Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Scarlett
The car arrives at seven AM sharp.
Jane and Sarah are already downstairs when I emerge from my building, rolling my suitcase behind me. They look far more awake than I feel, both of them clutching travel mugs of coffee and grinning.
"Ready?" Sarah asks.
I nod, climbing into the back seat beside them.
"As ready as I'll ever be."
The drive to the airport is quiet, early morning Chicago sliding past the windows. Traffic is light. The sky is gray and overcast, threatening rain.
By the time we reach O'Hare, I'm starting to feel the first hints of excitement breaking through the fog that's surrounded me for days. Maybe this is what I need. Maybe getting away will help.
We check in, get through security, and find our gate with time to spare. Jane buys us all coffee and pastries, and we sit in the uncomfortable airport chairs, waiting for boarding to begin.
"How are you feeling?" Jane asks, studying me over the rim of her cup.
"Better," I admit. "Getting out of my apartment was the right call."
"Damn right it was," Sarah says.
"You're going to have an amazing time in New York. We all are."
When they call our boarding group, we shuffle onto the plane. I take the window seat, Jane in the middle, Sarah on the aisle. The plane fills up around us, passengers stowing luggage and settling in.
I lean my head against the window as the plane taxis to the runway.
Chicago disappears behind us as we lift into the air, the city growing smaller until it's just a grid of buildings and streets.
I close my eyes and try not to think about what I'm leaving behind.
Miles. The humiliation. The wedding that never happened.
Dax.
The thought slips in before I can stop it. He's in New York. Somewhere in the city I'm flying toward right now. Will I ever see him again?
I shake the thought away. This trip isn't about him. It's about me. About healing. About figuring out what comes next. I focus on the clouds outside the window, the sky endless and blue above them.
The plane lands smoothly, touching down at JFK.
We collect our bags and find a car to take us into Manhattan.
The drive feels longer than it probably is, traffic thick even in the middle of the day.
But then the skyline appears, buildings rising impossibly tall against the sky, and something in my chest loosens.
New York. A city where no one knows me. Where I can be anyone I want to be. The hotel Jane and Sarah booked is in Midtown, a boutique place with a charming lobby and friendly staff. We check in quickly, and a bellhop helps us with our bags to the elevator.
Our suite is on the eighth floor. It's perfect—two bedrooms, a shared living space with a couch and small kitchenette, windows overlooking the city.
I drop my suitcase and walk straight to the window. Manhattan spreads out before me, a chaos of buildings and movement and life.
"This is exactly what I needed," I say, not turning around.
Jane comes to stand beside me.
"I'm glad we did this."
Sarah joins us on my other side.
"We're going to have the best time. I promise."
They hug me from both sides, and I let myself sink into their warmth. These women. I don't know what I'd do without them.
"Alright," Sarah says, pulling back.
"Let's unpack and then hit the city. We've got sightseeing to do."
***
We spend the afternoon exploring. First stop is Central Park, walking the paths, watching street performers, sitting on a bench near the lake. The October air is crisp, leaves starting to turn orange and red.
Jane insists on taking a million photos. Sarah buys us hot dogs from a vendor. I try to be present, to enjoy the moment instead of getting lost in my head.
From Central Park, we head downtown to SoHo. The streets are crowded with people, the boutiques and galleries packed. We wander in and out of shops, Sarah trying on ridiculous hats, Jane browsing art prints she'll never buy.
I find myself relaxing. Laughing at Sarah's commentary on overpriced vintage jeans. Stopping to admire street art on a brick wall.
We grab coffee in the West Village, sitting outside at a tiny café, watching the city move around us.
"How are you doing?" Jane asks quietly while Sarah is inside ordering another round.
"I'm okay," I tell her. And I mean it.
"This was a good idea. Thank you."
"You're going to get through this," Jane says.
"I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but you will."
I want to believe her.
By evening, we're exhausted and starving. We find a small Italian place and eat pasta and drink wine and laugh more than I have in days. When we finally make it back to the hotel, the sun is setting, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange.
"We're going out tonight," Sarah announces as we enter our suite.
"There's a lounge downtown that's supposed to be amazing. Get ready to look hot."
I groan. "I'm exhausted."
"Too bad," Jane says, already pulling clothes out of her suitcase.
"We didn't come to New York to stay in the hotel room. We came to have fun."
I can't argue with that logic.
An hour later, we're scattered around the suite getting ready. Music plays from Sarah's phone, something upbeat and danceable. Jane has commandeered the bathroom mirror for her makeup.
I stand in front of the closet, staring at the clothes Jane and Sarah packed for me. The black dress catches my eye—the one Sarah insisted I bring. Sleeveless, fitted, hitting just above the knee. Sexy without trying too hard.
I slip it on, zipping it up the side. It fits perfectly, hugging my curves in all the right places.
"That's the one," Sarah says, appearing behind me.
"You look incredible."
Jane emerges from the bathroom, makeup flawless.
"Sit. Let me do your hair."
I sit on the edge of the bed while Jane works her magic, curling sections of my blonde hair and tousling it in a loose, effortless style. Sarah handles my makeup—smoky eyes, soft pink lips, just enough to make me feel put together.
When they're done, I stand in front of the mirror. I look... good. Better than good. The dress, the hair, the makeup—it all comes together into a version of myself I barely recognize. Someone confident. Someone who isn't falling apart.
"You look amazing," Jane says, appearing beside me in the mirror.
"We all do," Sarah adds, striking a pose.
She's right. We look ready for a night out. Ready to have fun.
I grab my clutch and slip on the red heels Jane packed.
"Let's do this."
The car drops us off in front of a sleek building in downtown Manhattan. The lounge is on the ground floor, its entrance marked by subtle lighting and a velvet rope. A line of people wait outside, but Jane somehow knew to put our names on the list.
The bouncer checks his tablet and waves us through.
Inside, the space is stunning. High ceilings, dim lighting, a long bar that stretches the length of one wall.
The music is loud but not overwhelming, a mix of electronic and pop that makes you want to move.
The crowd is beautiful—well-dressed people drinking expensive cocktails and talking in clusters.
We weave through the space, finding a spot at the bar. The bartender is there immediately, ready to take our order.
"Vodka soda," I say.
Jane orders a martini. Sarah gets a Manhattan. While we wait for our drinks, I scan the room. The lounge is packed, energy buzzing through the space. People laughing, dancing, living their lives.
No one here knows me. No one knows what happened. I'm just another woman in a black dress, out with her friends, trying to have a good time.
The bartender returns with our drinks. Jane raises her glass.
"To moving on," she says.
"To moving on," Sarah and I echo.
We clink glasses, and I take a long sip. The vodka burns going down, but it's exactly what I need.
The music shifts, something with a heavy beat. Sarah starts swaying, already getting into it. Jane grabs my hand and pulls me closer to the speakers, away from the bar.
I let them lead me, let the music wash over me, let myself get lost in the moment. For the first time in days, I feel something other than pain.
I feel alive.