Книга - You’ll Find Me in Manhattan

You’ll Find Me in Manhattan
Jill Knapp


Searching for a new Carrie Bradshaw who's on the hunt for her very own Mr. Darcy? You will want to curl up with What Happens To Men When They Move To Manhattan and fall in love all over again. With men, Manhattan and yourself. – Shiri Appleby, ActressThe third and final book in Jill Knapp’s series about love and romance in New York City. Follow Amalia Hastings as she dates her way around the city that never sleeps…Amalia and Olivia have found themselves at a crossroads. Their last year in their Master's program at NYU is proving to be a trying one, and on top of that, Olivia has to balance planning a wedding AND managing the unwanted input of her estranged mother – who doesn’t even like her fiancé!Meanwhile, Amalia finds herself feeling more lost than ever as graduation approaches and her classmates begin making plans for next year. Still torn between Michael and Hayden, she finally makes a decision – but one that that will either box her in, leaving her always wanting more out of life, or finally breaking free to find the happiness and stability she's always needed.









You'll Find Me in Manhattan


JILL KNAPP






A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

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


HarperImpulse an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers

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

First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015

Copyright © Jill Knapp 2015

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Cover layout design © HarperColl‌insPublishers Ltd 2015

Cover design by HarperColl‌insPublishers Ltd

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.

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and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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Ebook Edition © September 2015 ISBN: 9780007594696

Version 2015-09-25


For everyone who believes in soul-mates, true love, and forever.


He adored New York City. He idolized it all out of proportion…he romanticized it all out of proportion. Yes. To him, no matter what the season was, this was still a town that existed in black and white…

Woody Allen


Contents

Cover (#u78124d63-21cc-540e-9b94-db3df2499e50)

Title Page (#u1762d751-5db1-5816-9a24-0611ffeb3655)

Copyright (#u54fdbda8-1e07-5f3d-a43c-85f5db5261a5)

Dedication (#u10d22482-e79b-59f9-ba12-67486a2fb0a5)

Prologue (#u387e593e-fcd0-53f5-b722-0948396d87cc)

One – Amalia (#u02161e58-138d-54ba-b69b-2bf7c0579b3f)

Two – Olivia (#u92c592b6-3517-5362-9d4e-3c5b842eacd2)

Three – Amalia (#uafcf892e-ad62-5a49-86c0-117a16e5eeae)

Four – Olivia (#uba129caf-c94f-5ec5-b731-7c47e5327fe6)



Five – Amalia (#u6b555107-628c-583d-a46f-c0dc70ac2525)



Six – Olivia (#ufc8632af-aa11-5470-ac96-e5200a8c6408)



Seven – Amalia (#u41c21133-d0ad-52ac-b061-5f99df0b6550)



Eight – Olivia (#uae3b93d1-213a-5cf6-ad8c-23c86cecfa8e)



Nine – Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Ten- Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Eleven – Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Twelve – Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Thirteen – Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Fourteen – Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Fifteen – Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Sixteen – Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Seventeen – Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Eighteen – Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Nineteen – Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Twenty – Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Twenty – Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Twenty-one – Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Twenty-two – Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Twenty-three – Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Twenty-four – Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Twenty-Five – Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Twenty-six – Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Twenty-Seven – Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Twenty-eight – Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Thirty – Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Thirty-one – Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Thirty-two – Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Thirty-three – Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Thirty-four – Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Thirty-five – Olivia (#litres_trial_promo)



Thirty-six – Amalia (#litres_trial_promo)



Acknowledgements (#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)




Prologue (#uad08a62a-4c9d-5d44-8ecc-f9b7d07b921c)


“Amalia?” he muttered my name as usual, never to be said with full strength. But something was different this time. He wasn’t using the familiar judgmental tone I had become accustomed to.

“At the end of it all, it’s just you you’re left with,” he continued. “Some people say life is short, and there’s no denying that.” He glanced down at the picture on his desk for a moment, taking a deep breath in the process. “But life is also long.” He looked up from the photo, and his eyebrows popped up like two arrows on his forehead. “Too long to choose a path that will lead you nowhere. Much too long not to follow your heart.”

As he took a step closer to me, I could feel tears forming in the back of my eyes. But it didn’t matter. I was stronger now. But still not strong enough to know what to say.

“I wish I had known sooner,” he muttered in a near-whisper. “But you still have time. You have a choice.”

Didn’t I always? But when have I chosen wisely? I could feel the side of my lip pulling my face into a grimace. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Don’t choose poorly,” he shook his head. If I looked close enough, I could see the sparkle of tears beginning to form in his brown eyes.

I turned my head away and reached for the door, but it was no use. His words had already penetrated something deep inside me. Perhaps it was something I had known all along.

I could almost hear Autumn’s voice gloating in my head.

In psychology this is referred to as a “breakthrough.”




One – Amalia (#uad08a62a-4c9d-5d44-8ecc-f9b7d07b921c)


“Amalia, wait!” Hayden called out from behind me. I could hear his voice cracking with distress beneath each syllable.

Despite his unease, probably brought on by chasing me in a foot pursuit, he was handling himself pretty well. Unlike me, his breath seemed perfectly in sync. I guess that’s the difference between a well-toned, six-foot-something guy running, and a five-foot five-inch girl who hasn’t been to the gym since 2010. I took a small moment to commend myself on not being a smoker and wondered how Olivia would he holding up in the exact same situation.

Although something told me Olivia wouldn’t be running through the crowded streets of midtown to get away from Alex. Or maybe she would, she did run away during the NYU dinner and that was in the financial district. Come to think of it, I never asked her why she did that. I assumed it was because of something Alex had done, or said, to her.

That seemed like a lifetime ago.

Not really paying attention to where I was headed, I somehow managed to run, in high heels no less, right into the middle of the most heavily populated area in Manhattan. Times Square.

Jackpot.

It was mean, I know. But he was following me, and I had to lead him somewhere he wouldn’t be able to catch up with me. I had to do something harsh, something drastic.

I had to get him to hate me.

Bustles of children with their parents zipped around me as the giant flashing billboards with advertisements for Broadway shows suddenly distracted me and had me wondering if I, in fact, would somehow get trapped in one of these novelty stores for the next two hours. Or, at least, until Hayden stopped chasing me.

“Amalia!” he puffed out. “Please!” Traces of panic and panting tickled his voice.

He was getting closer. I picked up the pace and accidentally collided with a street artist making caricatures of a neighboring couple. I slowed my speed to regain my footing, all the while observing their unspoken comfort with one another. Even with me literally crashing through their afternoon activities, they laughed it off and held hands. I mumbled that I was sorry and I shook my head, while tears threatened to spill out of my already puffy eyes.

I dodged past yet another crowd of people dressed warmly in heavy down coats, laughing, ignoring the punishing cold of February in the city. My favorite magenta-colored wool scarf had flown off my neck a few blocks back. But as cold as it was, I was drenched in sweat from my sprint. Finally, I stopped running and ducked behind the large red staircase pavilion: a hideous eyesore in Times Square that opened in 2008. I couldn’t believe how thankful I was to see it right at this very moment. The giant bleacher-like structure allowed tourists to have a seat and take in the scenery. But right now, I wanted to let it all out. Force it all out. Everything I was feeling. I ducked further down, my skinny jeans stretching in all the wrong places as I uncomfortably made myself smaller. I took a deep breath, which sounded somewhere in between a gasp and a sob, and pressed the palms of my hands into my eyes. I knew I seemed like a crazy person, but better he thought that than continued to see me as perfect.

Perfect. The word still echoed with me. The last real conversation we had before I told him I was choosing Michael. The last conversation before Michael’s deadline. After today, Hayden would surely never feel that way about me again. But wasn’t that what I wanted?

My palms were wet and covered in smeared mascara. I wiped them on my dark wash jeans, not caring about any make-up stains that might ensue in the process. I knew I looked borderline homeless, or maybe like a mental patient who had escaped from a nearby hospital. But right now I was really grateful that I was in New York City. You could have yourself convinced that you were the craziest person this side of the Hudson River, but some loon was always nearby, challenging you for the title.

I took a couple of more deep breaths, my chest rising and falling so hard I had to unzip my puffy down jacket. I gently pressed my fingertips into the pulse point in my neck and willed my heart to slow down. A beat later, my phone buzzed in my purse. I jumped from anxiety and then moved my hand from my neck to my chest. I really needed to calm down. Slowly, I reached into my bag for my phone, handling it like it was a bomb about to explode. Hayden’s name lit up on the screen in the form of a text message. I hesitantly unlocked my phone, bracing myself for the inevitable flash of anger. A message charged with hate and disdain for me.

But it wasn’t. And somehow that made it even worse.

