CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I spend the next fortnight in New York in a whirlwind of hotel and showroom tours, budget discussions and ideas meetings, as well as strategising over lunches and coffees with Max and various others in the company. It’s lovely, finally feeling part of a permanent team, even though I won’t be here with them in person much longer. But working by myself in London, at something I love, is better than being in a bustling office doing something I hate.
I spend my evenings doing the most touristy things I can think of. A late-night trip to the Whitney Museum of American Art, a walk through the ridiculously busy Times Square. It is exactly as it looks in films – the ratio of neon lights to people is 50:50. I plug in an audiobook and grab some food from a vendor and have a little al-fresco solo dinner while I walk along the High Line.
Throughout my time in New York, Max comes out with me for dinner twice, choosing a fabulous little sushi place and then a Vietnamese joint, and it’s nice, getting to know him away from the office. He lets his hair down a little more, tells filthy jokes.
The rest of my free time I fill by booking tickets and exploring on my own after work. I’m enjoying going out and seeing what’s in this vast city, killing my credit card once again and living an amazing life for two short weeks.
Chris’s offer to entertain me some evenings doesn’t materialise, and why would it? He’s seeing someone and I’m seeing someone. I figure his mind works the way mine does – and that the two of us being close friends is a step too far. We don’t want to betray anyone. That’s OK. It’s for the best, and we hang out in the office and by the coffee machine. He’s always getting a coffee at the same time I am.
I’m probably overthinking it and he doesn’t still care about me at all. He’s too busy getting laid and rejoicing in the $1,500 he gets for recommending me for the job.
I’m too busy to care anyway, as I’m shopping a ridiculous amount, it being the run-up to Christmas. I don’t know why I do this to myself. But I do have lovely presents for family and friends – Scarlet is going to love her bundle from Sephora – and a few treats for myself. I venture back to the office carrying yet more shopping bags on one of my final lunch breaks, and Chris gives me a look of mock-horror.
‘Shopping again ?’ he asks.
‘It’s Christmas,’ I exclaim.
‘No, it isn’t. It’s November,’ he says playfully.
‘I’m getting a head start. The shopping in New York is immense. I can see why you live here.’
‘I don’t live here for the shops. I came for the job.’
‘Shops are a bonus, though, aren’t they? If you’re being really honest with yourself,’ I probe.
He laughs. ‘I don’t really shop all that much.’
‘Why on earth not?’ I ask.
‘I just don’t shop much. I’m restrained,’ he says.
‘Are you implying I’m unrestrained?’
‘Maybe,’ he replies. ‘You’re very good at saying what you think.’
‘How’s that relevant?’ I query. ‘We’re talking about shopping.’
‘You’re unrestrained in general, I think.’ I open my mouth to speak and Chris stops me. ‘I wasn’t being unkind,’ he goes on. ‘I was paying you a compliment. It’s good, you saying what you think. I like it. You being you. It’s a good thing.’
‘Oh.’ I’m not sure what to make of that. This conversation feels intimate, but I’m not sure why. And I feel we were better friends when we were messaging than we are in each other’s company. Are we even friends now? Sadly, it feels less than that, since our night at the pizza restaurant, despite the banter. Perhaps it’s that the banter doesn’t feel real, now we’re not communicating properly with each other. Big Talk ended long ago.
I told Chris I wanted to be friends, and we’ve just become colleagues instead. This saddens me so much. We hang out in the office, eating salads and sandwiches and discussing work at our desks, or nipping to a bar after hours for a quick drink with some of the others, but we’ve not been alone since my first night here.
Chris moves into action, however, when I remind him, over a morning coffee on my last day, that I fly home first thing tomorrow. His face falls. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘Afraid so. My New York adventure is at an end. Back to drizzly London I go.’
‘What are you doing tonight?’ he asks after a pause.
‘I’ve done every touristy thing going and I’ve eaten every possible cuisine, so I’m planning a last wander, and I’ll grab some takeout from a place I’ve not investigated yet …’
‘Takeout?’ Chris smiles. ‘See, you’ve been here five minutes and you’re already using American phrases.’
‘Fine,’ I say, ‘I’ll grab a takeaway, pack my bag and then I’ll get some rest, ready for an early start.’
‘You could do that,’ Chris begins. ‘Or you could do something with me, and I could send you on your way out of New York in style.’
‘Hmm,’ I say casually. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘It’s a secret,’ he replies and then gives me instructions. When I’ve said goodbye to Max and the team, I’m told to go back to my hotel and put on jeans and a jumper, gloves and a hat, and meet him at the Rockefeller Center at seven.
‘O-kay,’ I respond. And when I’ve packed up my few belongings and have bundled my new laptop up in its protective case, gone around the office and said goodbye to everyone, giving Max the biggest squeeze possible and having him squeeze me back in return, with a scheduled time for us to chat on my return, I take myself back to the hotel and follow Chris’s instructions.