EZRA
‘ S O , E ZZY ,’ C AROLINE SAYS LIGHTLY , SPEARING A STRAWBERRY with her fork. ‘What’s this I hear about you canoodling with a model last night?’
‘ “Canoodling”?’ I laugh. ‘Seriously?’
‘I obviously didn’t use the word “canoodling”,’ Romy interjects, rolling her eyes. ‘But Caro asked me how your first shift went – I thought it was worth mentioning.’
‘And she was right.’ Caroline grins. ‘Spill, please.’
‘Is this why you invited me over for breakfast? To grill me for details?’
‘It may have been a factor.’
‘ Wooow,’ I drawl, as if I have any right to be outraged. Honestly, the only reason I bothered to trek over to their apartment was because I wanted to eat whatever Romy was cooking. It turned out to be cinnamon French toast with a walnut crumble and summer berries, so entirely worth a little light interrogation.
‘So?’ Caroline prompts. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Audrey,’ I say, getting to my feet and picking up the empty cafetiere. ‘Who wants more coffee?’
‘Don’t deflect! Did you get her number?’
‘I might have done, had your lovely girlfriend not interrupted us.’
‘You’re not getting paid to flirt,’ Romy says flatly.
‘You haven’t paid me at all, yet.’
‘Did you get a surname at least?’ Caroline cuts in. ‘We can totally find her with a surname.’
‘Nope. Sorry to disappoint,’ I reply, and admittedly I’m a little disappointed too. I mean – I’m not deluded enough to think that a few minutes of conversation amount to a meaningful connection, but it’s been rattling around in my head ever since. Honestly, I’m not totally sure what did stop me from asking for her number. Romy’s presence? Fear of rejection? A tragically misplaced sense of loyalty to Edie?
Anyway, I didn’t. And then they left, not long after, so it’s all irrelevant now. Done.
Romy is on her phone when I set the down the fresh coffee. Caroline is peering over her shoulder, obviously engrossed.
‘What’s so interesting?’ I ask, retaking my seat.
‘Romy thinks she can find her.’
‘Find who – that Audrey girl, you mean?’
‘The reservation was made by an agent with AVW Models,’ Romy explains. ‘She comes in all the time.’
‘We’re going through their roster,’ Caroline adds. ‘Though maybe you should come and look. You probably remember her face better than Romy.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘Of course not! This way you can find her socials, maybe drop her a DM .’
‘I don’t use “socials”. And as nice as it is that you guys are so invested in my social life—’
‘Oh, there she is!’ Romy suddenly cries, and I feel a flicker of anticipation despite myself. Romy proffers the phone and – yeah. It’s her, looking serious in a pared-back headshot. Her dark hair is parted neatly and her pale face is bare, dusted with a scattering of freckles that I didn’t notice last night. Her eyes are dark too, and intent. It’s as though she can see me through the screen.
‘Definitely her?’ Caroline asks.
Yep,’ I say, handing the phone back. ‘That’s the one.’
‘No surname, though,’ Caroline says, pulling a face. ‘Sorry.’
‘You tried.’ I shrug, attempting to look unbothered. Even if they had tracked her down, it’s not like I would have done anything about it. Not unless I somehow figured out a non-creepy way to go about it.
‘I’m bummed.’ Romy sighs. ‘She seemed sweet. And you don’t have any friends here.’
‘Jesus.’ Caroline laughs. ‘Kick him while he’s down, why don’t you?’
The topic is mercifully dropped after that. I hang around, though, because I like spending time at Caroline’s. It’s cluttered in the best kind of way, the living room doubling as her studio. There are half-finished canvases propped against every wall, a stool and easel beside the TV . She perches there, furtively sketching me while I sprawl across the sofa, watching old episodes of The Nanny and pretending not to notice.
My mind is still stuck on last night. Thanks to Romy and Caroline, every errant thought I have somehow circles around to that girl, Audrey. I just – I wish I could have spoken to her a little longer. I think I might have made it weird when she asked me why I was here in New York – I can’t remember what I said, but I guess I reacted like I was offended because she started to apologise. I wasn’t, though, it’s just the question itself knocked me off kilter, though the answer should be simple – my family is here. But it doesn’t feel simple, and I might have elaborated had we not been interrupted. Might have told her that I’d spent the bulk of my teenage years at boarding school in England, and didn’t know I’d be moving back here until my dad sent over the details of the Manhattan apartment he’d bought for me to live in.
Yes, bought – just another notch in his property portfolio, I guess, because he acted like it was no big deal. I’d assumed that moving back to New York would mean moving in with him, but that was stupid, really, because we hadn’t lived under the same roof for any prolonged period since I was thirteen. Whenever I stayed at his apartment during the holidays it always felt as though we were in an unspoken competition to spend the least amount of time there. It shouldn’t have surprised me that he wouldn’t want me there indefinitely.
All of that would have been a significant overshare, though, and discounts the fact that I thought Edie would be coming with me. She’d flipped out when I told her about the apartment – at the time I was feeling pretty stung by Dad definitively kicking me out of the nest, but she acted like I’d won the lottery. Then she practically begged me to let her come to New York and move in with me, which was hilarious. I was so painfully, pathetically in love with her that she needn’t have even asked nicely
But then Edie changed her mind. About me, about the apartment – about everything. So that’s that, and I need to figure shit out on my own. The job is a start. A social life would be nice too, but the prospect of actively seeking out friendship is excruciating. There’s this great Susan Sontag quote about how moving into the world like that feels like a moral fall, which is dramatic, yeah, but I get it. I’m all too aware that most people are repulsed by any palpable sense of need, especially in a city like this. I can live with being lonely.
I can live with most things, I think.
I continue to.