“Amalia – I don’t understand, but I guess I don’t need to. You chose someone else and I have to respect that. Don’t worry, I won’t chase you anymore. But I can’t promise I’ll stop loving you.”

H

I glanced down at the ground for a moment before slowly tucking the phone back into my purse. A chilling breeze blew through my disheveled hair, and, just like that, I was freezing again. Still unable to move, I just sat on the ground of Times Square for a few more seconds. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t blink, couldn’t process a single thing.

Then I screamed. I don’t think anyone heard me, it’s always so loud in that part of the city, but I still screamed. I screamed and cried, and screamed some more. I screamed so loudly and for so long, that my voice felt and sounded metallic when I finished.

I had no idea how much time passed, but when my legs finally felt strong enough to move I walked up to the corner of 7


avenue and hailed a cab back to my neighborhood, Murray Hill. I numbly stared out the window the entire car ride and gazed at everyone mindlessly walking around. Scurrying along at lightning speed to get to their next meeting or to their lunch plans, or nowhere at all. Just trained like animals to rush through their life out of desperate fear that might miss something important.

That was the first time I really allowed myself to feel it. The first time I truly thought: I have to get out of New York.




Two – Olivia (#uad08a62a-4c9d-5d44-8ecc-f9b7d07b921c)


Four months later

“I don’t know how I feel about this one,” I smoothed the silky bodice with my right hand, while trying to wrap the alarmingly long crystallized train in my left. “It’s a bit too much dress for me.”

The room was cold and I shivered while standing in the gown. Although it was only the end of May, the manager of this establishment had the air-conditioning on the highest possible setting. Which made it pretty darn uncomfortable to stand in a sleeveless dress. If only to make this afternoon with my mother more pleasant.

As soon as I caught Amalia’s eye, she grimaced. I could tell from that one look that she completely agreed. The train had to be somewhere near four feet long. Too long even to just take pictures in! I didn’t even want to check the price tag. Then my eyes fell on to my mother, who was already making her way over to me.

“Well, darling, it is your wedding day,” she spoke in a stern voice through a tight, fake smile. She tucked a piece of her short brown hair behind her ear and looked me square in the eyes. “When else will you get to dress up like a princess?” She crossed her arms in front of her, challenging me. I had no idea why she cared so much.

I lowered my eyebrows and shook my head. I didn’t really feel like that was entirely the point of finding the right wedding dress. I was standing on a small podium in front of a giant mirror with two supporting mirrors on each side, allowing me to see this giant, glitter-covered cupcake from every angle. I hadn’t even booked the venue for my nuptials yet, but my mother had insisted that we grab the first appointment we could get at Wedding Atelier on Madison Avenue. Apparently, the average bridal gown called for three alterations, taking anywhere from three weeks to three months in between visits. I made a mental note to really watch my weight during this next year. You can always take the dress in, but you certainly can’t add more material.

I still couldn’t believe I would be getting married and graduating from my Master’s program in the same year. A smile tugged on my mouth as I remembered Alex’s perfect proposal to me on New Year’s Eve. But just as quick as it brushed my lips, the smile faded and the anxiety of school nestled its way back into my chest. I was hoping that working with Dr. Greenfield would help prepare me for what I was going to do after graduation. Or at the very least, guarantee one letter of recommendation. I had narrowed down the application process to three Ph.D. programs, all in New York. I tried to talk to my mom about how overwhelmed I felt, but instead of lending an ear, she convinced me to get the wedding planning out of the way so I could focus on school when it was all sorted out. I could tell she was much more interested in my wedding than my career path. She finally gave me enough anxiety on the matter that I caved and reluctantly agreed to let her come with me. I played the “maid of honor card,” asking Amalia to come along as a buffer.

“I understand it’s my wedding day,” I emphasized the word my. “I just don’t think this is the right dress for me. I want something a little less,” I paused, searching for the right word. “Overwhelming.”

I looked to Amalia for help, and with the smallest nod I knew she completely understood what I was talking about. She walked over to the sales associate that had been helping us and whispered something in her ear. I wondered if she was trying to come up with a plan to have my mother kicked out of the store.

My mother let out an exaggerated sigh and downed the rest of her complimentary champagne. She then turned to a different sales associate and gently shook her empty champagne flute, indicating that she’d like a top-off. I shook my head and wished my dad could be here instead of her, but she had insisted this was a “woman thing,” and wouldn’t have it any other way.

A beat later, Amalia and a dark-haired sales associate came strutting over to us holding a rack of more suitable and demure wedding gowns. I felt a smile tug on the side of my lips, while my mother’s morphed into a purse.

“That one,” Amalia pointed to lace-covered gown and the sales associate quickly held it up and smiled, patiently waiting for my approval. I eyed the gown. It was nothing short of magnificent. There were slim, tank-like sleeves that were completely made of Chantilly lace, the neckline fell into a sweetheart style, but not too plunging. The rest of the gown was silk with an overlay tastefully covered in the same lace as the sleeves, and the train was even a manageable length.

“May I see the back of the dress?” I took a step off the podium and walked closer to the gown.

The back of the dress was low-cut. Stylish with a hint of sexy. I wouldn’t be able to wear a bra with the gown, but most brides had one sewn in anyway. From the waist down to the beginning of the train were about thirty satin-covered buttons. I put my hand on my chest, unable to speak for a moment. I felt a small stream of tears flow into my eyes as I imagined marrying Alex in that dress, and didn’t even try to stop them from coming out. I hadn’t put on any make-up out of fear that I’d somehow manage to smudge some on the dresses and owe fifteen thousand dollars in gowns.

“I’d like to try that on,” I whispered through a sniff, feeling a slight rush of excitement. Amalia winked and smiled back. “Can you come into the dressing room with me and help me with the buttons?”

Amalia touched her fingertip to her lips, pretending to contemplate this task. “I do believe that is a job for the maid of honor,” she pretended to brush some dust off her shoulders and laughed.

The red-headed sales associate with the champagne bottle came back to fill up my mother’s glass. She slowly sat back down on the plush couch and crossed her legs. “I’m not sure how that will look, but by all means try it on. We haven’t anything better to do today.” She checked her Movado watch and then looked back up at me.

I pressed my mouth into a tight-lipped smile, growing more impatient with her callousness. “Oh, if I’m keeping you, Mother, please don’t feel obligated to stay.” Before I could gauge her reaction, Amalia grabbed the long train of the sparkle disaster I was still wearing and motioned for me to follow her into the dressing room.

Once we were alone, I let out a small grunt. This was supposed to be a wonderful moment, and my mother was nearly ruining it.

“You’re mom’s kind of a handful,” Amalia muttered with wide eyes. Her phone buzzed in her jean pocket, but she ignored it.

“Do you need to get that?” I answered as she helped me out of the first dress. I took a step back and admired the perfect gown I was about to try on and allowed myself to do a little dance in my bra and underwear.

Amalia laughed. “Nice moves. But you should save it for your honeymoon. And, no, I don’t need to get it, it’s probably Michael. He knows I’m with you, maid-of-honor duties and all. I’m having dinner with him later.”

“So this is really happening, then?” I asked as I held my arms over my head so she could help me into the dress. “You and Michael are officially dating?”

Amalia stood on the tiny stool in the dressing room and helped pull the gown over my head, after which she motioned for me to turn around so she could get started on the exuberant amount of buttons.

“Leave it the girl in the wedding gown to ask me if Michael and I were really happening!” she rolled her eyes. “I think your wedding is a much bigger deal than me and Michael going out to dinner.”

“It’s a big deal!” I teased. “While I may be getting married at the age of twenty-five, I still find the idea of you and Michael having a genuine relationship more shocking.”

“Well, don’t die of shock just yet,” she started. “We were taking things very slowly the past few months. Only seeing each other once a week, if that. Now we are up to twice a week, so it’s a bit of an improvement. We didn’t want to dive right into anything, especially after the heartbreak I put Hayden through.”

I nodded, holding the top of the dress up in my hands as she continued to button. “You mean, after you literally ran away from him?”

“Yeah, I’d prefer not to relive that brief act of insanity,” she looked down at the floor for a moment, her eyes threatening to tear. I wondered if any part of her still had feelings for Hayden. Or if she possibly loved him and just couldn’t admit it to herself. I put a hand on her shoulder and she shook her head while offering me a small laugh. She smoothed out her black, cable-knit sweater and held her head up higher. “Anyway, won’t you be twenty-six by the time you tie the knot? That’s not too young. Plenty of people get married when they’re even younger than that. Just not here in New York.”

“I guess not,” I shrugged. “I wonder what it’s like out there in the real world.” I tried to imagine getting married in my home town in Rhode Island, and how different it would be. I would most likely be having an outdoor wedding, not in a five-star hotel.

