Chapter 10
“Welcome to New York” - Taylor Swift
Saylor
I am in New. York. City. It’s the first thought I have when I open my eyes.
None of that disorientation of waking in a new place, wondering where you are.
I’m fully aware that I’m in the Big Apple, a place I never dreamed I’d ever go, not because I didn’t want to, but because I’m practical.
I have no intention of ever taking a corporate job that might send me to the United States on business, and unlike my parents, I haven’t carried the dream of traveling my whole life.
After Nate wiped me out, it became obvious that practicality was the way to go.
I swing my legs out of bed with a mixture of excitement and regret. These sheets are the softest thing I’ve ever touched, and I feel stupid for leaving them. On the other hand, how can I possibly waste a single moment in New York?
We’re staying in a fancy hotel that I never caught the name of, and which is posh enough not to have it splayed all over the room.
Our suite is high up enough that when I look out the window, the people scurrying across the pavement below look as tiny as ants.
Iconic yellow taxi cabs still dot the streets, but I’ve heard they’re becoming fewer and fewer as ridesharing takes over.
My decision to take Rhett up on his offer came suddenly, which meant I had to scramble to get ready.
I almost forgot to drop the divorce paperwork in the mail before leaving, but fortunately I saw the file when I was packing.
God, what a nightmare that would’ve been if anyone found out I was still legally married while “dating” Rhett.
Thankfully, Wesbourne divorce law grants immediate separation once the papers are filed, which means I am a free woman for the first time in four years.
We arrived at JFK yesterday evening. Due to the time change, it was still afternoon in the city, and we hit the ground running.
The label had scheduled a dinner for Rhett and the band with some minor celebrities in the city—hoping for their endorsement, no doubt.
Since he wasn’t going to need his hair and makeup team, he lent them to me so I could get ready.
I didn’t have anything appropriate for dinner at a four-star restaurant, but Rhett sent someone to Bloomingdale’s, and they came back with a gorgeous black cocktail dress that I will definitely never have the opportunity to wear again.
It’s currently hanging in the closet of our suite, awaiting pickup for the dry cleaner’s, arranged by someone who is not me.
I took my first limo ride last night. I had my first glass of real champagne.
The bottle probably cost as much as my rent, but I didn’t waste a drop.
I rubbed shoulders with famous people and didn’t combust. I wore a pair of ankle-breaking heels and didn’t break an ankle, although I’m sticking to my Docs from now on.
Is this a dream? Because it sure as hell feels like one.
I look around the room. I think of it as a room, because that’s what you say when referring to a booking at a hotel. “Room for one, please” or “My hotel room had a great view.” But in reality, there are four rooms. A bathroom, sitting room, and not one, but two bedrooms.
After Rhett’s announcement on the plane about sharing sleeping quarters, I was beginning to regret ever agreeing to the world’s stupidest arrangement. These things never work out, romcoms be damned. I have no desire for this to turn into a happily-ever-after, thank you very much.
To be completely honest, I didn’t believe him when he said he’d get two rooms. It sounded just like him to manage to end up in the same bed as me, although I will admit that most of my opinion of him comes from the tabloids and not from spending any real amount of time with the guy.
Not since summer camp anyway, and who doesn’t change in eleven years?
Which is part of the problem. We don’t know each other, so pretending to be in love is difficult.
I forgot to mention the tiny fact that I’m a vegetarian to him, and he offered me a bite of his mahi-mahi at the restaurant.
Fortunately, no one was looking at us, so I quickly whispered the truth in his ear, but it’s definitely the kind of thing a boyfriend would know.
So was I expecting a king-sized bed strewn with rose petals and fancy chocolates when I stepped into the suite last night?
One hundred percent. If Rhett saw the surprise on my face when he told me to choose a bedroom, he didn’t acknowledge it, just further unbuttoned his shirt and flopped onto one of the chairs in the sitting room.
He’s been a perfect gentleman so far. Maybe this won’t become quite the disaster I envisioned. Of course, I should probably wait to make a final assessment until we share a bed on the tour bus, something I am dreading with every cell of my being.
My tooth throbs as I open the door into the rest of the suite, and it’s the first twinge of pain I’ve experienced since setting foot in the US. Apparently, luxury is as effective a painkiller as aspirin.
Rhett isn’t in the sitting room, but there’s a note propped up on the small entryway table, along with the room service menu. Beside it is a black Amex.
Had to leave for sound check but your day is on me xx R
Is he suggesting I take his Black Card and waltz around NYC in my Doc Martens? The thought is laughable. That card is for places I would never set foot inside. The vintage boutiques and record shops probably don’t even accept American Express.
