Chapter 7
T HE SUBWAY CAR ON Monday morning was suspiciously empty.
Avery didn’t realize why until the car was already zipping underground, rumbling through the dimly lit transitions between stops.
From her seat, she spotted a man in ripped black sweatpants and a black sweatshirt slowly walking around in circles and weaving through the empty spaces between passengers.
The few people who’d either been brave enough to ride in this car or who, like Avery, hadn’t realized he was in here ignored him.
Avery held her breath and remained seated, praying he’d walk past her and move along.
After a few stops, he sat down next to her and eyed her cleavage, and then, to her horror, began stroking himself underneath his boxers.
Her heart pounded. She kept her nose buried in her phone and managed to not make eye contact with him even as his gaze bore into her.
With a lurch of nausea, she realized that looking down provided him with a perfect view of her cleavage, more explicit imagery with which to get off.
But she was frozen. Too frozen to move. It was a feeling she knew well, the quiet resignation after putting up a fight with a man who wouldn’t leave her alone.
When the train finally approached her stop, she sprinted out of the station and to her office, where Patricia was waiting by her desk.
“There you are!” Patricia said, twirling a pen between two fingers. “How are you this morning?”
Avery was so shaken up she couldn’t form words.
“I’m … fine,” she said softly, shuffling some papers to give herself a minute.
“You?” She’d never felt more exposed, like she could button her shirt up to her chin and still be someone’s nonconsensual sex object.
Why did being a woman mean paying a toll on your ability to move about the world freely and with dignity?
If the pink tax didn’t already include “being eye-fucked by sickos,” someone should add it.
Or was there something specific about Avery that attracted the most disgusting men that walked the earth?
Maybe that night with Noah set something cosmic in motion.
She wished she hadn’t worn this button-down shirt today.
She wished she hadn’t done a lot of things.
Maybe, if she’d done everything differently, Noah would’ve stopped.
“I’m wonderful, thanks for asking.” Patricia tapped her pen against the wall of Avery’s cubicle.
The sound made Avery’s teeth hurt. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something. We need to find some fresh younger audiences on new social media platforms. Start meeting the kids where they’re at online. Our readership has grown stagnant.”
Patricia spoke to Avery like she was bestowing some newfound knowledge about the capital-I Industry, but Metropolitan ’s existing audience was dwindling faster than any of their competitors, and Avery could have told Patricia they needed to diversify their traffic sources the day she started working here a few months ago.
Unfortunately, the responsibility of creating kitschy videos over viral sounds or doing whatever else she needed to do to maximize reach was going to fall squarely on Avery.
She needed a coffee the size of her head.
“Start on it today,” Patricia said. “And when you create the new accounts, ask Kevin to build a feature that pushes all our published content onto each platform at the same time. With one button. So that we don’t even have to think about it.”
Avery peered longingly at the coffee machine over Patricia’s shoulder. “I … don’t know about that.”
“Why not?”
“That would probably be a big challenge from a technical perspective. Also, isn’t that why you hired me? To keep tabs on these different platforms and share our content in ways that make sense for different audiences?”
“Hmm. I suppose it is.”
Avery stared at her.
“Look, I don’t care how we do it,” Patricia said, rubbing her temples. “Our numbers are down and we need them up.” Her pep from earlier completely dissolved. She started walking away, back in the direction of her office. “You guys are smart,” she called over her shoulder. “Figure it out.”
Avery made herself some coffee, then messaged Kevin. I assume you heard all that
Kevin responded immediately. That woman needs a lobotomy
Back at her desk, Avery researched the different social media accounts of other publications, including New York Magazine, Cosmopolitan , and other places she’d once dreamed of writing for.
As she worked, the thunderous sound of applause came from the writers’ meeting across the hall.
She watched the writers through the glass wall of their conference room, willing herself to get up.
Her project could wait another hour. She should go over there and pitch something.
Take a seat at the table, as they say. Or, better yet, just approach the damn door.
But she couldn’t do it. She’d lost her voice and, in truth, she’d probably never find it again.