“You mean outside of New York?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” I played with my hair, twisting it around in my fingers. “I’ll bet it’s so much easier.”

“What’s easier?” she chuckled while cocking her head to the side.

“Everything,” I mumbled. I let go of my hair and let out a sigh. “It’s too bad I love living here too much to ever find out. I wouldn’t even consider applying for doctoral programs outside of a thirty-mile radius.”

Amalia nodded and then diverted her eyes to the ceiling. She offered me a small smile. I could tell she wanted me to be happier. I was standing in a bridal boutique surrounded by champagne and wedding gowns. But my mother’s presence weighed on me too much to truly enjoy the moment.

“But back to Michael,” she began with a heavy breath. “More than enough time has passed and he and I are ready to give this a real shot. Which means our first nice dinner together tonight at Café Grazie,” I could hear the smile in her voice without even turning around. “Now I just have to figure out what to wear.”

The more I thought about the idea of her and Michael dating, the more I disliked it. I knew I had to be a good friend and keep my mouth shut. Especially if I wanted her to continue helping me with my wedding-planning. Coyly, I kept the conversation about him going to hide my disdain.

“Oh, well maybe we can find you something here! I’m envisioning something in the magenta family,” I shot her a look.

“That’s a great idea!” she answered, with mock enthusiasm. “But no tacky bridesmaid dress. I’m going to go all-out! When he shows up, I’ll just open the door to my apartment in a wedding gown.” She cleared her throat and then starting talking in a robotic voice. “Michael, marry me. Beep.”

“And then I will officially know two people who have literally run away from their significant other,” I shook my head.

“Three if you count yourself, Miss NYU alumni mixer.”

“Wow, you’re right,” I twisted my neck around to look at her. “What’s wrong with us?”

“Living in New York City has ensorcelled us into becoming detached automatons all the while sundering us from the life we used to live. In short, we no longer act like normal people,” she uttered flatly.

“Amen to that.” I could feel Amalia on my back, struggling with each button. I made a mental note to leave a lot of extra time to put on this dress on the day of the wedding. She was taking forever and I was getting anxious. There were no mirrors in the dressing room, so I had no idea how I looked until I was able to step outside.

“Finished!” Amalia announced. “Turn around. Let me get a look at you.”

I slowly turned around and let out a sound that sounded somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “So?” I smoothed the dress down over my legs, “How does it look?”

“Immaculate,” she said softly. “Alex is going to love it.” She pulled me in for a hug and whispered in my ear, “Olivia, listen to me. Don’t let your mother ruin this for you. You only get to do this once. If you’re lucky, at least.” She backed away, still holding onto my shoulders, and smiled warmly.

I felt tears threaten to pour out behind my eyes. She really was a great friend and here I was bashing the guy she liked, in my mind.

“Okay, missy. Now let’s get out there so you can see how incredible you look.”

The gown’s train was short enough that I didn’t need her to hold it behind me. I made my way out of the dressing room and walked into the main room with the podium. I carefully slid on the two-inch heels I had brought with me, to get an idea of how the dress would look with my wedding shoes on, and the nice brunette sales associate, whose name-tag read Jenna, offered me a veil. It was elegant with just a touch of lace. No glitter of any kind. I bent down so she could fasten it to my hair.

I took a deep breath and finally turned around to face the mirrors. I hardly recognized myself as I brought my hands to cover my mouth. The whiteness of the sheer veil created a deep contrast with my brown hair. The dress fit like a dream. Apart from the length, it would hardly need any alteration at all. My eyes welled with tears and I allowed myself to envision walking down the aisle, holding a bouquet of deep- pink peonies, my father on my arm, as I slowly made my way to Alex, who always looked amazing.

I gently held onto the bottom of my dress and turned to face my mother, who was looking at me disapprovingly. I braced myself for what she was about to say. “What do you think, Mom?” I asked in a small voice.

She stood up and took a step back, taking the dress in. “Honestly? I think it’s a bit bland, Olivia.” My mother grimaced, her green eyes glazing over in a look that resembled sheer boredom.

“I happen to think that it’s lovely,” Amalia shot back at her. I pushed out a heavy breath. Leave it to Amalia to always speak her mind, no matter who was on the receiving end of it. I grinned widely and raised my eyes brows in triumph. Turning back to the mirror I stood up a little straighter, remembering Amalia’s words in the dressing room. This dress was the one, just like Alex was the one. It was settled. This was the gown I was getting.

“Alright, then,” I called over my shoulder to Jenna. “I’ll have this one”

A few moments later, three other sales associates came darting over with small bells and began ringing them. A few of the other patrons in the store began to clap and I couldn’t stop my face from turning at least three different shades of red. Amalia and I were instantly handed flutes of champagne, which we promptly clinked together. I took a small sip, careful not to spill any on the dress.

“To my friend, Olivia,” Amalia cheered loudly. I laughed nervously and she grabbed my hand and pulled it up as I received the applause. To be fair, the associates were probably happier that I was spending two thousand dollars in their store than the fact that I had found the dress of my dreams.

I looked over to my mother one last time. Her attention was currently being held by her cell phone. I felt a pang of sadness. Even with all of the support around me, not having my mother’s approval was painful. I shook my head and took another sip of my champagne, trying to ignore her callousness. She looked up at me one last time, a strange look in her eye.

For a moment there, it felt like pity.

Amalia turned to me and gave me a tight-lipped look that conveyed she had to leave.

“Go!” I laughed. “Have fun on your date with Michael and I’ll see you on Monday.”

Amalia rolled her eyes. “Right, for work-study with Dr. Pain In the Ass.” She scratched her head.

“We have summer in a week,” I offered. “It’s already the last week of May.”

“Don’t you know?” she scrunched her face. “I’m working for him all summer,” she grunted, while synchronously rolling her blue eyes. She always did have a flare for dramatics. “I don’t have much of a choice. I really need the money. Oh well.”

I offered her a small sympathetic smile and she made a beeline for the door. Even through the annoyance of having to work with Dr. Greenfield, her spirits were still high because of Michael. I wanted to be happy for her, but if it was up to me, I would have preferred her to continue seeing Hayden.

I turned and gave my dress a final once-over. It really was gorgeous, just like my fiancé. I couldn’t ask for more. Screw everyone else! I was marrying the love of my life. Now I just needed to set a date.




Three – Amalia (#uad08a62a-4c9d-5d44-8ecc-f9b7d07b921c)


As I pulled my jacket tighter around my chest on this particularly chilly May evening, I had a thought. Dating in New York City is not like dating in the rest of America. Or at least, how I imagine it is from the movies and television shows I’ve watched. If you live in, say, Virginia, and you are going on a date with a guy, he will most likely drive to your house, ring your door bell, and then walk you to his car, where he will open the passenger door for you and tell you how pretty you look. You’ll smile as he closes the door, careful not to accidentally hit you with it, and you use the two seconds that it takes him to walk from one side of the car to the other to subtly run your fingers over your hair, because, man, that walk down the driveway really could have messed it up. Then the two of you will drive off to your destination, most likely The Cheesecake Factory, chatting the whole way there about what kind of music you like to listen to while you drive, and whether or not you still use your GPS to get to the mall.

When you live in Manhattan it’s a little different. For one, no one is picking you up. Unless you live right near each other, which almost never happens, in which case you’ll do one of the following together, you are responsible for your own transportation to and from the location that he most likely chose. So what are your choices? There are really only three options. Unless you have a lot of money to spend on a private car (such as an Uber cab), you are either walking, taking a cab, or taking the subway. All of these choices almost guarantee that you will look nothing like how you did when you left your apartment for this date. If you went down into the grody abyss that is the subway, your make-up has most likely melted off and been replaced with soot. There is no avoiding this. Even if you are only taking the train for one stop, you will be dirty when you exit the station. Another choice is walking. This can be nice if your date falls on one of the five days out of the whole year when the weather is bearable and you have on very comfortable shoes. But, you’re going on a date, so why would you be wearing comfortable shoes? So the safest choice is probably to take a cab. Just make sure to account for the copious amounts of traffic in the city. For me, my date was at seven o’clock. Coming from Murray Hill I decided to give myself forty-five minutes to get to the Upper East Side to meet Michael for our dinner at Café Grazie.

I sat in the cab for exactly thirty minutes and made it to my destination with fifteen to spare. Now here’s my trick. After being a gross cab for half an hour, I got on my phone and tried to find the closest Sephora to refresh myself before meeting with my date. You figure it’s been over an hour since I last so much as looked in a mirror, so I need to use these fifteen minutes wisely.

As I follow the map on my phone to the store, a text from Michael comes in. I feel a rush of excitement as I click on the message icon.

