Chapter 5
“Don’t you dare.” I get up and wander into the kitchen. “I’m getting a glass of wine. Do you want one?”
“Of course I want one. I got laid today!”
Smiling at her excitement, I pour two glasses of ice-cold Pinot Grigio.
Carrying them back to the window seat, I set them both on the raised marble-topped table my mother bought at an antique store in the Village, just a week or so before she died.
Every single thing in this apartment has a story, but this piece of furniture is one of my favorites.
“I didn’t even ask you what Mr. O’s name was. ”
“Ethan. Ethan Patrick Malone.”
“Ethan Patrick Malone. He definitely has Irish in him. Which makes him a good catch. And he even told you his middle name, which is a good sign. It means he’s honest.”
“If you say so.” She’s typing on her phone.
“By the way, it’s a good thing Ethan Patrick Malone has an apartment. Because there’s a very real possibility we’re both going to be homeless soon.”
This gets her attention. She stops typing and looks up at me. “It can’t be that bad, Luck.”
“Gracie,” I tell her honestly. “It is.”
“But you’re Lucky Emerson O’Callahan Ashton. Luck follows you wherever you go. It can’t happen. Something will work out. It has to.”
I sigh heavily. “The truth is, the company was in a lot more debt than I knew. Storms have been brewing for a while now. My father never told me how bad things had gotten.”
Grace takes a contemplative sip of her wine. “I know I’m only an aspiring CFO at this stage, but is there anything I can help you with?”
“I wish there was. ”
“You’re smart, resourceful, and stubborn AF. You’ll figure it out, Luck.”
“I honestly don’t know what to do. No matter how hard we try to crunch the numbers into something that works, they refuse to cooperate. Even when we sell— if we sell—I’ll personally still be in the red by, oh, almost exactly as much as this apartment is worth.”
“He didn’t put the apartment in a trust?” She seems shocked, just like I was. Of all the things to overlook.
I shake my head a little, trying hard not to burst into tears. “Must have slipped his mind. It was in his name, and now it’s in my name.”
There’s a stubbornness I know and love behind her empathy. “Well, if anyone can figure this out, it’s you.”
I’m usually a die-hard optimist, but today my look-on-the-bright-side-no-matter-what attitude has taken a hit.
Grace clinks her glass against mine. “Hey. Come on. This is just the universe testing our resilience. If we have faith that things are going to work out better than we ever could have imagined, then they will. Girl, if we can’t Excel our way to billionaire status, we’ll just have to manifest our way to it. ”
Grace is big on manifesting. I’d accuse her of being woo-woo about it, but she actually has achieved amazing things and if that’s how she wants to pitch it to herself, then why not.
“I’m living proof that it works,” she insists. “If I hadn’t manifested my way into your swanky apartment, right now I’d be living in a chicken coop somewhere near Bangor.”
“I think that had a lot more to do with a shitload of hard work than mere manifestation.” I shrug. “But I’ll drink to it anyway.”
She smiles and there’s a sadness there as she tries to make light of our situation. “I’m a champagne-taste-on-a-lemonade-budget kind of girl and it would be morally reprehensible of you to pull me out of my squalor only to throw me back into it again. I won’t let you.”
Grace is originally from a small town in rural Maine.
Her parents went through a bitter divorce when she was ten and she was passed back and forth between her parents’—as she calls them—“shacks.” Neither of Grace’s parents had any money.
They both were deeply mired in poverty. According to Grace, this was because they had a poverty-focused mindset.
They didn’t believe there was any other destiny for themselves except to be poor.
They lived off food stamps until Grace was old enough to get an after-school job at the library, where she read every book she could get her hands on about how to get rich.
Grace was determined not to follow in her parents’ footsteps.
She decided a long time ago that she didn’t want the life they had.
So she set her sights on making as much money as possible by focusing obsessively on studying finance.
She managed to get a full ride in scholarships to NYU for her undergrad and is now halfway through her MBA (with substantial student loans).
Despite the scholarships, she still has a lot of debt, is usually cash-strapped and is often barely getting by.