I have no intention of swiping it anywhere, but I pick it up anyway, weighing it in my hand—when will I ever get this opportunity again?—and holy shit, that baby is heavy. I drop it back onto the table with a clatter.
It’s just after eight in the morning, which is probably the best time I’ll have all day to call my parents. I texted them after we landed and promised I’d call when I woke up.
We exchange travel stories—they’re in Cambodia right now—and I give them a virtual tour of the hotel suite. My mum nearly swoons when she sees the city skyline through the huge windows in the sitting room.
“Oh my god, Gerald.” She grabs my dad’s arm. “Can we change our flight to New York instead?”
He gives her an amused look. “I thought you were dying to see Laos?”
Her face twists. “But it’s been weeks since we’ve seen our girl.”
“I’m fine. Really.” I give her a genuine smile. “Both of our trips will pass quickly. We should enjoy them while we can.”
She pulls her lips into a pout. “I worry about you.”
“Why?” I think I’ve done a good job hiding the things that would cause her the most concern, but her intuition can be eerily accurate.
“For one thing, you’re traipsing around a foreign country with that boy—”
“He’s twenty-six, Mum.”
“—and Nate is—”
“Nate’s fine.” I can’t confirm this, since we haven’t spoken in ages, but I think it’s safe to say that he can take care of himself. My mum, on the other hand, has always had a soft spot for her soon-to-be ex-son-in-law and will worry about anyone who will allow it.
She lets out a long sigh. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Saylor?”
I fight the urge to laugh out loud. I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing, but that is not what she needs to hear. “Of course I do. You’ve always called me an old soul.”
“That’s because you like older music than she does,” my dad chimes in.
She socks him in the stomach with her elbow. “You are an old soul, and wise beyond your years.”
Oh boy, here we go. “Not the wise lecture, Mum.”
“But sometimes you prioritize others’ needs before your own,” she continues as though I haven’t spoken.
I take a deep breath, letting my eyelids lower. “Are you done?”
“Always put on your own oxygen mask first.”
“Not yet? Okay,” I mumble under my breath.
She’s given this speech so often, even my dad has it memorized. I catch his eye roll and hide my answering grin behind a fake yawn.
“I know you two think I’m just a crazy old woman,” Mum says, which we both emphatically protest. “But you are my only child, and I am entitled to worry about you if I want to.” She punctuates this by lifting her nose in the air.
“I think Saylor can handle herself,” my dad says, placing his large black hand on her shoulder. “We raised her right.”
“We didn’t raise her to follow some wannabe singer around the globe.”
So that’s what this is about. “I’m just doing his social media for him,” I say. “It pays really well.”
“And what if he develops feelings for you?” she insists.
I tuck my lips into my mouth as I consider the best answer to give her.
If I deny the possibility, she’ll sniff out the lie like a bloodhound.
Best to make her think I have a plan in place.
“He’ll be busy doing music stuff, so we’ll hardly be spending any time together.
I’m just taking pictures during the concerts.
” The thought comes in a streak of brilliance. “Besides, his girlfriend came along.”
Relief washes across Mum’s face. I try not to be offended that she doesn’t trust me, her own daughter, but she trusts a man she’s never met to stay faithful to his fake girlfriend. Does she know how many people get cheated on every day?
We end the call soon after, with her reassured that I will stay out of trouble.
I place an order for breakfast, then jump into the shower.
The water pressure is so strong, it makes my own back home seem like little more than a dripping faucet.
The towels are as soft as rose petals, and I wonder if they’ll notice if I stick a few in my bag.
I would never, but the thought is tempting.
Room service arrives while I’m still wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe.
It would probably be inappropriate to wear to the concert tonight, but I’m considering it anyway.
The rolling cart is covered in white linen and holds a vase of fresh flowers and several shiny cloches.
I lift one to reveal a beautifully golden vegetable frittata.
The other covers ricotta pancakes as delicate as clouds.
A sparkling crystal flute of orange juice sits next to a steaming cup of Earl Grey, and there’s a small bowl of fruit topped with a sprig of fresh basil.
How is this my life right now?
I instinctively pull out my phone to send a picture to Timie before remembering that that’s not something we do anymore.
I need to remember that this all ends in six weeks.
My mum was right to worry—not about Rhett, but about me becoming too used to this level of pampering.
Before I know it, I’ll be back home with my uneven hardwood floor and neighbors with an affinity for 2 a.m. karaoke.
This trip will be nothing more than a hazy memory.