Chapter 13
New York, January
Augie’s memories of New York felt at once crystal clear and like a black hole. Still, in the weeks after dinner at Julia and
Micah’s, there was a catalog of moments that stuck out. It made her crazy, how she felt energy and attraction radiating off
him, but everything inside her brain told her it couldn’t be. That he was just being friendly.
The dinner itself had been innocuous. Once Julia had joined them and the Greek takeout arrived, they sat together and talked
about the agency, about Augie’s lottery project. They’d joked about how the team was too old to understand their target audience,
and Micah said Augie would soon be running the place. Julia was kind and supportive, telling Augie not to take any bullshit,
to hold her own. Augie liked Julia. She reminded Augie of Robin and Leah.
It wasn’t until after dinner that she felt another jolt of attraction to Micah.
He had been helping her put on her coat, holding it out as she slipped her arms in one at a time, when she turned back to him while zipping it up, their faces now closer.
“See you Monday,” he’d said quietly, before reaching for her zipper and tugging it higher.
“Stay warm.” He’d let go of the zipper, moved his hand upward, and nudged the bottom of her chin with his thumb, holding it there for two full seconds.
Augie had stood, stunned, before turning to the door.
As she walked home in the cold, she’d touched her own chin, trying to make sense of the gesture. Was it meant to be playful?
Parental? Or was it meant to make her feel as it had—drowned with want?
She next saw him at the office. The agency was housed in a Midtown skyscraper. Augie felt like she was in The Devil Wears Prada as she swiped her badge for the elevator and made her way to the seventeenth floor. She was wearing her new pencil skirt,
holding folders of preliminary lottery research. Despite the nerves drumming inside her, Augie was proud of herself for becoming
the competent young professional she had envisioned for so long.
It was Tuesday when he first sidled up to her cubicle. “Knock, knock,” he’d said as he sat on the side of her desk, scanning
her workspace. She’d decorated it with an old ceramic penguin pencil holder; a framed picture of her, her mom, and Leah from
her eighteenth birthday; and brand-new floral sticky notes. As Micah looked at everything, she felt childish and dumb. He’d
picked up the frame, paused. “Is this the Greenes’ pool?”
Augie had stuttered, thrown to remember that he was related to Leah, a second-cousin-in-law or whatever. It was too strange
to imagine him at the pool where she’d spent so much time.
“Yeah, she—they—threw me a birthday party that year.”
“Cute.” He set the frame down gently, and Augie wondered if he meant the party, or the picture—or her. He rubbed his hands
along his jeans, which scrunched the shoulders of his blazer. He looked exactly like a creative director should. And incredibly
handsome.
He seemed to be genuinely checking on her, though, because he continued to ask if her payroll was set up, if she’d figured out the internal communication system—if her recycling center apartment was treating her well.
The fact that he remembered their past conversation sent a surge of energy through Augie’s body.
Augie tried to remain casual yet confident as she told him she was starting to find the junk inspiring, actually. “I made
a bouquet of flowers out of pipe cleaners.”
He laughed. “That’s the spirit. Maybe you should join us creatives. But really, if you need anything”—he leaned over her to
the computer—“feel free to ping me anytime.” He was inches from her now, but he didn’t have room to type as he hunched down,
so he grabbed the back of her swivel chair and rolled her to the side. “See? Just here.” He opened the internal messaging
box, found his name, and sent an emoji of a cat saying, “You’re cool!”
“You are cool,” Augie heard herself say.
He smirked. “I’ll take it.” And with that, he tapped her desk and left.
Micah never said goodbye. When he came by her desk, soon a routine, they’d have some flirty exchange, then he’d disappear.
No “See you” or “Have a good day.” Another week in, she called him out on it.
Why do you do that, she typed in the messenger right after he’d left, her heart pounding.
Do what? he’d replied a second later, surely just having gotten back to his desk.
Why don’t you ever say goodbye? Or like, ciao? Have a good one? A common pleasantry? You always disappear.
Well, I’m never really saying bye. We’re only three floors apart.
I guess.
Do you want me to say bye?
I guess.
Does that mean you want me to stop talking to you?
Augie’s hands hovered over the keyboard. No.
Okay, then.
Augie had laughed silently, secretively, as she started to sweat. BYE, she wrote, before signing off.