But the fact that she’s here at all is a testament to her amazing work ethic, her belief in herself and her grit.
“I just don't see how I can fix this,” I admit.
“Okay. Take a breath.” Grace sets her almost-empty glass back on the table. “I have a plan. We’re going to will this to work out.”
“We are?”
“Yes. We’re going to order some food, drink more wine and we’re going to focus all our energy on pretending your apartment is fully paid off and your business has had a sudden turnaround. Meanwhile, we’re going to distract you from worrying about all of it by setting you up with the perfect match.”
“I can get on board with the first half of your proposal, but I am not in the right frame of mind right now to deal with some disastrous blind date.”
But Grace won’t be swayed. “Honey, that’s exactly the kind of negative mindset I was wallowing in.
For years. Then I cow-girled up, uploaded my profile and look at me now!
Still riding my endorphin rush from three back-to-back orgasms, thank you very much.
Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Lucky.
Let yourself be positive. That’s when good things start to happen. You need a date. It’s perfect timing.”
One thing about Grace is that, once she makes up her mind about something, it’s impossible to talk her out of it. But I’m still not convinced.
“Listen to this.” She starts reading to me.
“‘New Yorkers are heading in unprecedented droves to the latest matchmaking app, which is redefining digital romance. Lucky in Love combines algorithmically-sophisticated compatibility metrics with a healthy dose of serendipity. Think of it as a virtual Cupid, but unlike its competitors, one that doesn’t throw darts in the dark. New Yorkers of all ages are finding what some are calling their uncannily perfect match—so many, in fact, that wedding planners have never been in higher demand.’” Grace tips back the rest of her wine.
“See? We’re doing it. We’re creating a profile for you. ”
“Wedding planners? Don’t you think you might be rushing things?”
She ignores me, typing fast.
“Grace, I don’t have time ?—”
“I’m not listening to your excuses. Because they’re the exact same ones that held me back. And once I finally let go of them, I met the cute-hot hockey nerd who I literally can’t believe is real.”
“And I’m happy for you. But sex isn’t going to solve my problems.”
“Maybe it is! It would at least take your mind off all your woes. The universe responds to shit like that, Lucky. If you’re focused on how good you feel, the universe will pour more of that feeling into your life. It’s just the way things work.”
I roll my eyes.
“Surrender to the process. What better distraction is there in the world than a super-hot man to wine and dine you and take you to bed? Trust me, it’s exactly what you need.” More typing. “You’re a Pisces, right?”
“Grace .”
“Are you open to dating outside of your astrological compatibility?”
“ Grace! ”
“What? Just humor me. If it doesn’t come up with a match, you can go back to your no-sex drudgery and nothing will have changed. Either way, it’ll at least take your mind off the looming apocalypse for a hot minute.”
I try again. “It’s not good timing.”
“Too late.” Grace grins and holds her phone up, showing the screen that says profile uploaded in cheerful all-caps.
“I can’t believe you.”
“I named you Lucky Irish.” The grin gets even wider.
A weary laugh escapes. “Lucky Irish ? I sound like a leprechaun.”
“I know you use the word in most of your passwords. So it therefore has meaning to you. It’s surrounded by good juju.
Can I use this photo?” She holds up a photo of me she took a few weeks ago when we had a picnic in Central Park one Sunday afternoon.
One of those New York days that was too beautiful to stay inside.
In the photo, the sun catches the different colors of gold and platinum in my hair and I look…
happy. An emotion I haven’t been up close and personal with all that much lately.
“I love this photo of you. You look hot. And dreamy.”
“Grace,” I groan, but there’s a laugh brewing in my chest because this whole thing is ridiculous. “I don’t want to go on a blind date right now.”
“Babe, it’s not like things can get much worse. The only thing you have to lose is your virginity.”
That corny line does it. Our emotions are running high and we both burst into hysterical laughter.
I know all too well that things can always get worse. But hey, if Grace’s new glow is anything to go by, maybe there’s something to her theory after all.
“More wine,” she splutters between breaths. “We’re going to need more wine.”