On my way ;-)

That was all he wrote, but it was enough for my heart to skip a beat. Olivia was right. This was a big deal. Anything Michael and I had ever done before was in secret. Now we were going out to dinner on a bona fide date. I felt a fresh batch of nerves hit me as I entered the store and caught sight of myself in a mirror.

Damn it, New York, why are you so dirty?

I spent exactly ten minutes in there, applying some vanilla-scented cream to my hands, which were dryer than a mouth of sand from ever-present New York wind. Sad to say it, but it still felt like winter to me in April. I then made my way over to the make-up section, where I unashamedly swept a generous amount of forty-dollar blush on my cheekbones. While utilizing the mirror, I ran my fingers through my curls, trying to get them to resemble something less Bride of Frankenstein and more Carrie Bradshaw. I scanned the store, deliberately avoiding eye contact with anyone who worked there, and found the perfume wall. Now for the final touch. I picked up a Marc Jacobs perfume that I had been mulling over buying for some time now, and spritzed a small amount on my wrists.

I breathed a sigh of relief and turned on my heel to leave the store. That’s when I saw her.

Cassandra.

The two of us hadn’t spoken since Olivia’s engagement party nearly six months ago. I watched as she gingerly made her way around the lip-gloss section, picking up two very similar shades of pink and studying them in the light. I wanted to go over to her and say something. I hated that we weren’t speaking. I wanted to tell her I was going on a date with Michael. That I was a mental case who ran away from Hayden. I wanted to tell her about what a bitch Olivia’s mom was being, and how overwhelmed I was with school. And I wanted to know all about what was going on with her too. Who was she dating? How was work going for her? Did she miss me?

I took a step forward and then I stopped myself. I had a tiny fantasy play out in my mind. One where I walk over to her, and she greets me with the same cold indifference she had for the better part of last year. I felt a pang of humiliation just thinking about it, and I had waited too long for a real shot with Michael to let anything put me in a sour mood tonight.

So I did what I had to do. I glided sideways out of the store and walked back the two blocks to the restaurant, where Michael was already waiting for me.

“I’ll have the steak, medium rare,” Michael uttered, squinting at the drinks menu. “And an old-fashioned.” He subtly chewed on his bottom lip, momentarily distracting me.

The waitress smiled at him, her blue eyes lingering on him a little longer than necessary. They caught eyes as he handed her his menu, and he gave her a polite smile. I felt an instant pang of jealousy.

I smoothed my skirt out, careful not to accidentally hit my tights with a fingernail, and cleared my throat in an attempt to get the pretty waitress’s attention. She turned her gaze to me and offered me a fake smile. “And for you, miss?”

“Penne in vodka sauce, with a side of steamed spinach, I beamed back. She could stare at him all she wanted. The fact was, he was out on a date with me. “And I’ll also have a glass of cabernet. Thank you.” I held out my menu with a triumphant smirk.

The waitress collected our menus and darted off to put our orders in. The restaurant was crowded, not unusual for a Saturday night. Michael caught eyes with me and I immediately melted. I wondered if he could hear my breathing get heavier whenever he was around. His dark hair was perfectly in place, and I wondered if he had gotten a haircut just for our date. He reached across the table for my hand, and I slowly slid mine over to his, scared that if I moved too quickly he’d pull it away in jest.

But he didn’t pull away. He held my hand gently as we sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, gently easing into casual conversation.

“How was the wedding-gown search?” he asked, as the waitress dropped off our drinks. “Did Olivia find the dress of her dreams?”

“She did,” I uttered through a wide smile. I must have looked like such a fool, but I didn’t care. Even being here, now, across the table from Michael as he held my hand and asked me about my day, felt so surreal. Like any moment my alarm clock would go off and I’d wake up to find out that this was all just a cruel dream. That he had gotten back together with his ex-girlfriend, Marge, and I had broken things off with Hayden for nothing.

“What does it look like?” he asked, now smiling himself. For our first official date, Michael looked as extraordinary as ever, donning a dark-blue button-down, grey dress slacks, and black patent-leather shoes. I tried to hide a hard swallow as I thought about us going back to his apartment to be alone when dinner was over. I shook my head to clear my thoughts and tried to focus on the question he had asked me.

“What? I’m not telling you what her dress looks like!” I laughed, and then paused to sip my wine.

Michael’s index finger drew small circles over my open palm on the table. Damn it, I’d give away government secrets if he kept that up!

“Why won’t you tell me?” he asked, finally letting go of my grasp to take a sip of his drink. I felt a little disappointed that the touching had stopped.

“Because then you’ll tell Alex and he’ll know what his bride’s wedding gown looks like,” I raised my eyebrows.

“That’s right, babe. Alex and I sit around gossiping about wedding gowns,” he smirked. “Actually tomorrow he and I have plans to sit down and really bang out the roses-versus-peonies debate.”

I blinked a few a times before answering him. “Did you just call me babe?”

“Penne Vodka?” the waitress plopped the bowl down in front of me, the sauce nearly spilling on my blouse. She carefully set Michael’s food down in front of him, once again grinning like a mental patient. This time I ignored her staring and dug straight into my pasta. She walked away, strutting just a bit. Michael didn’t look at her again.

“Question,” I said to Michael, without looking up.

“Answer,” he replied, while cutting his steak.

“Will you be my date to their wedding?” I held my breath the moment the words escaped my lips.

He looked up at me just as he was about to take a bite of his food. I sat for a moment, perfectly still as I awaited his response. It was kind of a hard question to answer, considering Olivia and Alex hadn’t even set a date yet.

He offered me a small smile and said, “Sure.”

I slowly let out my breath as he went back to eating.




Four – Olivia (#uad08a62a-4c9d-5d44-8ecc-f9b7d07b921c)


Another summer came and went in New York City. I could swear they all felt the same. The weekends included walks in Central Park, iced lattes at cafés, and lots of people jogging down the waterfront in Battery Park. This summer was no different. While Amalia worked for Dr. Greenfield all summer long, I feverishly flipped through any wedding magazine I could get my hands on. I also spent a couple of weekends up in Rhode Island visiting my dad. The first time I arrived, he gleefully showed me the engagement announcement in the local newspaper that he had submitted on my behalf. He had copied a picture of Alex and myself from my Facebook page and submitted it along with a small description of us. It wasn’t the picture I would have chosen, but it got the job done. It was so sweet of my dad to do that. My mother, on the other hand, continued her reign of terror while trying to micromanage every detail of my wedding, for which I had yet to set a date. It was getting a little ridiculous, at this point, not having the date set, but Alex and I were so busy traveling back and forth to Rhode Island, and checking out doctoral programs to apply for, that we honestly hadn’t had the time to scope out any venues.

Before I knew it, it was August and school was starting back. The best part of the summer was not having to work for Dr. Greenfield, but Monday morning that would all change. Monday marked the beginning of the end of graduate school. The first day of our final year. All of our doctoral program applications had to be in by February. It seemed a long time away, but I knew the time would fly by. Years seemed to be getting shorter with each passing birthday.

By Thursday morning, I was already in a routine. I was sat at one of the laptops Dr. Greenfield had set up for us in a small computer lab. The room was bleak and depressing. As I worked with the analysis program on the computer that was already making my head spin just ten minutes into me working on it, I knew I had to make a good impression on Dr. Greenfield if I wanted a letter of recommendation to the doctoral programs I would be applying to. I checked the clock on the screen – nine forty-five. Amalia was already fifteen minutes late and I could tell it would easily turn into a theme with her. I rubbed my eyes and tried to concentrate on the work in front of me. With all of the wedding ideas bouncing around my head, concentrating on this work-study program was getting harder and harder to do. At the computer next to me sat August Marek, Dr. Greenfields little pet, with his head down and completely engrossed in the work in front of him. He was the final student picked for Dr. Greenfield’s study, and his grades completely put mine to shame. He had managed to get an A in nearly all of his classes his entire time at NYU, and his key-chain told me he went to Brown for undergrad. I knew we weren’t officially competing against each other, but being a woman already gave me a disadvantage just because there were so many women in the program. If he and I were going to apply for any of the same doctoral programs, the admissions office would choose him over me in a heartbeat.

A moment later, Amalia came bursting through the door, her purse falling off her shoulder as the door shut loudly behind her. She was wearing her typical jeans and sneakers, but looked a little classier than usual with a cream-colored sweater with rhinestone details around the collar. She had a small, Coach purse on her right shoulder and a take-away cup of coffee in her left hand. Dr. Greenfield and I looked up at her disturbance. Unflappable, August never took his eyes off the computer screen. Amalia opened her mouth to speak, but I shot her a look and then motioned to the empty chair next to mine.

