a real job. I want my friends.
And by the time I turn twenty-three, I want to be doing something that means something. Either I have a life that I can be proud of, that I earned on my own merits, or … or … or I don’t know what.
Twenty-three is my deadline.
“You sure that’s what you want?” repeats Gabriel.
I look up. “I am.”
CHAPTER 10
When we land, Gabriel offers me a ride home in their car. He gives me his business card, though I have no intention of calling him, and I thank him and his sisters profusely for being such Good Samaritans. They drop me at the corner of Smith and Union before continuing on to his apartment on Columbus Circle and, shivering from the cold, I walk down the street to Rookhaven.
It’s past midnight. Everyone is asleep, and for a moment, as I walk up the stoop of my house in the darker than dark, freezing-cold February night, it feels like the whole sun-filled superyacht experience was just a dream. Or a nightmare.
With the hidden spare key, I open the front door and inhale the warm, comforting Rookhaven smell. Vanilla and cinnamon from the kitchen, the wood polish Coco uses on the furniture, all mixed with everyone’s shampoo and perfumes and a sort of papery scent that I always think of as old wallpaper.
I have never been as happy to be in Rookhaven as I am right this second.
Minutes later, I’m tearing through my bedroom like that Tasmanian devil cartoon. Wrenching dresses off hangers, taking jewelry out of drawers, grabbing shoes and underwear, every gift from an ex-boyfriend, ex-flings, ex … whatevers. All my labels, all my most expensive clothes … Touching them, knowing now why I got them, gives me a cold, scared feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I’m so stupid. How could I have ever thought they actually liked me for me?
I will never trust a man again. Ever. They all lie. They lie and lie and lie. My father lies, Stef lies, Mani and Jessop and Marc and, oh God, all of them. Liars.
Now all that’s left in my closet is stuff from H&M and Urban Outfitters and other cheapish places, stuff I borrowed from Annabel and never gave back, and secondhand pieces found in vintage stores and flea markets that I customized to suit just me. I bundle all the designer clothing in a bag to take to Goodwill tomorrow.
But I can’t even bear to have the white dress from the Soho Grand night in the house anymore. It was from Mani, the guy I really thought I might be in love with, the guy who took me out for dinner and talked to me like he cared .… The dress was bought with bullshit.
So I grab it, head downstairs, out the front door, down the stoop, and throw the dress in the garbage.
“Watch out there, girlie, you’ll break the lid,” says a voice. I turn around. It’s Vic, the old guy who lives in the downstairs apartment. I haven’t seen him in ages.
“Vic! Hey! What are you doing out here so late?”
“Just sitting.” He’s all bundled up in an old coat and scarf and hat, perched comfortably on the chair outside his apartment. I can hardly see him, his voice is just rumbling out of the darkness as though it came from Rookhaven itself. “Sometimes I like to get some air. What about you?”
“Um, yeah, air.” I don’t even know why, but suddenly, I want to tell him everything. “I’ve made a mistake, Vic. A few actually, really huge mistakes, and I, um, I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself.”
God, I sound dramatic. Pia would be proud.
“What mistakes?”
“I don’t…” I take a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk about them. Ever. To anyone. But I don’t know if I can deal with them alone, either.”
“I understand that.” Vic and I both sigh into the silence. My breath is coming out all misty, and I’m not even smoking. I’m so tired of being cold. I’m so tired of winter.
Then Vic pipes up again. “Regret … it’ll kill you. Out of all the negative emotions, regret is the one that will get its claws into your
And by the time I turn twenty-three, I want to be doing something that means something. Either I have a life that I can be proud of, that I earned on my own merits, or … or … or I don’t know what.
Twenty-three is my deadline.
“You sure that’s what you want?” repeats Gabriel.
I look up. “I am.”
CHAPTER 10
When we land, Gabriel offers me a ride home in their car. He gives me his business card, though I have no intention of calling him, and I thank him and his sisters profusely for being such Good Samaritans. They drop me at the corner of Smith and Union before continuing on to his apartment on Columbus Circle and, shivering from the cold, I walk down the street to Rookhaven.
It’s past midnight. Everyone is asleep, and for a moment, as I walk up the stoop of my house in the darker than dark, freezing-cold February night, it feels like the whole sun-filled superyacht experience was just a dream. Or a nightmare.
With the hidden spare key, I open the front door and inhale the warm, comforting Rookhaven smell. Vanilla and cinnamon from the kitchen, the wood polish Coco uses on the furniture, all mixed with everyone’s shampoo and perfumes and a sort of papery scent that I always think of as old wallpaper.
I have never been as happy to be in Rookhaven as I am right this second.
Minutes later, I’m tearing through my bedroom like that Tasmanian devil cartoon. Wrenching dresses off hangers, taking jewelry out of drawers, grabbing shoes and underwear, every gift from an ex-boyfriend, ex-flings, ex … whatevers. All my labels, all my most expensive clothes … Touching them, knowing now why I got them, gives me a cold, scared feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I’m so stupid. How could I have ever thought they actually liked me for me?
I will never trust a man again. Ever. They all lie. They lie and lie and lie. My father lies, Stef lies, Mani and Jessop and Marc and, oh God, all of them. Liars.
Now all that’s left in my closet is stuff from H&M and Urban Outfitters and other cheapish places, stuff I borrowed from Annabel and never gave back, and secondhand pieces found in vintage stores and flea markets that I customized to suit just me. I bundle all the designer clothing in a bag to take to Goodwill tomorrow.
But I can’t even bear to have the white dress from the Soho Grand night in the house anymore. It was from Mani, the guy I really thought I might be in love with, the guy who took me out for dinner and talked to me like he cared .… The dress was bought with bullshit.
So I grab it, head downstairs, out the front door, down the stoop, and throw the dress in the garbage.
“Watch out there, girlie, you’ll break the lid,” says a voice. I turn around. It’s Vic, the old guy who lives in the downstairs apartment. I haven’t seen him in ages.
“Vic! Hey! What are you doing out here so late?”
“Just sitting.” He’s all bundled up in an old coat and scarf and hat, perched comfortably on the chair outside his apartment. I can hardly see him, his voice is just rumbling out of the darkness as though it came from Rookhaven itself. “Sometimes I like to get some air. What about you?”
“Um, yeah, air.” I don’t even know why, but suddenly, I want to tell him everything. “I’ve made a mistake, Vic. A few actually, really huge mistakes, and I, um, I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself.”
God, I sound dramatic. Pia would be proud.
“What mistakes?”
“I don’t…” I take a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk about them. Ever. To anyone. But I don’t know if I can deal with them alone, either.”
“I understand that.” Vic and I both sigh into the silence. My breath is coming out all misty, and I’m not even smoking. I’m so tired of being cold. I’m so tired of winter.
Then Vic pipes up again. “Regret … it’ll kill you. Out of all the negative emotions, regret is the one that will get its claws into your
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