button on the kettle.

“I won’t”, I muttered, followed by another yawn. “Thanks, mom.”

“So last night”, she started, grabbing two matching mugs from the overhead cabinet. “I actually thought about something you could do for money. You know, for rent and food. All of that good stuff.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“When I was on the phone with Alex, he mentioned that the school is offering a few new Work Study programs for students who need help paying for tuition this year. The pay isn’t amazing, but you’d get research experience that you could put on your résumé. You’d definitely qualify, considering you have no job and you’re basically homeless.”

“Who knew my homelessness could help further my academic career?” I said, getting up to grab the skim milk from the fridge. “Did he say how I go about applying for this gig?”

Olivia poured a generous amount of milk into her coffee, leaving any sugar substitutions out of it. “He gave me the name of the professor in charge. It’s Dr. Greenfield. I’ll text you his email address.”

“Dr. Greenfield, eh?” I sipped my coffee. “Never heard of him.”

“Apparently he’s new. Flown in fresh from Charlotte.”

“Well, thank you, Olivia. That’s actually really helpful. And, hey, thank Alex for me too.”

“You can thank him yourself today in Advanced Social Psychology,” she smiled. “Which Dr. Greenfield is teaching and I believe starts in a little over an hour, so we should probably get a move on.”

I looked down at my coffee and slowly swirled the spoon around. There was one question that had been plaguing me since I got off the phone with Cassandra last night. Something I had been putting off talking about. Something I was going to find the answer out to soon enough.

“Hey, Olivia?” I asked, my voice cracking slightly. “Do you know if Michael is in this class?”




Chapter 8 (#ulink_d9a0f808-7062-50d7-9701-b9502796fead)

Olivia (#ulink_d9a0f808-7062-50d7-9701-b9502796fead)


“Here we go, again,” Amalia stood with her arms across her chest and slowly scanned the room.

The old, rustic-looking classroom was packed to the brim with students. They appeared to be scrambling to say hello to each other after only a short three months apart. Everyone was broken up into their respective cliques. There were the hipsters, the wannabe Blair Waldorf’s, the Adderall addicts, the annoying people who always began their emails with “I hope this email finds you well!” and the 4.0’s, who barely conversed with anyone who couldn’t further their academic achievement.

Needless to say, there was a lot of energy in the air.

Amalia clutched her purse close to her chest and kept her blonde head down. Her jaw was tight and her shoulders were slouched. She was wearing silver sandals, skinny jeans, a low-cut light- blue tank top, and a fitted black blazer. She looked half professional, and half Weekend at Bernie’s. I noticed her lagging behind and I dragged her down the ramp of the exact same auditorium-sized classroom we had all colonized last year.

“Hey, I think I see Alex,” she said, pointing to a small group of people in the front of the classroom.

I craned my neck toward the front of the room and spotted him. He was wearing the new Burberry polo shirt I had got him as a surprise gift last week. I smiled widely and he caught my eye. Since Amalia had been staying with me the past few days, I barely had an opportunity to see him. Alex patted the guy he was talking to on the back and made his way over to us.

“Hey darlin’.” He bent down and kissed me on the forehead. Then on the lips. “You look great today.”

“Hey, yourself,” I said through a wide grin. I pulled him in for a hug and took the opportunity to breathe deeply through my nose, silently losing myself in a warm embrace of what smelled like cedar wood and rich nutmeg. When it was over, I turned to Amalia, who was currently engaged in an eye roll.

“Hastings, good to see you,” Alex said, with as much diplomacy as he could muster.

Amalia smiled tightly. Her red lip-gloss stretched perfectly over her lips.

I gave Amalia my best “be nice” look.

“How are you?” she asked, still smiling.

“I’m great!” he said, “Now don’t just stand there, give me a hug.”

Amalia’s small frame disappeared next to Alex as he pulled her in for an awkward hug. She recoiled slightly, but he didn’t let go for a few seconds. I tried not to laugh.

“This class is packed,” I said, trying to break the tension. I looked around and spotted my friend Angela. We hit it off last year, but she was someone I had only one class with and I hadn’t gotten an opportunity to introduce her to anyone else yet. I noticed she was talking to some guy, but still decided to call her name out from halfway across the room.

“Hey, Angie!” I waved at her and smiled brightly.

