Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
I stare out the window where rain has been threatening the city all day. “This changes everything.”
Taking the long way home meant catching a cab to the West Side and standing across the street from Bayetti’s restaurant like a creeper. I only catch a glimpse of her here and there as she leads guests to their tables. The few times I’ve stopped by to spy on her were in the evening, so I’m not sure if she’s a teacher by trade during the day, but she spends the evenings working the hostess stand for her family.
It gives me a good view of her when she’s weaving through the tables and satisfies some innate urge I have to still connect with her despite making no contact.
The sky finally decides to open up and pour down. I duck under an awning that doesn’t give much cover. I should get out of here despite already being soaked. But I stay a minute longer, needing it to soak her in as well.
Her eyes meet mine, sending me back into the shadows, but there’s no hiding. She’s seen me, so I raise my hand just the slightest as I hide my cast under my jacket and leave like I’m not going to be back here before the end of the week again.
Six weeks later . . .
“The last X-ray looked good. You healed nicely.” The doctor taps on the cast like he expects it to crumble. “I bet you’re ready to get this cast off.”
Staring at the colorful get-well messages from some of my coworkers, Jocelyn’s purple calligraphy signature, and Jimmy’s artistic interpretation of eating a hot dog that suits more the toilet humor of his college frat days than a CEO in New York, I feel sentimental that they’ll be gone. I’d gotten used to letting go of things being a specific way and started to go with the flow on others. Seeing the scribbles didn’t kill me and brought me much-needed smiles when no one else was around. It’s strange how I finally put myself out there only to still end up alone anyway. “Yeah, but can you do me a favor?”
“Sure,” he says, with a giant pair of scissor-looking tools in hand.
“Save this one for me.”
He tilts his head and reads, “I love you, Hotshot.” I should be embarrassed letting a professional read something that probably seems so silly to him, but to me, it’s been a lifeline. That and the elastic hairband she left for me to use to protect my cast in the shower. I guess I won’t need that anymore. He chuckles. “Girlfriend?”
“Wife.” The word slips from my tongue before I can stop myself.
The first cut is made, jerking my arm to the side. “I didn’t realize you were married.”
“I, um . . . it’s complicated.” I steady my arm against my leg as he slices down the center.
“Isn’t it always?” He sets the tool next to me and says, “My wife lives in Aspen year-round.”
The cracking open of the cast reveals my pale and skinny forearm and hand. Oh, how I’ve missed you. “And you live here in the city?”
“It’s complicated.” He chuckles.
“Sounds like it.”
He cuts around the section I requested for him to save and hands it to me. “How does your arm feel?”
I open and close my fist a couple of times. “Good.”
“That’s good. You can wash your arm up at the sink and then go to the nurses’ station for instructions on care.” He heads to the door, but before he leaves, he adds, “Good luck with the complication.”
“Thanks.” I’m not sure why I reply like Delaney is still in my life when she’s not. “You, too.”
I leave the office and head four blocks uptown to meet my mother for dinner since I’m in the area. She’s made a conscious effort to stay in touch, and we’ve been meeting for a meal every other week. I think that’s more than we did when I was a child.
I find her sitting at a table in the front corner. She waved, though the hostess was already expecting me. I suspect my mom showed her a photo of me. She’s been more interested in my dating life since she met Delaney and now knows I’m single again. When I think about it, she’s been more invested in my life in general since Jimmy’s reception.
After showing off my healed arm, we order drinks and the nightly special at Johnathon’s Bistro. Over a bourbon for me, and a glass of white wine for her, she tells me how she secured the committee chair position for the Upper East Side Social for next year and is quite pleased with herself. I hold my glass up. “Where there’s a will.”
“There’s a way,” she says, tapping her glass to mine.
It reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to talk to her about. “My father always said nothing is safe in this city—”