“Miss Hastings,” Dr. Greenfield said in a tight voice. “What did I tell you over the summer about showing up late for work?” His facial expression was a frightening one. For a brief moment I wondered what it would have been like to grow up in a household with that kind of man for a father. So strict and unrelenting.

“I’m really sorry, professor,” she scrambled to get to her seat and turn her computer on. “I was coming from midtown, and the R train was running late.” She placed the coffee down on the desk and I held my breath as I imagined her knocking it over. Thankfully she didn’t.

Dr. Greenfield raised a hand, indicating her to stop speaking. “I’m not interested in your excuses. You either get here in time from here on out, or I will find someone else to take your position. Remember what I said last year? Don’t make me fire you.” He shook his head in disapproval. “We are as busy as a cat on a hot tin roof over here.”

Amalia pursed her lips and August actually raised a puzzled eyebrow at Dr. Greenfield’s remark. It was like our professor spoke another language than us. Sometimes it was comical, but I was in no mood today.

“It won’t happen again,” she muttered with wide eyes, and then immediately put her head down. She started fidgeting with her curls and I could tell she was embarrassed. I couldn’t blame her, the professor was definitely nothing if not intimidating. Especially with his stern, booming southern accent.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the hint of a smile tug at August’s lips. He knew he was Greenfield’s favorite. August had taken classes from him before and apparently always aced every exam. I was really starting to dislike this guy. I narrowed my eyes at him, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Greenfield’s eyes followed Amalia as she slowly lowered herself into the chair next to mine. Dr. Greenfield shook his head and returned to his books. Amalia let out a soft sigh.

“What are you working on?” she asked in a near-whisper, dropping her purse to the floor.

“Analyzing the data we collected on Monday,” I replied. I touched my fingertips to my temple, feeling a dull headache coming on. “There’s a lot of it.”

“Just tell me how I can help,” she offered me a weak smile. She looked past me for a moment. “Hey, August.”

“Hey,” he replied, without looking up. He let out a soft, exasperated sigh and pushed his sleeves up.

She rolled her eyes and I couldn’t help but smile. I reached over to the empty desk across from me and grabbed a bunch of files with last Friday’s date on them.

“Here,” I handed them to her. “Start helping before you get fired and have to live on my and Alex’s couch for the rest of the year.”

“Stop threatening me with homelessness,” she half-smiled. She flipped open the files and began to carefully type the data into the computer. “Speaking of you and Alex, are you going to move out of your apartment? Or is he going to move out of his?”

“We haven’t decided yet, but clearly his building is a lot nicer than mine. I’d much rather live there. I will miss living in Brooklyn, though, Roosevelt Island is a much different change of scenery,” I offered in a near-whisper.

“Well, I won’t miss you living in Brooklyn,” she gave me an over-the-top smile. “But back to you, I highly doubt he’d say no to you living with him. From the one time I was over there, it seemed to me like he really loved his place. Plus, guys hate moving.”

“Everyone hates moving,” I let out a soft chuckle. “I just hope he doesn’t hate having to make room for all of my stuff!” I rubbed my temples, suddenly overwhelmed by the professor’s research project, my regular classes, moving, and planning a wedding all within a little over a year. I took a deep breath and shook my head. “But you’re right, I’ll talk to him about it after we book a venue for the wedding.” I suddenly felt a strong urge to change the subject. “Can you grab lunch later this week so I can hear about your first official date with Mr. Big, I mean Michael?”

She nodded quickly, but then immediately turned the conversation back to me. “Have you narrowed it down at all?” she looked up from her screen.

“Narrowed what down?” I asked, suddenly feeling warm. I pulled at the collar on my shirt for extra breathing room.

Amalia shook her head in surprise. “Your venue, of course. As your maid of honor it’s my job to remind you that these places book up very far in advance, and it’s already the end of August!”

August shot his head up and glared at us.

“Not you,” Amalia waved him off. The month.”

He grimaced and robotically returned to his work.

Without missing a beat, she continued. “Have you thought about wanting your wedding in a hotel or maybe something outside of the city by a lake somewhere?” She looked up at the ceiling and then made a face at what I assumed was having to go to some random sleepy-town she had never heard of. She was never one for the outdoors. She turned her eyes back to me and plainly asked, “Do you even know what season you want to get married in?”

Before I could respond, August lifted his head again and shot us a look, his dark-blue eyes flashing with annoyance. Even though his eyes were also blue, they were a big contrast to Amalia’s, which were always wide and youthful. August’s reminded me of a villain in a super-hero movie.

Amalia met his gaze and held it. For a moment, it was if they were having some adolescent staring contest. I glanced back at the professor again, who wasn’t paying attention to us. I looked a little more closely at him and noticed his eyes were fixed on a wooden picture frame in the corner of his desk. I never noticed the frame before, but then again I had never really looked that hard at his desk. He must have felt my eyes fixed on him because he looked up and frowned.

I cleared my throat and excused myself. Grabbing my cell phone, I headed out into the hallway and walked out of earshot. My mind spinning in a thousand different directions, I grabbed a seat on one of the small benches in the hall. Remembering Alex didn’t have class until later this afternoon, I hit the speed-dial and waited for him to pick up. He picked up on the second ring. I could hear the bustle of the city in the background.

“Hey, babe,” I pushed out in a breathy voice. “Are you busy right now?”

“Just got off the train to meet Michael for a cup of coffee, but I have a little bit before then. Is everything alright?”

Everything most certainly was not alright, but where did I begin? I decided to start with something that Alex could actually help me with.

“I am feeling overwhelmed with the wedding planning,” I confessed, feeling my shoulders sink.

“What’s overwhelming about it?” he asked. “We haven’t even started yet.”

“That’s why I’m overwhelmed,” I explained. “It’s getting kind of late in the game. I think this weekend we should start looking at venues, maybe we can start with a few downtown places like the Mondrian Hotel in SoHo and Bridgewaters in the South Street Seaport? And maybe we can finalize the decision of whether or not we want to wait until after graduation to get married?”

“Absolutely, baby,” he said calmly, and I immediately felt better for having called him. “But unfortunately I think Bridgewaters may have closed.”

“That was kind of my first choice,” I sighed. I pulled a piece of my brown hair up to my eyes and studied it. I had better get it cut now so I didn’t have to get another haircut before the wedding. “Okay, I’ll make a few calls and have some venues lined up for us this weekend.”

“It is going to be okay, sweetheart. And just know this; I cannot wait to marry you.”

As soon as he said that, I felt a warm rush throughout me. As stressful as it was, this wasn’t going to be like last year. I wasn’t going to freak out and push him away.

“I can’t wait to marry you either,” I uttered. I felt a warm rush dance around my chest. “I love you. Thank you for talking to me.”

Alex laughed. “You don’t ever have to thank me for talking to you!”

I checked the clock on the wall and peeled myself off the bench. “I had better get in there before Dr. Greenfield fires me.”

“He’s not going to fire you,” Alex replied in a sing-song tone. “But, yes, get back to work and I’ll see you tonight. You can tell me all about how the study is going.”

“Do I have to?” I teased.

“Bye, darling,” he laughed.

I hung up the phone and smiled. Thank goodness for Alex. I made a mental note that after we’d picked a wedding venue, we really needed to sit down and decide which doctoral programs we’d be applying to. I let out another sigh and tucked my cell into my back pocket.

As soon as I let go of it, my phone started vibrating. I grunted while quickly checking to see who it was. I had to look at the phone twice just to make sure I was reading it correctly. It was a text from my mother, who has never texted in her life.

She wrote, “Olivia, we need to talk in person. Meet me at the King Cole Bar at six o’clock.”

You have got to be kidding me. Why would I haul all of the way uptown just to talk to her when she’d been an absentee parent for years? Shaking my head, I took a few more steps closer to the computer lab. A moment later my phone buzzed again. This time, she had my full attention.

“It’s important, Olivia. It’s about Alex.”




Five – Amalia (#ulink_f9dda8d4-cdb0-5010-bee2-2165f5660b51)


On Thursday, I finally had a day off from Dr. Greenfield’s lab, but unfortunately it didn’t mean I had a day off from class. When the spring semester started back up last February, it became clear that getting the classes you wanted was nearly impossible. Now that we were in our final year, we didn’t get to choose anything.

Thankfully, working in the research lab counted as a course, which meant I was only taking two classes this semester, Family Studies on Tuesdays and Gender and Contemporary Issues. Gender and Contemporary Issues was today at one o’clock and lasted until three o’clock. Although I wasn’t thrilled with the required courses I had to take, this was the first time at NYU that I didn’t have class either first thing in the morning or at six o’clock at night.

I finished packing my bag and headed into my bathroom to spruce myself up a bit, saying a silent thank you every time I remembered what it was like to have two roommates. I really loved living alone.

