4. Annie #3
When I graduated from college this past spring at a fresh age of 23, Marcy helped me find and move into this apartment, which happens to be directly across from her complex.
It’s between the firm and the studio, so location wise, it’s central to everything I need.
I would have lived here forever if the building’s owner didn’t suddenly decide to sell the plot to a local developer.
It’s going to be torn down soon, but I’m not sure when.
Marcy’s offered I stay with her, but her studio apartment is not big enough for the two of us.
“Well, you’re not going to believe who my client is,” I warn.
Marcy peers over her shoulder. “It’s someone I know?”
I give her a big nod. “Yup.”
“Who is it?”
“Zayn.”
“As in actor Zayn? Asshole Zayn? Zayn, who doesn’t know how to smile?”
Marcy places a hand on her hip as we reach my apartment door.
“You don’t smile much either, you know.” I scrunch my face.
“I do if you’re not a complete asshole.” Marcy grins now, trying to prove her point. Except all it makes me do is chuckle as I unlock the door and open it for us.
Marcy drags her bag of dresses inside and sets it on the couch in the living room.
“Lucky me,” I tease.
“Why did your boss give you him as your first client? Why not someone... easier? I mean, I don’t work with him that much directly, but I’ve heard about his attitude.”
She’s not wrong. I would have loved an easier client.
Someone who wouldn’t talk back and would answer my questions.
Someone who saw what we are doing as a partnership instead of a business transaction.
Especially someone who isn’t related to my ex.
Instead, I’m stuck with grumpy, yet awfully sexy, Zayn.
My heart is torn between reminding me of the past and reminding me the pull toward him never left.
There’s a part of me that wonders if Greg wants me to fail.
Maybe he doesn’t see any long term plans with me and figured he would assign me an unwilling client.
Then, if things blew up, I’d be to blame and he wouldn’t have to hire me.
I’d be forever known as the girl who wants to be a publicist but can’t even maintain her own public image.
I shudder thinking about Dan, and his words.
“ You’ll never make it Annie. You’re too nice, too much, no one will take you seriously. ”
I close my eyes to center myself before joining Marcy by her stack of dresses.
“I’m not sure why Greg gave me Zayn. Maybe because it was last minute and I was the only one left.” I shrug.
“You know you could do a lot better than Greg and his shitty firm.”
“That shitty firm is the top firm in the area. I’m not qualified to work anywhere else. Plus, I do like it there. They get all the best clients, and I never have to travel far.”
“Okay, well I won’t argue with that. I like you here. I can’t stand to hang out with Cassie and Emmett alone anymore.” Marcy puckers her lips.
I stifle a laugh. Cassie and Emmett tied the knot one year ago, a year after her debut movie premiered.
The sun shone on a late summer evening in July, and they were married alongside a handful of their closest friends.
It was the month after Dan and I split, and I thought maybe all love was useless.
Now, I see Cassie and Emmett challenging that everyday.
They found their dreams, while finding each other, and I wish that one day I’ll find my person that supports me the way that Cassie and Emmett support each other.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” I say.
“Have you found a new apartment yet?”
I shake my head. “Still looking.”
“How much longer until you get kicked out?”
“They have to give me a sixty-day notice since I’ve been there for longer than a year, so I expect that will come any day now.
If I still haven’t found something by the time they decide to tear the building down, I’ll have to come crash with you while I keep looking.
I will also not be choosing to spend alone time in Cassie’s apartment.
” I would rather live out of a hotel than stay with my sister and her husband. Those walls are not thick enough.
“You could still live with me, you know.”
“The only open space in your apartment is if I slept on your couch or threw out your dining room table,” I argue. “I’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”
I can see Marcy is about to push me, to keep asking me questions, but the longer she hesitates, the more sure I am she’s going to drop it.
She’s the best friend I’ve ever had, being able to read my moods and know when I feel like talking about something versus dropping it.
This is one of those topics that I don’t need to talk about.
I know I need to find a place to live. I’ll figure it out and I’m glad Marcy trusts me enough to know that if I need her, I’ll tell her.
“Okay, okay. Well, how about we try on some of these dresses?” Marcy holds up the first garment.
I spend the next two hours trying them on, a few more than once.
Eventually we start taking videos of me twirling in a circle so we can dwindle down the selection.
I thought she’d bring two, maybe three. No.
She brought ten. Who owns that many fancy dresses?
Apparently Marcy, who instead of donating them or choosing to rent, hoards them in an extra closet in her apartment.
She jokes it’s her version of 27 Dresses , except there isn’t a punchline.
She just likes them all too much to get rid of them.
“That’s the one.” Marcy looks me up and down, twirling her finger to encourage a spin.
I indulge her, spinning once more, letting myself forget about the weekend ahead, about the grumpy man I need to find a way to break, and choosing to let myself have fun in this moment.
“I think you’re right.”