Seven
ZAK
It’s cold. I mean, of course it’s cold. I live in the North-fucking-east. Every single winter, I swear this is my last up here and yet, here I am. Not having left.
As I trudge down the slushy sidewalk that can barely be considered a sidewalk, I keep an eye on the road.
Despite me being freezing, it’s in that temperature range where everything is a slushy mess instead of frozen.
Which means an ill-meaning driver could speed through a slush puddle and drench me. It’s happened more than once.
The city is filled with assholes.
There’s nothing keeping me here. New York is one of the most expensive places to live. Trying to make it here is impossible when you have nothing already. Except that my friends are here; so if I left for warmer weather, I’d truly be alone.
I thank my lucky stars that the asshole gods have looked the other way when I round the corner onto Gravity’s street and haven’t been sprayed with gross street slush water. I can see his apartment now and my pace picks up a little.
Keeping my face tucked as far into the collar of my jacket as I can, I’m barely peeking out.
My boots are high, nearly to my mid-calf.
I’m wearing two layers on my legs and three on my upper bod, plus my parka-style hat and really thick gloves.
The cold shouldn’t touch me. Yet, I still shiver every time a breeze grabs me on its way by.
Finally, I reach his apartment and key in the code to open the door. Once inside, I lean against the wall and close my eyes. Out of the freezing cold. Thank fuck.
After allowing myself just a couple breaths, I climb the stairs two at a time, as I always do, until I’m on the third floor and let myself into his apartment. As soon as I shut the door, Gravity peeks around the corner and grins.
“There you are!” he exclaims.
I’m currently stripping my outer layers, so I don’t respond. Winter is so much work. Everything feels like it takes longer, including just walking in the front door.
As soon as I step away, Gravity hugs me tightly. I smile and press my face to the side of his head. Breathing him in, I take comfort in knowing this is one of my few happy places. Wherever Gravity is. He just smells of home and love.
“Come on. I have hot cocoa.”
He pulls me into the living room and I immediately fall onto the couch, where he wraps me in a big blanket and hands me a mug of the creamiest, thickest, richest hot cocoa in the world. It’ll pack on empty calories for days!
I take several sips and let the heat pool through me. When I think I can breathe again without my nose hairs sticking together, I look at him expectantly. “Why did you summon me?”
“Because I missed you?”
“Hmm.”
I’ve been bouncing between my three friends’ houses for years, which is saying something since I’m only twenty-two.
There’s an entire lifetime ahead of me, but that doesn’t sound as promising as it should when everything feels so bleak and hopeless.
In the winter, I’m almost always at one of their homes because sleeping outside is practically a death sentence. The summer is a different story.
“Your aunt called,” Gravity says.
Ah. My aunt. Not by blood or even by family friendship. When my parents stopped coming home, my neighbor took pity on me. But then rent wasn’t being paid and I threatened to run if social services put me in a foster home—I’ve heard enough nightmares that I’d rather live on the streets.
That’s where Auntie Faith stepped in. The well-to-do aunt of my neighbor.
She’d been around plenty in the almost year after my parents completely abandoned me.
She had seen it all. Auntie Faith was the reason I didn’t have to go to foster care.
We claimed she was my true aunt, and I went home with her.
Except that I didn’t actually go home with her. Really. I moved between my friends’ houses and hers. I was all too aware that since my mother died and my second parents left, I didn’t belong anywhere. I was a burden, costing everyone money and space.
Thus, the situation I currently find myself in.
Taking another sip of my cocoa, I accept his phone. Honestly, I love Auntie Faith. She’s sweet and kind. She truly tries to take care of me and give me everything. I’d be willing to bet that I still have a bedroom at her house ready for me if I choose to take it.
Call it pride or stubbornness; I just want something to go my way for a change. But I want to earn my success for myself. I don’t want charity. I don’t want to be handed something because I’m a ‘disadvantaged’ youth.
But everything costs money. To make money, you need to spend money. When I happen upon a bit, my first priority is feeding myself.
As if he could read my mind, Gravity asks, “Have you eaten?”
I nod. “Yeah. The baker from Russia? He pays me cash to do some things. But then the cops started coming in daily, and he was afraid that they’d ask to see his books or check my ability to work legally and told me to come back another time.”