I was meeting Olivia for lunch at twelve, and then we were going straight to class together. Michael was also in this class, so I needed to look good. Even after knowing him for two years, I still got nervous every time I was around him.

Class with Michael was sometimes a little awkward. We didn’t always sit directly next to each other, although we always sat in the same row with Olivia and Alex. I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly caused my discomfort, but I couldn’t help but compare myself to Olivia and Alex. They always looked like a couple. Even when they were sitting together in complete silence, there was this undeniable connection between the two of them. I wondered what people thought when they saw Michael and me sitting together. Or if they even noticed at all.

I swept the final coat of mascara over my lashes and rifled through my closet until I found a new lightweight jacket I had just bought from a boutique in the Village. I didn’t make a ton of money working at the school, but I made enough to buy something for myself every once in a while. I pulled off the tags and slipped my arms through the tan-colored coat sleeves. Grabbing my iPod, I dashed to the door and slammed it shut behind me.

As I was walked toward the subway terminal, I felt my cell phone vibrate through my purse. I decided I had better check it in case it was Olivia cancelling our plans. But it wasn’t from Olivia: it was from Hayden. My heart fell into my stomach and I begin to read the message.

“Hey, Amalia. I just wanted to see how you were. It’s been a while since I last spoke to you. I was hoping we could get together for a drink. Maybe we could try to be friends? Let me know when you’re available.”

I stood at the top of the subway terminal re-reading the message. A group of men on their way to work loudly cleared their throats behind me to get through. “Sorry,” I mumbled, stepping aside to let them pass. I had no idea how to respond, or if I even should. I shook my head and put my cell phone back in my purse, resolving to deal with Hayden’s message later.

One subway ride later, I was at Artichoke, one of my favorite pizza places in the city. Unfortunately, most of my appetite had been destroyed by anxiety. Olivia was already standing outside of the restaurant waiting for me, passively looking at something on her phone and smoking a cigarette.

“Is it just me, or is the subway becoming more disgusting with each passing day?” I muttered with a grimace. I didn’t want to talk to Olivia about Hayden’s message until I could fully process what it meant. Did I want to be friends with him? More importantly, why would he want to be friends with me after the way I treated him?

“It’s even worse when you’re coming from Brooklyn,” she slipped her cell into the back pocket of her jeans and flicked the cigarette on the ground. She looked down at it for a second and pursed her lips.

She had a sullen look on her face and her eyes were glassy. But before I could open my mouth to ask her what was wrong she started back up.

“Maybe I should try to quit smoking before the wedding.”

“Finally!” I shook my head. “Think of it as the first step towards saving up for your honeymoon.”

She let out a chuckle but it sounded a bit broken. Something was definitely wrong.

The host showed us to our seats and we settled into a small booth. Before we could even place our drink orders, Olivia began to grill me about my and Michael’s date.

“I asked him to be my date to your wedding,” I smiled. I could feel myself blushing and reached for a glass of water. Thinking about Michael as my wedding date was an instant mood boost. He would easily be the most handsome guy there.

“You do know we haven’t even set a date yet?” she replied in a mocking tone, without looking up from her menu.

“I know, and he still said yes!” I lightly tapped my hands on the table to get her attention.

“I’ll have him usher you down the aisle,” she offered, her gaze still on the menu. “Since he’s going to be a groomsman. Oh, and Alex and I are going to look at some venues this weekend, so we should know a date soon enough.”

For someone who was getting a dream wedding, she certainly didn’t seem very happy about it. I wondered if she and Alex had gotten into some kind of squabble.

I twisted a curl around in my finger and let out a soft sigh. For a moment I let myself image would it would be like to have a wedding of my own, even though I was in no rush to get married. I let the fantasy dance around my head. I envisioned a small wedding on a beach somewhere like the Virgin Islands. I would be wearing a short, but elegant, wedding dress, with a bouquet of brightly colored flowers. Michael in a crisp, linen suit, looking more perfect than ever.

Apparently Olivia noticed me day-dreaming because the next thing I saw was her snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Amalia. We’re splitting the pizza with the artichokes on it?” she cocked her head to the side.

“Obviously,” I said in a mocking tone. “So back to my date, we went out to dinner and it was wonderful.” I let out a dramatic sigh. I felt like a love-sick teenager and had no doubt in my mind that I was coming off as one too.

She seemed to consider this.

“What was the best part?” she leaned closer to me, her charm bracelets clanking on the table.

“Going back to his apartment and not feeling like I was doing anything wrong when I spent the night,” I laughed nervously as I remembered the days of sneaking around. “And then having coffee with him in the morning before I left. I felt like we were a real couple.”

“But you’re not, are you?” she asked, looking me straight in the eyes. “I mean, you’re not in a committed relationship.”

“No, not yet,” I swirled my straw around in my water glass. “But I’m sure it’s just a matter of time.” It bothered me that she had to point that out so declaratively.

“Are you still in love with him?” she continued, with wide eyes.

I chewed on my bottom lip. “I don’t know if I ever really stopped being in love with him. Even when I was with Hayden, who I cared about so much, I never completely stopped thinking about Michael. It was as if my feelings for him were simply put on hold, like they were in remission, but never completely eradicated.” I felt guilty for saying that after how wonderfully Hayden treated me. He had even told me he loved me, but I never felt sure enough about our relationship to say it back.

Olivia nodded and looked as if she was thinking this information over. “Does that mean you wouldn’t hook up with anyone else? Even though the two of you are just dating?”

I quickly shook my head. I couldn’t tell whether she was trying to drag me down into her bad mood or not, but her demeanor was definitely starting to get on my nerves.

“No,” I leaned my chin on my palm of my hand and scrunched up my face at the thought of being with another guy. “I wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize being with him.”

“Do you think he would?” she asked, softening a bit.

I opened my mouth to answer, but then closed it. I just sat there for a moment, trying to form a sentence. The idea of Michael sleeping with someone else was extremely painful, even though we weren’t in a committed relationship.

“I don’t know,” was all I could muster up. A wave of jealousy rolled through my chest and stomach at the idea of Michael even kissing another girl. I shook my head, telling myself not to think that way.

“I’m sorry,” Olivia said flatly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I wasn’t sure why, but the question continued to bounce around in my mind. Would he continue to date other girls? Or were we trying to work toward something together?

“I’m alright,” I lied, forcing a smile on my face. I ran my hands over my forehead and then through my hair. “What about you, Olivia? Are you alright?” I asked softly?

She just nodded and gave me a crooked smile.

“We should order because we’re going to be late to class,” I closed my menu.

“Sure,” she said, cocking her head to the side. I could tell what she was thinking, and what that look meant. Pity. And I hated being pitied.

The next morning I woke up early and decided to take an impromptu stroll at around eight-thirty over to the farmer’s market set up in Union Square. Being that the Union Square subway entrance was one of the easiest ways to transfer to any line in the city, the neighborhood was always busy. This morning, however, 14


street was downright packed. I thought about turning back for a moment, but then I remembered the contents of my refrigerator were low, and I could really use some fresh fruit.

As I browsed a stand boasting the best apples in the city, I got a funny feeling. Like someone was watching me. I paid the cashier for a few apples and then turned around to see if I was going crazy. I wasn’t. Two stands over, next to a woman selling artisan jam, stood Cassandra. She was mulling over a purchase as she looked up and caught my eye. I froze. This was the second time I had seen her out in the wild. I still had no intention of walking over to her. The last thing I said to her was that she owed me an apology. I’m still waiting for one.

We both just stood there for a moment, watching each other. It was obvious she was on her way to work. She was wearing a light-blue, knee-length dress with nude pumps. I had donned sweat pants and an old David Bowie t-shirt. I felt a pang of sadness as I remembered how close we were just a little over a year ago. I missed her. As I watched her gaze leave mine, her hand reach into her purse, and hand the woman cash in exchange for the jam, it dawned on me that she really didn’t miss me. She didn’t look back at me after that, she just took off. I watched her strut to the corner of 13


and Broadway so she could more easily hail a cab to work.

I took a deep breath and a few warm tears hit my cheeks. I didn’t know what to think. How could someone change so much in such a short amount of time? And then I thought of my ex-boyfriend, Nicholas. Hadn’t something similar happened to him? I wiped the tears away, but they just kept coming. Was something in the water here? How was it that two people who were such a huge part of my life, could just morph into completely different individuals and utterly not care if they ever saw or spoke to me again. Granted, I was the one who had broken things off with Nick the second time around. But that was after he turned into a power-hungry snob. I bit my bottom lip and wondered if the same thing was happening to Cassandra.

