Chapter 2
My first instinct isn’t to call the police, but the ordeal already woke Mr. Swanson, and there’s no telling if some of my other neighbors overheard the struggle.
It’s best to have the incident on file in case any questions are asked later.
By the time officers arrive to make a report, it’s morning, my meager break-in ranking low priority on the NYPD’s checklist.
There are two officers. A man and a woman. Both look like they’re in their twenties and appear as though they’d rather be anywhere else.
A song Marmee used to play bops around my head—“Billy, Don’t Be a Hero.”
I don’t run. I don’t hide.
I fight.
“Has anything been stolen?” the female officer asks, surveying the surroundings. Bare walls and an immaculate kitchen, boxes stacked like columns scattered throughout the room.
“Not that I can tell,” I say. “As you can see, everything’s already out of place.”
“Moving in or moving out?” the male officer asks.
“I move out at the end of the week,” I say. “Most of my stuff is already in storage. I went through some of the boxes but can’t think of what might be missing.”
My bottom lip quivers, a tell that I’m lying. Or maybe it’s my nerves, aftershocks of an eventful night. It’s unsettling having the police inside my apartment.
“Lucky for you, I guess,” the male cop says, slapping his notepad closed. “The perp couldn’t have found too much before you came at him.”
I smile and nod, ambling behind them as they head for the front door.
“Getting another place across town?” the female asks.
“Heading abroad, actually,” I say. “I’m attending the Cannes Film Festival before taking some time off to travel.”
She pauses at the front door, looking at the opened box beside it. A coffee-table book pokes out of the top. She reaches forward, tilting it closer to her, and smiles.
“I remember this guy,” she says. “My grandpa and I used to watch those old shows when I was a kid.”
Marmee and I share a similar experience. The guy she’s referring to is Alfred Hitchcock. His basset-hound stare graces the cover alongside snapshots from some of his most iconic films.
“Take it,” I offer.
“You sure?”
I nod. “There are tons more in storage. I wrote the book.”
“Really?” She snaps up the copy, testing its durability.
The male officer leans in closer, eyeing the magenta foil script across the front.
“Tippi’s Takes Presents: What Hitch Taught Me About Life,” he reads. “You’re an author?”
“This is my first go at it,” I say. “Normally I run a movie review blog. Tippi’s Takes.”
“I’ve been on that website before,” the woman says, nudging her partner. “You’re always complaining there’s nothing good to watch. She’s got great recommendations.”
“Movies aren’t really my thing,” he says, rolling his eyes at her. “I can’t buy into the fantasy. I’d rather see life for what it is.”
“I recommend true crime documentaries, too,” I say. “Anything that involves a good mystery or scare.”
“And now you’ve experienced your very own burglary. What are the odds?” he says, tipping his hat. “Once you go through your things, if you notice anything’s missing, give us a ring. We’ll add it to the report.”
“Thank you,” I say, opening the door for them to exit.
“Thanks for the book,” the other officer says, shimmying it in her hands.
Once they’re gone, I sigh in relief. I’ve lived in this apartment for years and never had an issue. What are the chances someone would break in just days before I’m scheduled to move? In the movies, there is no such thing as a coincidence, but in real life, they happen all the time.
I open my laptop and begin scrolling through my open tabs.
Work brings me comfort, always has. Tippi’s Takes started out as a hobby, but like the most fulfilling careers, it soon transformed into something more.
Through the popularity of social media, the blog took off.
People are always on the hunt for new entertainment and prefer the transparency of an everyday person over the opinions of mainstream media.
They want recommendations from an equal, a friend.
Tippi’s Takes provides a surprising dose of authenticity in a world commonly made of smoke and mirrors.
My career, however, like everything else of late, is about to change.
After Cannes, I’m ducking away from the movie scene, transitioning the blog into something different.
Tippi’s Travels. Changing focus is a risky decision, one my social media manager urged me against, but I think I’ve garnered enough followers to do it.
Besides, travel blogging and movie critiquing might seem different on the surface, but they provide viewers with the same thing: escapism.
I enlarge the agenda on my computer, making sure all my scheduled posts for the next month are confirmed.
The only live events I have coming up are in Cannes, and after that, I’ll announce my hiatus.
I scroll through the mostly blank calendar, overwhelmed by the sense of unknown the next year will bring.
One notification hijacks my attention. A green banner marks the day in question. I don’t have to click on it to know what it says. It’s a day seared into my memory.
June thirteenth is my wedding day. Oliver and I were supposed to send out invitations this week to our closest friends and family. It’s a small victory that we didn’t, but most everyone close to us already had the date saved. I know, and I can feel my insides tightening with anxiety.
The wedding was called off two weeks ago.
Afterward, I thought I’d feel different. Maybe I’d look at myself and see a changed person. Truthfully, I don’t think about it at all, until some little reminder—a generic marking on a calendar, for example—appears, and my sorrow reignites.
Oliver.
The moment I first met him plays in my mind, like a skipping record. I was at one of my best friend’s infamous rooftop parties.
I drifted away from the others, transfixed by the endless glimmering lights in the distance.
Above, the sky was speckled with a dozen dazzling stars, brushed with gray clouds, a full beaming moon peeking out from behind them.
From that vantage point, the everyday stressors of the city seemed forgotten, as if I’d been transported to a new world, a different dimension.
When I turned to join my friends, I crashed into something hard, felt the piercing annoyance of wine splashing against my skin. I froze, my fingers splayed, watching as the burgundy liquid dripped down the front of my dress.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t see you.”
A man I’d never seen before stood in front of me. His smile was captivating. Charming yet layered with mystery, something worth exploring. The instant attraction was mutual—I could tell by the way his pupils dilated as he scanned my face. He took off his jacket, draping it over my shoulders.
“Thank you,” I said, inhaling his woodsy smell.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“It’s a white dress,” I said, assessing the damage. “It’s completely ruined.”
“Take my jacket for the rest of the night. Or longer.” He tittered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m Oliver, by the way.”
“Tippi.”
“You’re Tippi. I’m tipsy,” he said, wincing in embarrassment. “That was a horrible joke.”
“It was.” And yet I was smiling, as though I’d stumbled into my very own meet-cute.
Oliver accompanied me to the bathroom to help me clean up. We spent the rest of the night talking, and the hours of the next early morning making love in this very apartment.
I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with him; now I fear I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to forget what he did.
I absolutely hate this feeling. This sense of failure.
I walk across my empty living room, my gaze fixed on the windows in front of me.
The glass panes run from floor to ceiling, providing an uninterrupted view of the New York City skyline.
The familiar sight springs sadness. It’s not easy saying goodbye to a place, even if I’m convinced, more than ever, it’s time to start fresh.
I close my eyes, trying to imagine what the next adventure might bring, and my mind inevitably recalls what life was like when I visited Europe for the first time, the summer after graduation, bouncing around from one stylish city to the next, surrounded by pedestrians and sidewalks, cafés and cathedrals.
I went with my closest friends, and we traveled beyond tourist traps too, visited towns with names most people would never recognize, where we’d cultivate the best memories.
I imagine being there again. Undisturbed coves in the early morning sunlight, lavender fields swaying in an afternoon breeze. A sense of peace falls over me. I’m on the precipice of being back to the woman I was before I made the mistake of trying to tame myself.
The woman I was before Oliver took everything from me.