Things took on a new tone from there. Even as Augie worked hard, conducting focus groups and compiling insights, preparing
briefs for the creative team, Micah was always on her mind. It was fun to have a crush—someone to think about while running
or waiting in line. Even if it couldn’t go anywhere, it thrilled her to think of him.
He was often in her physical space, too. At lunches or agency meetings, he’d catch her eye, engage in light conversation.
Their interactions always felt more surface level when around others, which made Augie wonder if he was suppressing feelings,
too. But Micah was one of the top directors. He met with the president and VP every Wednesday. There was no way he’d be interested
in a clueless twenty-two-year-old.
But then, the last Friday in January, a snowstorm hit the city.
It had come out of nowhere. Augie had always thought New Yorkers were accustomed to snow, but with only a few inches, the city seemed to shut down.
People were freaking out about getting home.
It made Augie feel proud. Having grown up in Maine and Minnesota, a few inches of snow didn’t scare her.
When Micah messaged and asked if she needed a ride to her apartment, explaining the streets and subways would be crazy, she joked that this was nothing.
Back in my day, she typed, I walked 3 miles in a snowstorm. But really, I’m okay. Thanks.
But you live on 72nd and Amsterdam? Right?
Yes.
I’m heading to Columbia anyway. Televised panel somehow not canceled. The 123 is fucked. I already ordered a car. I’ll drop
you.
Augie said okay.
When they finally got to her street, the snow was fully coming down. The driver got out to clean the wipers, and for a moment,
it was only the two of them inside the car. The snow covering the windows made them feel even more alone, drawn curtains of
white, the back seat now shadowed. Micah wore a blue sweater that matched both their eyes. As Augie gathered her bags and
scooted to the door, they both hesitated.
“Hey,” he said as she reached for the handle. “You’re doing a really good job, you know. Cheryl told me. They’re all really impressed. Keep it up and we’ll get you a new title in no time. I’ll keep an eye out for you, put in a good word.”
Augie felt warmed by the flattery. She missed the recognition that came with school grades and test scores, those routine
validations.
“Thanks.” She nodded into her shoulder. “I appreciate that.”
“You’re so formal.” He sighed and adjusted his knees.
“I’m being professional,” she teased.
He paused, staring at her as the snow fell faster. “You make me bad at that.”
“What?”
“Being professional.” He tugged once at her scarf.
She scooted closer.
And before she knew what was happening, he was kissing her, her whole body melting into his, the snow and cold and reality
as distant as the moon.
When Augie had requested the Fourth off, Aida had given her a whole week, citing a slow schedule, small wedding, and the fact
the newbies were finally getting the hang of things. Augie hadn’t realized then how relieved she’d be to avoid everyone at
the Club .
She had barely slept the night after the cabin. The whole drive back, she’d replayed Mrs. Crawley’s words, the moment she’d
overheard between her and Chat. None of it made sense. Why did Mrs. Crawley hate her so deeply? It’s not like she knew Augie
and Chat had slept together. There was no way he had told her. At least, she hoped not.
Even if Mrs. Crawley did know, why would she care? Chat and Augie weren’t dating. She wasn’t around the boys, breaking the “rules.” Was Mrs. Crawley
just—jealous?
It was impossible the two didn’t find each other attractive. It was equally impossible they weren’t growing closer, given
how much time they spent together. Augie hated to recognize that she felt jealous of Mrs. Crawley. She wanted to be the opposite of her: to be kind and humble and hardworking. She didn’t want to sink to her shallow level, to feel envious of some bored,
mean housewife. In thinking that, Augie knew she’d already faltered.
When Augie had finally fallen asleep, she’d dreamed of Chat. They were in the middle of her New York apartment. He’d been
on top of her, kissing her, when the whole room began to sway like a boat. His face had morphed into Micah’s then—that sharp,
sly smile. And finally, as she pushed him away, Danika had appeared in the doorway, screaming to Get the hell out.
Augie had woken sweating. It had felt like a warning. She needed to be careful. There was no denying she was involved now,
though: She liked Chat too much. She hated Danika too much. She was too eager to know what was going on. Could they really
be hooking up? The thought made her feel crazy.
Augie had told Leah everything that had happened at the cabin, of course. She’d also asked for help looking them all up online—she
knew Leah was always game for stalking—but Leah had said she was sorry to report she’d already tried.