I finally stopped crying long enough to check the time on my phone. I had a “good morning” text from Michael that allowed my trembling lips to smile. I texted him back, popped on my headphones, and walked back to my neighborhood with my apples in tow.




Six – Olivia (#ulink_2d461c0c-715e-5e41-a050-0ec1188b59e9)


“So what did you think of that last venue we looked at?” Alex crossed over to me from the kitchen. He plopped down on the sofa and started to untie his suede John Varvatos shoes. We had spent the entire day looking at venues.

I took a deep breath and started cracking my knuckles out of stress. We had just gotten off the train and walked all the way from the subway exit back to Alex’s apartment. We were both beat.

The truth was, I loved the last place we looked at. The Mondrian Hotel down in SoHo offered a beautiful entryway with a garden-like atmosphere and French-style decorating all throughout the hotel. The downside? It was two hundred and fifty dollars a head for a Saturday wedding, and only a bit cheaper for a Friday night at two twenty five.

What Alex didn’t know was that I had met my mother at the King Cole Bar the other day to talk about him. For the most part, I don’t give much weight to my mother’s opinions. But when she told me over a glass of wine that she “swore” she saw Alex out with another girl, I couldn’t ignore it.

“I thought it was gorgeous,” I said through a sigh, my mother’s smug face popping into my mind. “Perfect in fact.”

Alex straightened up on the couch and offered me a smile. “Then why do you look so sad, baby?”

The reason I looked so sad was clear. After I told my mother that she was wrong, that she couldn’t have possibly seen something that was more than a friendly hello with a fellow classmate, she pulled out her phone and showed me a picture.

I couldn’t see who the girl was, because she was facing the other way. From what I could tell she was wearing heels and had long, red hair. But what I could clearly see was Alex’s face. The two of them were embraced in a hug and, from what I could tell, it was around our school.

“He’s cheating on you,” she had said, in between sips of her Bordeaux.

I shook my head at her. “You’re wrong. I know there’s an explanation.”

But deep down I didn’t know for sure that Alex wouldn’t cheat on me. I believed anyone was capable of doing anything. And my mother planting seeds of doubt in my mind only made me feel worse. Taking the phone out of her hand, I texted the picture to my phone and told her I had to leave.

Now, with Alex still waiting for an answer as to why I looked so sad, I realized I wasn’t ready to talk to him about it yet.

“Because this wedding is going to end up costing upwards of fifty grand by the time all is said and done.” I immediately craved a cigarette. I instinctively reached for my pack in my purse, and then bit my bottom lip in frustration when I remembered that I was trying to quit and hadn’t bought a new pack this morning. “And that’s not including what our honeymoon is going to cost. At this point we’d be lucky to afford a motel at the Jersey shore.”

Alex let out a chuckle and wrapped his strong arms around me. As soon as his body pressed onto mine, I felt myself relax. The truth was, I wanted a big wedding. I wanted the white dress, the long aisle to float down, the candles, the flowers, the band, and, most of all, to celebrate it with everyone I cared about. But at the end of the day, I would gladly trade all of those novelties for a small ceremony at an upstate bed and breakfast if it meant I got to be with Alex. I felt a small wave of insecurity as I wondered if he felt the same way. If he would be happy with that.

As long as that was still what he wanted.

I turned to face him, feeling the warmth of his comforting smile. We’d come a long way in these past two years. First our relationship had started out as a secret that only he and I knew about. Then, last year, I essentially freaked out and felt like I didn’t know what I wanted. I was confused, but the truth was, deep in my heart of hearts, there’s only one guy I ever truly loved. And that was my husband-to-be. I pushed the thoughts of him hugging some other girl into the back of my mind and reminded myself that Alex was a good person.

“Olivia,” he picked up my left hand and softly kissed it. “We will set a budget for this wedding, and try as hard as we possibly can not to go over it. Don’t worry about the honeymoon either. I already started saving money the moment you said yes to marrying me.”

I looked at him with raised eyebrows.

Alex let out a soft chuckle. “Okay, I know what you’re thinking. Trust-fund baby had to save money? Well, actually, yes. I was paying off my tuition for NYU as I went. I never took out student loans. But after I bought the engagement ring, I realized I was going to have to. So, yes, I will have a bit of debt from NYU when I graduate. But I will gladly spend the next twenty years paying it off if it means I get to marry you.”

“Your debt would only be for our final year, right?” I asked. I was touched by Alex’s sacrifice. He was already paying for most of the wedding himself. My father had generously offered to kick in about six thousand dollars, but two thousand of it had already gone to my dress, leaving us with just about enough money to pay a florist. I gave Alex a tight-lipped smile. It was a weird feeling, to have both appreciation and anxiety at the same time.

“Baby, thank you so much for taking on this financial burden,” I uttered. “I feel very guilty about it, and wish I could do more. Honestly, guilt isn’t even the word. Anxiety is.” I felt my hands begin to shake. “I don’t have any savings.”

“Olivia, you have to calm down a bit. About the wedding, about school, about what doctoral program you’re going to end up in when we graduate. All of it. Because if you don’t, you’re going to miss it.”

“Miss what?” I asked, genuinely confused by his statement.

“Everything,” he said with a straight face. Planning your wedding is supposed to be a happy and enjoyable time in your life. Sure, there are common stressors that every couple goes through. But I don’t want you to look back five, or ten, years from now and wish you had appreciated it more. We’re only going to get to do this once.” He looked away for a moment and chewed on his bottom lip. “At least I only plan on doing this once.”

That’s when I realized what I was doing to Alex. My anxiety and obsession over everything working out perfectly was making him feel insecure. A fresh wave of guilt hit me and I immediately reached for his hands.

“I am doing this once,” I said in a measured tone. “Only once. You are the person I want to marry and this is not cold feet, or doubts about you. And I am so sorry if it came across that way.” I squeezed his hand a little tighter. “Till death do us part. Not divorce!”

“So, then let’s go with the Mondrian!” he exclaimed. “I mean, it’s gorgeous, it’s in the city, the food is fantastic, and it’s a hotel, so all of our out-of-town guests will have a place to stay. Also, they did have an opening on the day you wanted.”

I bolted up from the couch and snatched my cell phone off the coffee table.

“What are you doing?” he widened his eyes. Probably the sexiest thing he did, without knowing it.

“I’m calling them,” I said through an over-sized grin. “I’m done obsessing about this. You’re right. They have the date we want, they have the space, they have everything. I am calling them right now and booking our wedding for July of next year. One month after graduation and at least a month before we have to start any doctoral programs. It’s going to be wonderful.”

Alex stood up next to me and leaned in for a soft, buttery kiss. I stood up on my toes to reach him and he bent down slightly to lift me up. He held me in his arms for a moment and then said, “Don’t call them. I want to be the one to do it. Is that alright?”

I nodded and he loosened his grip and slowly lowered me down until my toes reached the hardwood floors. He kissed me on the forehead and then made a beeline for his cell phone, which was sitting on the counter top in the kitchen. Phone still in hand, I scrolled through my contacts until I found Amalia’s number and started to compose a text message.

Hey, Maid-of-Honor! Not sure what your plans are for after graduation. Hopefully you’re not planning on taking off to Abu Dhabi, or something, because I need you here in June.

Save the date, girl. I’m getting married Saturday, July 15th!




Seven – Amalia (#ulink_5f326a28-7c35-5b62-bae8-85000af3c006)


What does one wear to a fancy, black-tie wedding in downtown Manhattan? I touched my finger to my lips as I scanned the fridge for a bottle of water. This would be a perfect job for Cassandra.

I found the bottle and closed the fridge door. It didn’t matter, Cassie wouldn’t be at Olivia’s wedding and it was still far enough away for me not to need to worry about finding the perfect dress. Come to think of it, Olivia would probably have my dress picked out for me since I was in the wedding party.

A few days after Olivia texted me that she was getting married July 15th, I received an email from Dr. Greenfield summoning me to his office. He said he had something important to talk to me about, and it couldn’t wait until the next time I was due to report to work-study.

I got to his office around nine-thirty, trying to look as put together as possible with grey dress pants and a burgundy blouse on top. I even pulled my usually untamable curls into a low ponytail. Everyone at my school always seemed so dressed-up, so put together. I thought back to the first time I met Michael, how his demeanor and confidence had completely tripped me up for the rest of my day. No matter what I wore, or how put-together I pretended to be, I always felt dowdy next to the rest of my classmates. And that went double for the professors. But Dr. Greenfield didn’t seem to pay any attention to my outfit as he motioned for me to take a seat on the oversized leather chair across from his mahogany desk. As I lowered myself into the chair, I noticed a picture frame face down next to a stapler on his desk. I thought it was weird, but then again, I thought everything about the professor was a little off.

