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New York City
One month later…
The only thing worse than living in the same apartment building as your ex-boyfriend?
Living in the same building as your ex, while your roommate is dating his roommate and best friend.
Noelle usually goes down to Ben and Adrian’s place to hang out, but there are times when that just isn’t possible.
“I’m sorry,” my bestie since fifth grade says, tying her pink-and-blond-streaked hair into a high ponytail as she hurries into the kitchen. “The foot stink is just too powerful. It smells like moldy cheese left to rot in a boys’ locker room. I can taste it.” She shudders. “In my mouth.”
I smile from the couch, where I’m camped out with my laptop, as usual, taking work home with me for what feels like the hundredth day in a row even though I’ve been employed for less than a month. “That’s usually where a person tastes things.”
“I’m sorry,” she says again. “Truly. I tried to get them to call their cleaner in for an emergency sesh or at least tackle some of the laundry, but you know how they are. If work isn’t artistic or going to look good on social media, they aren’t going to do it.”
“But that’s part of what you love about Ben.” I sigh, fluttering my eyelashes as I mimic Noelle’s swoony “I love Ben” voice, “He’s a sensitive poet painter genius with a heart too tender for this world.”
Her green eyes narrow and her bottom lip pokes out as she fills the electric kettle. “He is. And he’s painting a giant portrait of my eye that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Syd. How could I force him away from that for something as mundane as cleaning his room or washing his socks? Sock stink comes and goes, but being a painter’s muse makes you immortal.”
“And you deserve to be immortal,” I say. “I’m honestly fine with them coming over to have coffee before you leave for the party. If they get too obnoxious, I’ll go to my room.”
She grins, her dimple popping. “You’re the best. Have I told you how much I love you lately?”
I roll my eyes. “Stop. You don’t have to kiss up to me. I get it.” I sigh, forcing my gaze back to my screen. “And Adrian doesn’t have anything on these spreadsheets. I’d rather listen to him be pretentious about his stupid app than wade through another profit and loss statement.”
Noelle sticks out her tongue. “Yuck. Paperwork. I hate paperwork. I’m so glad I majored in making tiny hats for hamsters instead.”
I laugh.
“It’s not funny,” she says, pouting again. “I have a fashion design degree from one of the top schools in the country. I should be making fabulous gowns for the Met Gala. Or at least B movie red carpet events. Not hamster hats.”
“And coats and scarves and teensy tiny shoes with curled toes.” I put my finger and thumb a few millimeters apart and stare at her through the space. “Those are my favorite.”
She blows air through her lips, then smiles. “Yeah, me. too. They’re fucking adorable, and I’m making bank, so I’m not going to complain. I’m just going to be grateful that I have all my orders filled for the week and a fabulous party to look forward to. You really should come. I’m sure Adrian wouldn’t mind.”
“Ugh. No.” I make a gagging sound. “I can’t believe I ever thought his DJ performance artist persona was interesting.”
Noelle shrugs. “He’s a hot tortured artist. I get why you were feeling the vibe. And deep down, he’s really sweet. He just needs therapy and to fall madly in love with someone who refuses to put up with his bullshit.”
I hum my reluctant agreement. Adrian is a nice guy, but lately, he’s been getting on my last nerve. But I sense that’s more about me than my ex. Every time I look at him, all I can think about is what an idiot I was for wasting five months of my life with an insecure kid, when I could have been with a man like Gideon.
Gideon…
I instantly push thoughts of the man to the back of my mind, the way I have since returning home. I’m not moving to Burlington, and we both agreed a long-distance relationship would be too hard to manage right now. And I was right when I assumed I’d be too busy to date. I’m so busy, I barely have time to eat, and I haven’t been on a run in over a week.
It’s best that Gideon is just a memory now…a memory I’ll replay later, after Noelle has left for the party, and I’m alone in the apartment with the coastal New England-scented candle that reminds me of him and my vibrator.
“Do you want coffee?” Noelle asks as she gathers mugs from the cabinet.
“Sure, thanks. It’s going to be another late night at the paperwork factory.”
“Then I’ll use the big coffee carafe, so you’ll have extra to warm up later.” She fetches our extra-large pour-over coffeepot from above the stove.
It was a housewarming gift from my dad. He wanted me to move in with him on the Upper East Side—our apartment has two stories and Dad’s away at our vacation home in The Hamptons most weekends—but he understood when I insisted on rooming with Noelle. He wants me to remain close with my friends and make time for socializing.
Or so he says…
The company-wide audit he’s insisting I perform to “get familiar with the corporate structure” says otherwise. He wants my final report by next Friday, but I’ve only begun to wade through all the documentation. Our corporation has so many subsidiaries, charitable arms, and shell companies for the limited liability ventures that it’s like trying to untangle a wad of necklaces that have been jostling around in a drawer since 1996.
