good woman, whichever she prefers. She needs something more than pushing an invalid around town all day.” They bantered for one more minute, until the taxi pulled in front of Imogen’s redbrick town house. Only after she hung up the phone did Imogen realize she’d forgotten to ask Massimo what happened to Molly. She tipped the driver well for putting up with her chatter in the backseat.
Alex obviously had made a valiant effort to stay awake, but he was slack-jawed and gently snoring while sitting up in bed, his wire-frame glasses still covering closed lids and long lashes. Imogen kissed both of the children good night before gently urging Alex’s body into a prone position without waking him and wrapping her arms around his taut middle. His middle relaxed into hers. She relished the feel of the soft flannel pajama bottoms he had worn for the past ten years. His skin peeked through at the backs of the thighs where the material had worn thin. Alex hated throwing anything away and Imogen would at some point need to secretly plot how to replace these with an identical pair of pajama pants. He stirred when she buried her head between his shoulder blades.
“I adore the fact that my wife still comes home smelling like tequila after twelve devoted years of marriage to me,” he mumbled, rolling to face her and pulling her hand up to his lips. “Have you had a day?” he mumbled through her fingers. Ever since the surgery Alex had stopped asking her “How was your day?”
“I’m so tired, Al,” she whispered, with the weight of the next twenty-four hours already crushing her.
“I know, baby. I know. I want to tell you that it will get better tomorrow, but I don’t want to lie to you.”
“No, really, lie. Please, do lie.”
He smiled and she took off his glasses. She kissed him before rolling over and letting him hold her. Sleep took time, but finally came.
—
Ashley Arnsdale kept tapping away on her phone as she walked through the lobby of 740 Park Avenue, the very same building her parents brought her home to twenty-four years earlier, two days after she had been born. She stopped briefly at the front desk, where JP, the night doorman, handed her a brown paper delivery bag of gluten-free pad Thai from Golden Lotus on Eighty-Fourth Street.
In the elevator she switched applications from Fixd to AngelRaise, the hot new angel investing app.
All the other girls from work had been so candid about their side projects with Imogen over drinks. It had been a little ridiculous. Ashley didn’t want her new boss to think she was distracted all day by some other passion project. She wasn’t distracted all day. She was maybe sometimes distracted a little, but she stayed focused on
Glossy
when she was at
Glossy
. She really loved the job. And she enjoyed working for Imogen Tate. That woman was something else. Eve…she had thoughts about Eve. Blergh.
All the lights were out when the doors opened onto the floor of their apartment. Constance and Arnold, her parents, were down in West Palm Beach for the week. Living with your parents wasn’t so bad when your parents were never around.
“Yeeeeeep!” Ashley exclaimed to absolutely no one, as she scrolled down through AngelRaise. She’d gotten another $10,000 investment for SomethingOld.com. She shimmied through the apartment, turning on all the lights. She hated being in the dark. Ten thousand dollars would help a lot with the development costs to build the app and website for her side project. SomethingOld was a monthly subscription service, kind of like Netflix, but for clothes—vintage clothes.
Ever since she was allowed to take the 6 train down to the East Village on her own, Ashley had loved nothing more than scouring vintage clothing stores for unique pieces. Her collection spanned more than her two closets in the apartment. By now she had six mini storage units of amazing stuff. But it wasn’t for her. SomethingOld would find out a person’s taste and their
Alex obviously had made a valiant effort to stay awake, but he was slack-jawed and gently snoring while sitting up in bed, his wire-frame glasses still covering closed lids and long lashes. Imogen kissed both of the children good night before gently urging Alex’s body into a prone position without waking him and wrapping her arms around his taut middle. His middle relaxed into hers. She relished the feel of the soft flannel pajama bottoms he had worn for the past ten years. His skin peeked through at the backs of the thighs where the material had worn thin. Alex hated throwing anything away and Imogen would at some point need to secretly plot how to replace these with an identical pair of pajama pants. He stirred when she buried her head between his shoulder blades.
“I adore the fact that my wife still comes home smelling like tequila after twelve devoted years of marriage to me,” he mumbled, rolling to face her and pulling her hand up to his lips. “Have you had a day?” he mumbled through her fingers. Ever since the surgery Alex had stopped asking her “How was your day?”
“I’m so tired, Al,” she whispered, with the weight of the next twenty-four hours already crushing her.
“I know, baby. I know. I want to tell you that it will get better tomorrow, but I don’t want to lie to you.”
“No, really, lie. Please, do lie.”
He smiled and she took off his glasses. She kissed him before rolling over and letting him hold her. Sleep took time, but finally came.
—
Ashley Arnsdale kept tapping away on her phone as she walked through the lobby of 740 Park Avenue, the very same building her parents brought her home to twenty-four years earlier, two days after she had been born. She stopped briefly at the front desk, where JP, the night doorman, handed her a brown paper delivery bag of gluten-free pad Thai from Golden Lotus on Eighty-Fourth Street.
In the elevator she switched applications from Fixd to AngelRaise, the hot new angel investing app.
All the other girls from work had been so candid about their side projects with Imogen over drinks. It had been a little ridiculous. Ashley didn’t want her new boss to think she was distracted all day by some other passion project. She wasn’t distracted all day. She was maybe sometimes distracted a little, but she stayed focused on
Glossy
when she was at
Glossy
. She really loved the job. And she enjoyed working for Imogen Tate. That woman was something else. Eve…she had thoughts about Eve. Blergh.
All the lights were out when the doors opened onto the floor of their apartment. Constance and Arnold, her parents, were down in West Palm Beach for the week. Living with your parents wasn’t so bad when your parents were never around.
“Yeeeeeep!” Ashley exclaimed to absolutely no one, as she scrolled down through AngelRaise. She’d gotten another $10,000 investment for SomethingOld.com. She shimmied through the apartment, turning on all the lights. She hated being in the dark. Ten thousand dollars would help a lot with the development costs to build the app and website for her side project. SomethingOld was a monthly subscription service, kind of like Netflix, but for clothes—vintage clothes.
Ever since she was allowed to take the 6 train down to the East Village on her own, Ashley had loved nothing more than scouring vintage clothing stores for unique pieces. Her collection spanned more than her two closets in the apartment. By now she had six mini storage units of amazing stuff. But it wasn’t for her. SomethingOld would find out a person’s taste and their
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