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If there’d been anything in her stomach, Gwen might have retched it up all over Vivian’s perfectly spotless white Nikes. Nathan and Lauren were getting married? And he’d cheated on her?
Nathan and Vivian, as small worlds would have it, had grown up near each other in Connecticut. Their parents had been friends, or part of the same club or something. Gwen and Nathan would often run into Vivian at parties and around town when they were dating. Gwen hated parties, and socializing, so if she wasn’t playing shadow to Nathan, she was usually playing shadow to Vivian.
Things started to click into place in her sleep-deprived brain. Little things she had only barely paid attention to back then. Touches. Looks. Quiet conversations. Lauren and Nathan worked at the same financial firm. Gwen had always just assumed they were talking about work. When she was around them, that’s all they ever talked about.
He’d cheated.
They were getting married.
It had only been six months!
Gwen wasn’t really on social media, and she hadn’t talked to Nathan since their breakup. The whole world knew, and she’d had no idea.
Overcome with embarrassment, her heart began to flutter like a hummingbird drowning in Red Bull. Gwen swallowed hard. She needed to get out of here. Now.
She couldn’t remember what she’d said, but she knew she’d said something, because she vaguely remembered Vivian replying about texting and coffee through the ringing in her ears. When Gwen regained focus, she was already two blocks down the street, damp with sweat and her stomach in twisted pretzel knots.
Nathan and Lauren were getting married.
She couldn’t believe it, and yet she didn’t know how she hadn’t pieced it all together sooner. Lauren was put-together, successful, and beautiful, while Gwen was basically a walking dumpster fire. Nathan came from privilege, family, and connections. He grew up going to extravagant parties and exclusive country clubs. Gwen had grown up in foster care, shopping at thrift stores, and the only club she’d ever been a part of was debate club in high school, which she’d been terrible at.
When they’d first started dating, their differences were what they’d liked most about each other. She was nothing like any girl he’d ever dated, and Nathan was far from any guy she’d ever gone out with before. He was good-looking, educated, and sophisticated. After a few months together, she’d even wondered if he might be the one. Clearly, he wasn’t.
They’d dated for ten months. She’d actually thought things were going pretty well until Nathan got way too drunk at his thirtieth birthday party and proceeded to snarl that her lack of etiquette wasn’t cute anymore but embarrassing; that she should have known the breakup was coming; that he didn’t think she cared about him that much anyway; that she clearly couldn’t be what he needed; and, for the icing on the cake, that she didn’t fuck him enough. She’d stormed out without bothering to hear the rest of his grievances, but not before she’d spat back that maybe she would have fucked him more if he’d been better at it.
“Screw him,” she seethed under her breath. Her skin burned hot with embarrassment and rage. She’d liked Nathan, but she hadn’t been in love with him. She wasn’t even sure she was capable of romantic love, but still…love or not, he’d still been an asshat. It turns out he’d been an even bigger asshat than she’d realized.
Gwen wondered if it would be entirely irresponsible to max out her credit card to mail Lauren and Nathan a giant box of rotting shrimp as a wedding present.
With a heavy sigh that brimmed with more emotions than she wanted to deal with, Gwen fished past the bars of chocolate in her purse for her keys. Sure, she was twenty-eight and had never been in love, but that was the least of her worries. Which was convenient, because if she kept up this sweaty, raccoon-eyed, disheveled stress-ball look, she wasn’t going to be attracting any winners anytime soon. Not that she’d been attracting many winners before.
She was just a woman falling apart physically and mentally who daydreamed about shoving chocolate into her face like a kid on Halloween.
Who wouldn’t want all of this?
Gwen slunk through the entry of her building wanting nothing more than to sink pathetically into a hot bath while double-fisting candy bars. The moment she heard the familiar creak of apartment 1A’s door down the hall, she mumbled a curse.
“Oh, Gwen. It’s you,” Miss Jones chimed with a touch of surprise as she stepped out of her apartment. Her mane of curly silver hair was tied back with a long orange silk scarf, and she wore a billowy pale purple dress with arms big enough to fit Gwen inside. “I was waiting for…someone.”
“It’s just me,” Gwen replied, forcing her tone to soften. It wasn’t Miss Jones’s fault she was having such a terrible day.
To say her neighbor was eccentric was putting it mildly. The woman’s apartment always smelled like incense, spices, something burnt, and other strange stuff. And her decorating tastes were beyond unusual, to say the least. A blend of old Victorian and hippie Woodstock was the only way Gwen knew how to describe it. Jimi Hendrix meets Queen Victoria.
Miss Jones lived alone except for her two cats, Jasper, a giant gray Maine Coon who couldn’t be bothered to deal with anyone, and Jinx, a nosy black Bombay with mischievous bright yellow eyes. The latter trotted out into the hall and meowed up at Gwen.
“Are you feeling alright, peaches?” Miss Jones asked with a look of concern. “You look a little pale, and it’s early for you to be home, isn’t it?”
“I’m okay,” Gwen replied with a forced smile as Jinx brushed against her legs. She was never going to make it to her apartment. “Just tired.”
Miss Jones reached down to pick up Jinx and eyed Gwen skeptically. For some reason, the older woman had taken a shine to Gwen the moment she’d moved into the third-floor apartment two years ago. She’d barely seen any of her other neighbors, but she saw Miss Jones constantly. To be honest, she was probably the closest thing Gwen had to a friend these days, as sad as that was. Miss Jones was kooky, but Gwen appreciated that she liked to look out for her. At least someone did.
Miss Jones narrowed her gaze and came closer. “It’s something with work, isn’t it?” Half question, half observation. Gwen tensed under her scrutinizing eyes. The woman had a bizarre knack for guessing. Uncanny, almost. Gwen didn’t want to lie, but thankfully she didn’t have to. Jinx meowed loudly, and Miss Jones made a sour face. “You should quit that job,” she declared before Gwen could even open her mouth to reply. “They’ve never treated you well, and you won’t be needing it much longer anyway.”
Gwen sighed. She was always saying weird stuff like that. “Well, I kind of need that job to pay rent,” she reminded Miss Jones—and herself. The reminder that she was going to have to start hunting for a new job nearly made her groan and slump to the floor. She wondered if Vivian might need an analyst at her company. But the thought of asking Vivian for a job made Gwen want to throw herself into the East River.
“Not if they ever get here,” Miss Jones mumbled, looking to the entry door, mindlessly petting Jinx.
“Who?” Gwen asked, not entirely following.