“Amalia,” he began, folding his hands in front of him and leaning just a bit forward. “As you know, NYU offers a few different work-study programs to its students to help them make extra money while they’re enrolled here.”

I nodded my head, never taking my eyes off him. I was determined to remain calm and collected. I wouldn’t interrupt or let my gaze drift over. This way he couldn’t perceive anything I did to be rude.

Every time this man spoke to me, I felt small and insubstantial. Whenever I sat through one of his classes or so much as took a meeting with him, I wanted to be anywhere but there. I think, on some level, it played into the idea that maybe I just really never belonged here at this school.

“Beginning this fall, the doctoral students in the psychology department here at NYU will have the opportunity to partake in the counseling program for work-study. Only a select few will be chosen, the best and the brightest, of course.” He rung his hands together and smirked. “We wouldn’t want anyone in there talking to the younger cohort if they didn’t know what they were doing.”

I cocked my head to the side and opened my mouth just a bit, but then quickly closed it. I wanted to make sure I phrased, what the heck are you talking about? in the most respectful way possible.

“Sir,” I said, crossing my right leg over my left. “I’m not exactly sure what this has to do with me.”

Dr. Greenfield had a frustrated look on his face. “As part of their requirement to graduate, the psychology students have to conduct psychoanalysis on individuals to prove they have a great enough understanding of the knowledge they’ve obtained while they have been studying here. There are a few ways to get volunteers for this treatment.” He stood up and slowly began pacing the room. His steps were small for a man of his height, and he kept his head down the entire time. I began to wonder if something was bothering him, but didn’t dare ask.

“Treatment?” I whispered the word, unsure of what he was getting at.

“It’s really a win-win situation,” he stopped pacing and looked at me. “You would come in twice a week for about forty-five minutes a session, and one of the senior-level doctoral students would analyze you. They would get the credit and experience they need, plus a little extra money, and you would get free analysis.”

Without noticing, I shot up from the chair. “I don’t need analysis. I’m not crazy.” I immediately sat back down and folded my hands in my lap. So much for coming across as professional or not seeming crazy.

Dr. Greenfield shook his head. I could almost hear him mentally wish he had a glass of scotch at that very moment. “Just the fact that you think analysis is only for the clinical population proves how far behind you are here, Amalia.” His eyes were narrowed and he had an undeniable look of disappointment on his face. I lowered my head in embarrassment. Shame crept through me like the kind of goose bumps you’d get when you had a fever. I didn’t know which was worse, the fact that I had been recommended for psychological treatment by my professor, or that said professor just confirmed my fears that I wasn’t doing well in the program.

“This isn’t something I feel comfortable with,” I said, shrugging, reaching my arms around my stomach, this conversation suddenly feeling vexatious, “I am afraid I’m going to have to decline.”

“That’s a shame, Ms. Hastings,” his voice was low and wry. But I should tell you, if you don’t partake in this portion of the work-study program, then you can no longer work on my project with me.” I saw a small smile tug at the side of his lips, or maybe I was imagining that.

“Excuse me?” I uttered, trying to keep an even tone. “Since when did going to analysis become a requirement for working on your project?” I had read the forms thoroughly before signing – at least I thought I had.

“You’ve shown me how irresponsible you can be, and how little effort you are willing to put in to further your education, and ultimately, your career. I asked you this a while ago, Miss Hastings, and you didn’t have a good answer for me then and I doubt you have a good answer for me now. What do you want to do when you graduate with your Master’s from NYU?”

I was speechless. The truth was, with everything going on in my life over the past few years, just handling things day to day felt like a constant struggle. The future seemed so far away when I first moved into that West Village apartment, but isn’t that how it always goes? One day you’re imaging your future, then in the blink of an eye, it’s here.

But now, the cushy idea of “future Amalia” having to make these decisions was gone. The time was now. I only had a little over a year left here and I had to start making some serious plans for my future.

I looked down at the floor. The old, slightly torn, carpeting mirrored my feelings of uselessness. Maybe going to therapy wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Without further consideration, I backed down.

“You’re right,” I conceded.

“What was that?” he took a step closer to me and turned his head slightly as if to indicate that he wanted me to speak louder.

My feelings of dejection slowly melded into ones of anger. I felt my hands ball in fists. The man was getting way too much enjoyment out of this.

“I’ll stay in your program,” I enunciated each word through gritted teeth. “I need the money. So I guess that means, starting in the fall, I will be going to analysis.”

“It will begin at the end of October.”

I nodded, unsure of what else to say.

Dr. Greenfield stared at me for a moment. The wrinkles around his eyes looked more pronounced today than usual, and for a moment I felt sorry for him. What did I really know about this man? His arms were folded across his chest and I noticed he didn’t wear a wedding ring. I let my shoulders sink a bit and relaxed. There was really no point in me getting all worked up about this. One more year in this hell hole, and I’d be out. Might as well make it as easy on myself as I could while I was here.

I took a deep breath. “Is that all, sir?” I kept my face poker-straight, unwilling to take any more criticism.

He looked at me for a beat longer and then said, “Yes, that’s all.”

I turned on my heel and headed toward the door, chewing on the bottom of my lip the whole time.

“Oh and Miss Hastings,” he called out to me just as I was turning the doorknob. “When you get here Monday morning, do not be late again. This is your final warning.”

I merely turned to him and nodded, unable to speak out of fear I would curse him out.




Eight – Olivia (#ulink_6b9d5ac0-497d-5e4a-96af-73d4027ad0e6)


Three months later

It was fall again in New York, which means you could expect to see lots of Burberry scarves, black tights, pumpkin spice lattes, and fingerless gloves. Here in the city, and in most of the northern states, fall lasts for about two weeks until the harsh, oppressive winter begins. It was September 14


and classes had been going on for nearly three weeks. Our cohort only had four classes left to finish our requirements for graduation. Two this semester and two in the spring. Of course, our senior seminar class was being taught by Dr. Greenfield. There was just no escaping that man. We could all at least take solace in the fact that senior seminar was a core class and was only held once a semester. We would all be taking it together. The other class that Alex and I chose this semester was called “Cell Biology – the Nucleus and Beyond.” Alex pointed out that the class would stand out more on our doctoral applications than any of the other courses being held. I thought it sounded like a Star Trek episode and agreed to enroll.

Deep breath.

I sipped my green tea grabbed from a local café near Union Square and slowly walked to my biology class. I wanted to savor the beautiful weather while I could. It was a little after two-thirty and my building was about ten minutes away. I had plenty of time to make it to my three o’clock class. I took another deep breath as a pair of two teenage girls walked passed me, giggling as they scarfed down cupcakes from one of the artisan food trucks parked by the curb. They looked so happy and full of life. Even at twenty-four, a considerably young age, I felt deflated.

I hadn’t spoken to my mother much since the day she told me about the picture. The picture of Alex hugging another girl. She had sent me a couple of follow-up texts asking me if I’d confronted him yet. I asked her in the politest way possible to butt out. Not because I necessarily wanted to be nice to her, more that I didn’t want to engage with her in a conversation about nonsense.

I shook my head, putting thoughts of her out of my mind, and took a soothing sip of my tea. Eight more months and then we would graduate on May 17


. Graduation this year, like most years, was being held at Yankee Stadium, which is located in the Bronx. I would have preferred it been anywhere else. Preferably somewhere inside with air conditioning that wouldn’t take me nearly an hour to get to from my and Alex’s apartment on Roosevelt Island.

The summer hadn’t helped to calm me down at all. While most people were sunning themselves in the Hamptons or on Fire Island, I was filling out applications and gathering letters of recommendations for the programs at NYU, Sarah Lawrence College, New School University, and Hunter College. In between all of that, I was constantly flipping through bridal magazines and meeting with vendors for the wedding. It was astonishing how far out in advance everything had to be booked. Not to mention I spent two weeks in August moving out of my apartment in Brooklyn and moving into Alex’s place on Roosevelt Island.

I was mentally wrecked by everything that was going on. Even with the support I had from my father and from Alex, my mother’s lack of positive interest in my wedding was really starting to take a toll. She was bent on getting me to break it off. I shouldn’t be surprised; our relationship had always been strained. But for some reason, getting married really makes you realize who’s truly there for you and who isn’t. It is, arguably, the most important thing you will ever do in your life. If someone can’t make the time for you while that’s going on, they’ll never be there for you.

On top of everything else, quitting smoking was a total bitch. I was constantly tempted to sneak a cigarette whenever Amalia wasn’t looking.

My wedding was less than a year away, and I couldn’t even enjoy being engaged because of all of my schoolwork. I thought about what Alex had said to me, that I’m missing it. I shook my head once more, trying to drown out the anxious thoughts that had planted roots in my mind.





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