Chapter 27
SOSIE
Chatter from the other room is dulled when Marcy asks, “What do you think, Sos?” The clack of two sets of heels echoes off the hardwood floors right after, the sound disappearing when my friend enters the bedroom with the agent.
Turning away from the view of the solid brick wall less than ten feet outside the window, I find Marcy standing next to the real estate broker, and my excitement bubbles over. “I’ll take it.”
“Really? It’s the size of a shoebox. You can’t get more than a queen in this bedroom, and there’d be no room to walk on the sides,” the broker says with perplexion, creating lines despite the heavy Botox to keep them at bay. “The price is unbeatable, but that view—”
“I love it.” Not one thing on the list sounds negative despite her tone and the disapproval she’s struggling to keep from her expression.
“You qualify for so much more. I’m waiting for an off-market apartment on the Upper East Side to get back to me. Seventeen hundred square feet. Three bedrooms. A terrace—”
“I don’t need to see it. This is the one.” I may not be in a skirt, but I twirl with my arms out anyway. “See, it’s big enough,” I say, coming to a stop in my sneakers.
Marcy crosses the room in five steps and peeks out the window, looking in both directions before nodding. “This is quintessential New York, baby.”
Always on my side, my friend is so good to me. “When can I move in?”
The agent is already walking into the room. Grabbing her Birkin handbag from the counter, she says, “One month. It’s empty, but the current renters refuse to give it up even a day early unless you want to pay an extra five K.”
One month? I hum, thinking about how much I’m spending per night at the hotel. “I might want to do that. I’d spend more than that for a week at a hotel.”
“Well,” the agent says, finally able to smile even if it is forced. “Let me know, and I’ll draw up the paperwork.”
“Draw it up.”
“I’m late to my next appointment, so I’ll work on it when I get back to the office.” She walks out, leaving Marcy and me grinning at each other in silence until the sound of her heels is no longer heard on the stairwell outside the open door.
Throwing her arms around me, she says, “You did it, Sosie.”
Jumping up and down only causes us to tip a bit since she’s in heels.
I steady her and release our embrace with a sigh of relief the size of the Grand Canyon.
The pull to call Keats is so strong that my hand is already wrapped around my phone in my pocket.
But I don’t. Not yet. This feels like the kind of news that should be shared in person, especially when our relationship remains so undefined but feels solid and certain, inevitable in ways that I’m also excited about.
Marcy leads us out of the bedroom, where I can already see Keats and me lounging around on Sunday mornings.
He could be reading the paper because he seems like the type who likes the ink on his fingers and something tangible in his hands.
And I could be scrolling through social media, sending him an endless stream of memes and cat videos, or flipping through fashion magazines.
Bagels in bed, the everything kind that makes us laugh when the crumbs are all over the sheets, and coffee as we lazily begin our day.
I stop in the doorway and look back. I don’t even know what he likes to do on the weekends.
What if he’s a morning person who likes to go running in Central Park while the sun is barely awake?
Well, I guess I could try to shift my routine and do yoga at sunrise, or maybe take up running?
I’ve never loved it, but I’ve never refused a buddy or a boyfriend to exercise with.
My cheeks hurt from smiling so much, and I turn to join Marcy for a coffee before heading back to my sexy patient. “Is it wrong to fantasize about him rescuing me? He looks so sexy with a black eye.”
The belt of laughter startles me, but I laugh in response. Opening the door to this perfect, darling of an apartment, Marcy’s brown hair swings over her shoulder, and she says, “It’s apparently super common.”
“I can see why.”
I shut the door behind us, and we start down the five flights of stairs. The memory huffing and puffing as I hoofed it up his four-story walkup causes a giggle to bubble up. I’ll have a great ass at least.
She stops and looks back. “What made you cut your hair?”
When I catch up, she starts trotting down with me following her again. “I needed a change. This is more me than the long hair.”
“I like it. So you just cut it?”
“I had Keats cut it.” We land on the bottom floor and push through the door.
Both of us bundle our arms around ourselves when a harsh wind hits.
Strands of blond hair block my vision until I flick my neck to send it back on one side.