She picked her head up and looked around the room for a minute. Realizing it was me calling her, she grabbed the guy she was talking to and made a beeline over to us. As she came closer I could see she was wearing a long, light-pink dress that looked great on her dark skin, her dark- brown hair hung straight down to the middle of her back, and she finished her look off with lots of long gold necklaces and chunky bracelets. The guy walking next to her was wearing suede loafers, dark jeans, and a blue-striped, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His head was down in a book, most likely getting a head start with the reading for this class. I couldn’t tell who she was with; all I could make out was his brown hair.

“Who’s that girl?” Amalia asked, craning her neck to get a better look.

“Angela Edwards,” I explained. “She was in my Readings in Behavioral Sciences class last year. She’s really nice, you’ll like her.”

I smiled and reached out for Alex’s hand. As I did, he pulled me in closer to whisper something in my ear.

“Did you know Angela and Michael have been hanging out?” he whispered.

Before I could answer him, I turned to Amalia, who had realized a few seconds before I did that the guy Angie was walking over with was none other than Michael Rathbourne. Amalia’s face froze. Her eyes were slightly widened and her mouth was tightly shut. She looked around the room for a few seconds, as if she was deciding what she should do. After a hard look at the exit doors, she finally settled for taking a small step back and then looking down at her feet.

“Guess that answers your question,” she muttered to the floor.

I had no idea what Amalia was going to do next. Sure, last year she had pined for Michael in an annoying and slightly self-destructive way. But to her credit, he did give her an evasive “stay here with me and help me figure things out” offer right before she left for Brazil, which she rightfully turned down. I was proud of her for that one. All I could hope for her was that the time she spent away helped to shed some light on what Michael really was. Selfish.

“Hey, Olivia!” Angie said, pulling me in for a hug. “Do you know my friend, Michael?” Her hazel eyes sparkled.

Amalia winced. But only subtly.

“Excuse me? Your friend Michael?” Alex said with a grin. “How’s it going, man?” He turned to Michael and patted him on the back.

“It’s going well, Alex”, he said, returning Alex’s pat on the back with one of his own. “Yourself?”

“So, I take it by all of the hugging, that you guys know each other?” Angie laughed. She tossed back her long, dark-brown hair and smiled widely, flashing her perfectly straight teeth.

“We all had classes together last year,” Amalia finally spoke. Michael looked straight at Amalia, but her eyes were fixed on Angela. “What did you say your name was? Andrea?”

“Angela,” she said warmly, unaware of Amalia’s little dig at her by pretending to forget her name. “But you can just call me Angie.” She stuck out her right hand and waited for Amalia to return the gesture.

“I’m Amalia,” she said through a tight jaw. Her expression was completely empty. She shook hands with Angela and then returned her arms to their guarded position.

“So, Amalia,” Michael started. “How’ve you been?” He bent down a bit to fix his eyes on Amalia’s face. It felt like an intimate exchange, but she appeared indifferent to his warm welcome.

Alex and I exchanged a quick glance and he lightly squeezed my hand. I had to admit, watching them interact kind of made me wish I had a bowl of popcorn in front of me.

Amalia smiled and stood up a little straighter. She held her blonde curls up like a crown on top of her head. “Me? I’m great.”

For a moment, the five of us just stood there, exchanging silent glances. Amalia caught my eye and offered her a small shrug. I noticed most of the students had found seats by this point and that we were on display for the whole room to watch. I made a mental note to ask Alex what he thought was going on in Michael’s head when we went out to dinner later.

“Well, anyway, we should all definitely get drinks sometime after class,” Angela said, breaking the silence. “Amalia, do you like tequila?”

Amalia raised an eyebrow just as a loud, masculine, southern-style voice boomed through the old transistor-sounding speakers.

“Excuse me, you five in the front of the room?” His voice was smooth and commanding, the sound of it made me shudder. I caught eyes with Amalia, who also appeared nervous. “Please do be so kind as to find your seats. Now.”

He was older than most of our other professors had been. He had to be in his early sixties. He was wearing a navy-blue-colored suit, unusually over-dressed for the faculty at NYU. Most just put on nice pants and a button-down. His brown hair was thinning more than a little, but he still held his head up with an intimidating air of confidence.

I reached for Alex’s hand and led him to a row of empty seats in the back of the classroom. Amalia, Michael, and Angela numbly followed.