Later that week, Avery headed to Morgan and Charlie’s apartment after work to flip through bridal magazines with Morgan while Charlie was out with his coworkers.
Morgan had already researched so many dresses online, but for more inspiration, she enlisted Avery’s help to make mood board collages using cut-outs from paper magazines.
Avery was excited and ready, bottle of red wine in hand.
She might be the fuckup who ruined her relationship with Ryan, but one thing you couldn’t say about her was that she was a bad friend.
The lobby of Morgan and Charlie’s apartment building in Lenox Hill was decorated with bouquets of flowers set atop an assortment of oak side tables.
Across a brown leather couch set, a massive red brick fireplace carved into the wall roared with flames.
Under Avery’s feet was a large ornate Turkish rug, and beyond the lobby, black-and-white tile flooring stretched down the hall toward a gold-rimmed elevator.
When Avery first visited during the summer after graduation, right off the heels of senior year, she had joked to Morgan that she understood why Morgan didn’t want to room together, because Avery was way too poor and unremarkable to live in a place like this.
With a frown, Morgan had replied that wasn’t the reason they weren’t roommates in the city and Avery knew that, but by that point Avery’s need to disparage herself had become like a tic.
As Avery approached the doorman, her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. Pretty sure there was a piece of toilet paper stuck to my shoe this whole week and I only noticed it now …
Avery’s lips played into a smile as she typed a reply. toilet paper is this season’s hottest accessory. i would know, i work for Metropolitan
Pete’s reply came soon after. Yeah, you definitely know what’s fashionable way more than I do. Some of my clothes have been around since high school. I gotta do a closet audit.
Avery laughed. “audit”? you really do work in finance, huh?
Unfortunately. It’s my biggest flaw. Unless you count my fear of air plants.
Avery laughed again. Pete was so comfortably, hilariously himself. It was inspiring. wait, what’s wrong with air plants??
They’re WEIRD, Avery. Where are their roots? How do they stay alive? They just FLOAT?! I do not get it.
hahaha wow i never thought of that but you’re so right. just give me any air plants you’re afraid of and i’ll kill them instantly. i have the worst black thumb
I’d love to be your accomplice in those murders.
“Hello?” the doorman said from behind his desk, irritated. “ Hello? ”
Avery jerked her head up from her phone.
When she gave Pete her number, she simultaneously hoped he would never speak to her again and would also text her right away.
Even just smiling at a text made Avery feel tense with vulnerability, made her worry about the ending before their relationship began.
She tried not to think about it only being a matter of time before he realized she wasn’t good enough for him.
He needed someone more on his level, someone as cool and confident and funny.
Avery told the doorman that Morgan was expecting her. She rode the elevator to the fourth floor and knocked on Morgan’s door, still grinning like an idiot at Pete’s texts.
“Are you smiling at a text?” Morgan asked in a singsong voice when she answered the door, nodding toward Avery’s phone. “Is that a guy ?!”
Avery tossed her phone in her tote bag. “No, just a work thing.” No way could she tell Morgan about the latest development with Pete.
Avery had no idea what to make of him yet, but Morgan would be so thrilled Avery had his number that she’d start making room for him as Avery’s plus-one to the wedding.
And they were a long, long way from that.
Avery removed her ankle boots and dug her toes into Morgan’s off-white rug.
A navy-blue couch was pushed up against the wall, which was covered in abstract art, framed photos of Morgan and Charlie, and gold antique mirrors in different shapes and sizes.
On the round marble coffee table, the licking flames of a candle burned the warm, cozy scent of vanilla and cedar.
Morgan had such a knack for creating a homey space.
In college, she used to spruce up her and Avery’s hundred-year-old dorm room for all the holidays: pumpkin string lights above the windows for Halloween, a plastic turkey centerpiece on the table for Thanksgiving, red paper hearts taped to the front door for Valentine’s Day.
Avery thought briefly about her apartment now: the bare walls crusted with spackle from the last tenant, the stiff couch covered in lint from her scarves and sweaters, the empty kitchen table with its peeling composite wood. She sighed.