“Cops don’t have that jurisdiction, do they?”
I shrug. “Dunno. But yeah, I ended up with a little money. I’ve been spreading it as far as I can.”
He shakes his head. “There are programs, you know,” he says gently. Not for the first time.
“I know.” Then to avoid having this conversation again, I dial my aunt. She answers almost right away.
“Hello, Gravity. Have you found my nephew?”
I smile. “It’s me, Auntie.”
Her voice immediately warms. “My darling. How are you?”
“I’m good,” I tell her. It’s close enough to the truth. I’m not feeling particularly shitty about my life right now, even with as shitty as it is. And I’m warm with hot chocolate and nearly twenty dollars still in my pocket. “How are you?”
“Good, baby. Good. Everything is going very well. Listen, I have an event that I want you to attend with me. It’ll be fun and there will be tons of networking opportunities for you,” she says, and I realize the crux of the reason she called Gravity to get me here.
I sigh. Auntie always tries to get me networking with her friends. I love that she does. Truly. And she’s always been a huge supporter of me doing whatever I want, like upcycling clothes. I’ve made so many for her and she brags to everyone who will listen.
But she doesn’t understand that no matter how many people I meet and may be interested, I can’t provide that service.
I have no money to get material, or a machine.
I don’t have the space. The only reason I could do our outfits on New Year’s Eve was because my friends bought all the clothes and Gravity has an old sewing machine that only works about 13% of the time. Yeah, I did a lot by hand.
Plus agreeing to my friends’ plan gave me an excuse to stay at Gravity’s apartment, warm and fed, for the month of December. Not that he’d ever kick me out if I wanted to stay longer. He’s told me many times that the second room is mine if I’d stop being a pain in the ass and just take it.
I stay more than I feel good about.
“When is it?” I ask.
“I’ll text Gravity’s phone the details. Oh, I’m just thrilled to see you.”
I hadn’t agreed, but that doesn’t mean anything.
There’s very little I wouldn’t do to make my aunt smile.
She’s my only family at this point. And she’s barely family.
Glancing at Gravity, I mentally take that back.
Gravity is family. Edgar and his eccentric roommates—they’re family.
Clarinda and her siblings are my family.
Okay, I’m not entirely alone in the world.
“Me too, Auntie. I’ll see you then.”
“Wonderful.” The line goes dead and I look at Gravity.
He shrugs. “Her text just says to find her nephew and have him call her. I did.” His phone pings and I open the message from my aunt. I sag.
“Tomorrow. No wonder she didn’t want to tell me when it was.”
“She knew you’d find an excuse if she left it too far in the future or too soon.” Gravity chuckles. “That woman.”
“I’m going to use your shower,” I tell him and get to my feet.
He lives in a very nice apartment. It’s not in the best neighborhood, but it’s also not one filled with crime.
Gravity does a lot of random shit. He’d been playing in the stock market since he turned eighteen and had made some really fortunate (and lucky) investments which have helped him out.
He sells things on the big online retailer sites but is mostly hands off, which is where he gets a lot of his passive income from, I think.
But his primary source of income is by being a ‘rented friend.’ It’s just what it sounds like. People will pay you to be their friend. To go places with them. To watch movies with them. To cuddle. Or just sit on the phone with them for an hour and have a conversation.
Sometimes, he even does the whole escort thing.
He works with a service and they offer him jobs based on the criteria he gave them.
In the past few months, more times than not, he’s turned them down.
The man is not hurting for money and mostly chooses to do things that don’t require him to leave the warmth of his house during the winter.
Smart man.
* * *
Auntie Faith learned early on that many of my excuses were legitimate. Such as, I don’t have a means to get there. Since then, she’s always included transportation in her requests for my company. In both directions. Not that I have to accept, but they’re there if I choose.
Obviously, I take the transportation option she sends me. It’s far too cold to find another way.
There are hidden places all over the city that look like they don’t belong. For instance, the massive castle-like building on a huge piece of land devoid of other buildings that’s not far from Manhattan. It belongs on an English country estate. Not here.
I walk in and stare at the man in front of me. He looks rather disapproving. “I’m Zak Ashland,” I tell him. “Faith D’Angelo invited me. I should be on a list or something.”
He gives me a half smile. “Of course, sir. Right this way.”