Chapter 3
THREE
The view of Washington Square Park was the ultimate selling point.
Leah remembered summers spent in and amongst the tree-lined pathways, watching the street performers in awe.
She found it peaceful to sit within the chaos—the irony of that still intrigued her.
The popular arch appeared in many of her photos.
It became the backdrop to countless New York trips, but there was a more prominent memory made within the park, one she didn’t like to admit still held a firm place in her mind’s eye.
The event changed from time to time. The more she pictured it, the more she convinced herself it wasn’t as magical as it seemed—but it was.
She knew it. Deep down, the feeling that erupted so forcefully throughout her body six years ago was impossible to forget.
She recalled the summer’s day in July like a movie playing in her mind.
Every small detail was still pronounced—the gentle breeze, the saxophone player in the distance, the sweet smell of daffodils, and the dazzling, sunset-coloured tulips glistening all around her.
It was Leah and Ariana’s second trip to the city. The most recent heatwave had cast a humid shadow over the whole of New York. Locals and tourists were finding any opportunity to seek refuge from the sweltering conditions.
After watching many residents immerse themselves in the cool water of the Washington Square fountain, they too did the same.
Ariana twirled and spun through the shallow waters, her laughter ringing out, her long chestnut curls falling around her shoulders, a twinkle in her green eyes as she playfully splashed the water in Leah’s direction.
Leah captured the moment in one singular photo.
The blur didn’t take away from the beauty of the moment.
The camera captured the droplets of water dancing through the air, the green trees providing a canopy of shade, and the sun cutting across Ariana’s face at the opportune time.
Her colourful sundress billowed in the gentle breeze, her bare feet kicked out of the water—and what was captured on the flipside of the lens was pure joy. Leah had never seen Ariana so carefree.
They danced in the fountain until their bare feet felt the wrath of the solid stone at the base.
The connection they shared was evident, their movement fluid, and their laughter harmonising like a melody only the two of them could hear.
Leah remembered the cool marble of the fountain’s edge as she took a seat.
She was soaking wet, her body was perspiring and producing goosepimples at the same time, and amongst all the captivating chaos the only thing that remained in focus was Ariana.
It was the single most wondrous moment Leah could remember—and there were a lot of moments with Ariana, each of them more special than the last—but that day, the feeling in the pit of her stomach as she looked deep into her eyes was a moment she could never forget, despite years of trying.
She hoped to spend the rest of her summer days dancing in the fountain with Ariana, but it wasn’t meant to be.
She adjusted a photo frame on her gallery wall.
It was almost complete—a display of frames in various sizes and colours adorned the wall that ran from the entrance of her apartment to the living area.
Her collection had grown significantly over the past five years.
Leah wasn’t much of a creative herself, but she admired the artistic talent that many possessed.
Instead, she honed her own talent, which had an eye for detail.
Some people would assume that finding pieces of art—especially by street vendors in the cities of America—was a simple thing to do, and it was, to a degree, but Leah had a knack for finding the artists with less social presence. It had become a hobby of sorts.
She had rearranged her furniture twice since she moved in—once because the sunlight reflected off the television, and the second time because the sofa felt more inviting facing the entrance, as opposed to away from it.
The plush emerald green sofa served as the focal point in the room.
She slumped into her spot on the left side.
The sofa was six years old. No amount of fluffing the cushions was going to bring it back to life, but she couldn’t part ways with it.
Despite the shabby Leah-sized imprint, it was too comfortable.
She kicked off the array of decorative pillows, stretching her arms above her head, and pressing her body deep into the padding below.
It took Leah months to find the perfect combination of texture and pattern for her cushion collection.
Now, most of them ended up on the floor, dusting the hardwood with their cosy fabric.
She stretched over and removed the glass of wine from her vintage cocktail cart.
She purchased it with the intention of hosting impromptu gatherings, but in reality, she only used it to place her beverage on.
The bottles of fancy alcohol and the crystal glassware were rarely put to use.
The cosy reading nook by the window featured a grey armchair draped with numerous throws, none of which she had any real purpose for when purchased, other than she liked the colour—or the texture—or both.