“It’s totally uneven but . . .” I shrug, tightening the wool belt around my waist. “I kind of like it. I’ve been thinking about getting some pink strands like I used to have as well. ”
We reach the corner and take a right. “What about work? Is that allowed?”
“I have no idea. I’m not returning.”
“What do you mean you’re not returning?” She stops and stares at me. “Sosie, you just qualified for an apartment because of your salary. You could lose it.”
Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. “But I have the money?”
“Do you have enough to cover the first and last month’s rent?”
Marcy has always been sensitive to my spending without thinking. Now I understand why. She had to be since she pays her own bills.
I scan the surrounding area. The graffiti on the steel garage door and kids kicking a soccer ball in the direction we’re heading.
Standing in front of what would be my drugstore, I try to peek in and decide it’s nice enough.
We head toward a local coffee shop ahead.
A mom and her young son leave the corner store, and a neon sign next to it catches my eye, advertising a nail salon.
The trash bags piled ahead on the driveway don’t bother me, and the bustling of some guys outside the vape store isn’t my concern.
Money is. I can already see myself living in this vibrant community.
It’s noisy and a little chaotic, if I’m being honest, but it’s full of life, and it’s busy.
It’s the opposite of where my parents live.
And though it’s eight blocks from Keats’s apartment, the distance on the map was deceptive.
They’re longer blocks than expected. I’m altogether in a different world in this area of the city.
Which feels like an adventure, but am I in over my head?
Especially if I don’t have a job any longer?
“I’m sorry, Marcy, can I get a rain check? ”
“Why?”
I run my freezing fingers through my hair and then rub them together for warmth. “I don’t think I’ve thought through everything I need to. I want to get my laptop and figure things out.”
Sympathy runs through her expression, and when she tilts her head to the side, she nods. “I get it. But you’re buying the next round of coffee.”
“If I have money for it, it will be my treat.” I give her a hug and say, “Thanks for helping me check out the apartment.”
“Eh.” She flips her hand. “It was kismet that I was in the area, and we could connect. It’s been a while.”
She starts walking backward, but before she’s out of earshot, I say, “Too long. I want to fully catch up soon.”
Pointing at me, she laughs. “And you owe me a meet and greet with the infamous Keats.” Her feet come to a sudden standstill. “You were supposed to introduce me to Gregory, and that never happened. What gives?”
“Oh my God, long story, but not only did I dodge a bullet, but you did. Trust me.”
“I’m trusting you, but I’m twenty-eight. It’s my turn to meet Prince Charming.” She turns and runs smack into a tall man in a dark wool coat, and he’s handsome.
One shot, friend. I quietly cheer her on. “You got this.”
After watching two strangers fall in love at first sight, a girl can dream for her friend on the street.
I rush to the corner to catch a cab back to the hotel to shower and get to Keats’s place.
I throw my arm in the air and step off the curb to get in the taxi that slammed on its brakes to pick me up.
The job hadn’t really crossed my mind once I left. We’ve been closed for the holidays, so I haven’t had to face or deal with it. Nobody knows I’m not going to show up next week. Do I give them the courtesy of submitting a resignation or just walk away from my father’s company like I am him?
Between the cards and cash I have on hand, I have enough money to cover the rent for a year.
That doesn’t concern me. It’s the other stuff.
The living stuff—food, bills, my phone, taxi rides, clothes, travel, and more than I can list off the top of my head.
Am I naive for thinking I could pull this off? Dumb for even trying?
I can get another job. I have a degree and a résumé I’ve built, even if it’s not particularly impressive, since it was a job my father created to keep me occupied. But it counts, and I did a damn good job at it.
I hate that my hands are shaking, and my stomach is twisting in turmoil.
This shouldn’t be happening. It was a new beginning for me, but now my past is catching up with me and ruining my present.
Take a breath, Sosie. Breathe in. Hold it.
And slowly exhale. It’s going to be fine.
Everything is working in my favor. I manifest several times before the car pulls up to the hotel.
I dash up the short flight of stairs, and though I’m not running inside the small lobby, my pace is still quickened.
“Ms. Stansbury?”
I hear my name just as I punch the button for the elevator. I look back. A woman waves her arm like she’s trying to flag down the Coast Guard from a dinghy. Our eyes connect when she leans over the desk. “Yes?”