“Who is that?” Michael whispered to us. “I thought Dr. Browning was teaching Social Psych.”

“Me too,” Angela whispered back.

One by one we fell into position in the furthest row back, with Alex to my right and Michael to my left. Leaving Amalia sandwiched in between him and Angela.

“Most of you probably haven’t heard yet, but I will be taking over this class for Dr. Browning,” the professor said, slamming a large, over-stuffed briefcase on the shaky wooden lectern. “He quit last week, just before the syllabi were due. The man is more useless than a screen door on a submarine.”

Alex and I just looked at each other and then slowly reached for our laptops.

“So, there you have it. I’m Professor Greenfield and I just moved to this godforsaken city a few weeks ago. I spent the last twenty years teaching and doing research at UNC-Charlotte, and now it looks like I am here for good.”

I glanced over at Michael, who was nervously fiddling with a pen. It wasn’t like him to show any signs of vulnerability. It wasn’t clear if it was the professor or Amalia’s return who was making him nervous.

“That’s Dr. Greenfield? The professor you were talking about this morning?” Amalia whispered to me. As soon as she did, the professor shot up and directed his attention to our back row.

“Excuse me, miss?” Dr. Greenfield’s southern drawl landing on the word miss. “Do you have a question?”

“Actually, I do,” Amalia said, shocking us all. Maybe Brazil had done wonders for her self-esteem.

“Well then, stand up so I can hear you,” Greenfield challenged.

Amalia and I exchanged glances. Alex kept his head down and Angela pretended to be engrossed with whatever she was writing in her notebook.

“Go ahead, you’ll be fine,” Michael whispered to her.

“I am fine,” she shot back.

She stood up, and I half expected her to pull a microphone out of her purse. But instead she stood there immobile as over fifty pairs of eyes turned around in their seats to watch her. Finally, she swallowed hard enough for us to hear and spoke.

“I heard you were running a work-study program and that you are looking for research assistants. Is that true?”

The entire room spun back around, eager to hear the professor’s response. Dr. Greenfield just smiled, the kind of smile where you can’t really tell if the person is happy or has just figured out a marvelous way to spend the next few months torturing you. He pulled out his chair, which made a scratching sound as it dragged across the old hardwood floors, and slowly lowered himself down.

“You want to be part of my research team?” he smirked.

“I do,” Amalia said, unwavering. “I think it’s a great opportunity.”

I heard a few students whispering to themselves. I couldn’t really make out what anyone was saying. Just a few select words like stipend, difficult, and competitive.

“Well, then, you can email me tonight and we can set up a time for you to be interviewed,” he said calmly, sitting back down in his chair. “That goes for all of you. Anyone who thinks they have what it takes to work with me for the next year or two can email me after class and schedule an interview. The program will begin next semester, and if you are accepted you will have to take the second half of this course. Which is also taught by me.” He cracked his knuckles and gave us all a nod. “Oh, and I’m only picking three of you.”

Amalia sunk back down in her chair. Alex gave my hand a little squeeze and whispered in my ear, “You should set up an interview.”

I whispered back, “Maybe I will.”

“One more thing,” Dr. Greenfield added, standing back up again. “This research position will be paid through work study, which means you have to treat this as a job. The last research assistant I had didn’t treat it that way. He was slower than molasses going uphill in January, so I fired him. Don’t make me fire you. It also means you need to first find out if you even qualify for work study. Don’t schedule an interview until you find out whether or not you qualify.”

I made out about every other word of Dr. Greenfield’s speech, then turned to Amalia and whispered, “We’ll sign up together.”

She didn’t say a word. She just sat in silence and nodded over and over again.

“Now if y’all don’t mind, I’d like to start my class,” Greenfield said, pulling out a large textbook from his briefcase. “Welcome to your second year of graduate school. Only one more year to go. Let’s hope you all make it. As I’ve already said, I’m Dr. Greenfield and this is Advanced Social Psychology. This class will begin promptly every Monday morning at 9 am and it will end at 11. It will not be easy. The word Social does not automatically imply that we will be watching Girl, Interrupted and then writing an eight-page paper on how it made us feel. You will work hard, and your work will be handed in on time. If you can’t do this then by all means, please leave.”

No one dared move.





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