Now, the combination of four different throws created a spongy snug that she avoided, unless her attention was to remain immobile for four hours. Once you got in, you didn’t get out.
The second day she arrived in New York she found a thrift store that had a stack of vintage books.
The spines were shabby, and the pages torn, but amongst the 300+ dust-gathering clumps of paper, she found eight books worthy of saving.
The owner gave her eight for the price of four, so clearly he didn’t think they were worth saving.
The stack of books sat beside her chair purely for aesthetic purposes—she had no intention of reading a hundred-year-old book about farming in Canada.
In recent months, Leah had ventured into the world of audiobooks.
It was more convenient, and it enlivened all the dull tasks she had to do on a daily basis.
A glass of wine was her Friday night tipple.
It signified the end of a long week, and the start of a work-free weekend.
After she parted ways very swiftly with the homophobic girl band she met when she first arrived, she decided that navigating the city alone was the safer option.
Every Friday night she called her best friend back in Michigan.
Grace was happily married, a parent to the most perfectly proportioned one-year-old boy, and she also happened to be Ariana’s sister—which made her the first-class choice of person to divulge all the details of the night before.
“Hey, cutie,” Grace chirped.
“Hey, you’re right on time,” Leah sounded surprised. She had no doubt that having a baby changed everything—that included time management. Grace was available only when Ezra allowed her to be.
“Aren’t I always?”
“Erm . . .” Leah hesitated.
“Don’t answer that.”
“How is baby Ez?” Leah asked.
“He said his first word yesterday,” Grace squealed.
“He’s eight months old,” Leah replied, sceptically.
“Yes, but he’s a clever boy. He said orrery.”
“He said what?” Leah laughed.
“Orrery,” Grace repeated.
“That’s not a word,” Leah challenged.
“It is.”
“What does it mean, then?”
“It’s an apparatus that shows the positions of the planets in the solar system.”
“Do you think he’s going to be an astronomer?” Leah tried to keep a straight face.
“You’re being sarcastic, and Ezra doesn’t need his Auntie Leah being sarcastic if he has big dreams of being the next Galileo.”
“Galileo? Really? The man who discovered that the sun was the centre of the universe and not the Earth? Poor Ez has a lot to live up to,” Leah chuckled.
Leah was officially named Auntie Leah, and that would’ve been okay under normal circumstances.
If your best friend has a child, honorary auntie is often the go-to title.
However, when his real auntie was the woman who cut out Leah’s heart, purified it in a blender on the highest setting, and then put it back all emotionally puréed and utterly heartbroken, it took on a different meaning.
“How’s work?” Grace asked. “The women still giving you a hard time?”
“It’s okay. My dad seems impressed with what I’m doing so far. The women, not so much. I tried Free Doughnut Fridays. It didn’t work.”
“They didn’t eat the doughnuts?” Grace questioned.
“Nope.”
“What kind of skinny bitch shit is that?”
“I don’t know. They were fresh too, and I got the expensive ones with the fancy decorations.” Leah took a sip of her wine, contemplating what she did wrong.
“I’m sorry they’re not accepting you the way you hoped they would,” Grace sympathised.
“Don’t get me wrong, I understand it—but I am trying. I’m not walking around the office in Prada shoes and a Vacheron watch like some socialite with more air in my head than brains.”
“I know that. Just give it time, they’ll come around.”
“I hope so,” Leah sighed. “What about you? Are you prepared for your trip next week?”
The Harrison family trip took place every year, normally a week or two before Thanksgiving.
Originally, the tradition started in the late ’80s because Grace and Ariana’s father refused to travel on Thanksgiving.
He was tired of entertaining and wanted to watch the NFL games in peace, so the tradition of a pre-Thanksgiving vacation was born.
“Barely. This is the first vacation since I had Ezra, and quite honestly, I am unprepared for the amount of items required to keep a child alive.”
“I wish I could help,” Leah said.
“Me too! Johnathan is trying his best, but you know men—they don’t understand that a baby can’t live off a diet of beef jerky, and the football top he bought him can’t be worn for a full five-day trip,” she sighed.