“You’rein denial.”
“About what?”
“About the weather. What do you think I mean?”
“Calm down,sassy Sue.”
Michael chuckled. “I’m going to miss this. I think what your mother’s trying to say is, you spend quite a bit of time playing down your friendship with Ashley. Either you’re friends oryou’re not.”
“So, now he speaks.” Megan lifted her arms in disbelief. “Mr. Voice-of-reason.”
Megan felt pressure at that moment to have all the answers, but the cold, hard truth was, she had none. The conversation with her parents revealed her inability to self-reflect. She’d had no idea how frequently she mentioned Ashley, or why for that matter.Why did she feel the need to discuss her at any given opportunity?Their last conversation had been in response to Ashley’s fifthNew York Timesarticle. The news had been shared on her social media channels, so Megan had responded. The conversation had been a brief ‘congratulations’ and ‘I hope you’re okay’. There was always a lingering fear whenever she spoke to Ashley—the fear of saying too much. They both had their own separate lives to live. Lives that didn’t require each other’s presence, but the absence of it made for a sadrevelation.
There was an overwhelming desire to be in Ashley’s life. A wish that one day, their different worlds would spin together, not necessarily romantically. Megan would be lying if she said that hadn’t crossed her mind, but she would settle for a solid friendship if that was what Ashley wanted. The trouble was, she had no idea what Ashley wanted.Did she think about her as often? Did she wish that they could be something more? Did she too pin a photo of them on her bedroom wall, reminding her of a happier time?These were all questions she longed to know the answers to, but the fear of rejection reigned supreme.
***
Megan lay back on the freshly made bed. After finishing up dinner and helping her mom with the dishes, she’d retreated upstairs to a nice warm bath. In two days’ time, she would fly to New York. The excitement of being back in her favourite place trumped anything else. After dinner, her mom had booked the earliest available flight on Monday. Her arrival into JFK would be 13:48, leaving her plenty of time to make her way to Upper Manhattan, dump her belongings and venture into the city. The plan was to see Nancy on Monday afternoon, but due to her aunt having a late meeting with a patient, Monday evening was wide open.
Naturally, thoughts of Ashley returned. She recalled the disappointment in her face at Samantha’s baby shower nine months earlier when she learnt of Megan’s brief trip to New York without any contact.There would be no harm in asking if she wanted to go for coffee,Megan contemplated. If anything, it was an uncomplicated courtesy she owed Ashley—or so she told herself.
There was no Candice to cause any conflict of interest, therefore, Megan felt compelled to ask the question. Before she had time to re-think her decision, she sent a text message that would set the wheels in motion.
Hi stranger, I hope you’re okay. I’m in New York for a few days next week, are you free Monday? It would be great to catch up. Megan
The message was light and breezy—not too forceful. All that was left to do was wait for a reply. Time moved by slowly; Megan remained motionless in the same horizontal position. The longer the wait, the more anxious she became. The channels on the TV changed countless times, even Alex Vause andOrange Is The New Blackwere not about to distract her from the reply she so desperately sought after. Two hours later, her phone buzzed and she jumped from the trance-like state to openthe message.
Hey, how are you? Thanks for reaching out, I’d love to catch up. I can be free Monday. Where are you thinking?
Finally, Megan breathed a sigh of relief. The message showed no emotion, which she found strange. It was very robotic, like catching up with an old work colleague who you haven’t seen for five years.Was that how Ashley saw her now?Meganfelt uneasy.
That’s great. I can text you on Monday when I land and we can arrange a place. There are enough coffee shops in New York, so I doubt we will be short of options haha.
The reply was instantaneous.
Sounds good. See you then.
Megan dropped her phone abruptly on the bedside table and clutched her flushed face in the open-palmed hands that stared back at her. There was always time to cancel on the day if she felt uncomfortable. That was the overriding thought in her mind. The option had to be available to stop the insanity creeping in. The two of them had a connection, it was undeniable. You could call it an earth-shattering connection that would tie them together in some form or another for eternity—if you wanted. Whatever it was, the uniqueness left Megan in unchartered waters, and she could only assume the same for Ashley. The meeting would determine the true nature of their relationship. They had a choice; everyone has a choice. Theirs was to decide whether they were thrown together on that summer evening in New York City almost two years ago to be friends, or more than that. Either way, Megan felt the pull towards Ashley. She’d felt it since the first moment she’d laid eyes on her and hundreds of times in between. The concept of them merely being friends appeared, to a certain extent, utterly naive. At heart, she recognised that, yet battled with the concept. The deliberations would continue until the moment she saw her again. Megan had three days and a seven-hour plane journey to self-reflect.
The upside to that being she had time to think. Time to really understand what it was she wanted and expected from their relationship. If they were truly to be friends, boundaries had to be set—no intimate slow dancing being the first.
The downside? She had time tothink.
15
Ashley
Ashley climbed the underground stairs to the city streets. The delays that morning were excruciatingly long; she’d allowed time, an extra hour to be precise, but even that hadn’t been enough. The rapid-fire movement of the crowds swept her along as she rushed towards the skyscraper in the distance. The smell of salted pretzel caused her stomach to grumble; there had been no time to grab breakfast, she’d hit snooze on her alarm clock one too many times. For someone who was about to have the biggest interview of her life, her choices that morning were far fromimpeccable.
The people around her were all so unconscious of anything going on. She squeezed her way through the crowds, one by one kindly asking people to step aside. Despite everyone being completely oblivious to their surroundings, they moved like clockwork. It was robotic the way they went about their daily lives with no care in the world for the‘crazy’blonde-haired girl rushing her way through to get to a destination unknown to them.
There it was—almost in touching distance. The fifty-two-storey skyscraper on Eighth Avenue with the large metal racking that scaled the whole building, it formed together over the first four floors to create a brand-distinguishing sign—in the famous black letters it spelt out,‘The New York Times’. Ashley took a right onto West 41st and made a beeline for the entrance to the prestigious building.
The call had come on Friday afternoon; the interview was arranged for Monday morning, leaving her very little time to prepare. All weekend, she studied and gathered information that might help. The five freelance articles she’d already had published amongst the other ten she’d sent to other publications were first on her list. The likes of theNew York PostandNew York Daily Newshad both published articles rejected byThe New York Times,which she was thankful for. Her experience in the writing world since graduating from Long Island University had been slim-to-none. The past twelve months’ experience was all she had to show. She assumed the other candidates would have more credentials, but as Madison pointed out, the interview wouldn’t have been arranged if they didn’t think she was suitable—a publication that size didn’t have time to waste.
Editing Resident was a new role; a two-year residency that looks to develop the next generation of editors. The extensive training in the newsroom would give Ashley the vital experience she needed. The freelancing would always be there, but her dream was to one day go down the editing route, so when the opportunity presented itself, it was a no-brainer. The role required three years of journalism experience—which Ashley didn’t have, but they already knew that, so she assumed the interest from her recent articles was what got her the interview.
Ashley reached the glass doors and barged inside, hoping that somehow the previous interview had run over schedule, allowing her a minute to freshen up and catch her breath. The elevator doors closed behind her and she watched the steady ascent to the tenth floor. The man beside her clutched his briefcase with a vice-like grip. She noticed the beads of sweat beginning to form in the creases of his frown lines. He kept glancing at the time as though in a hurry and confused, much like herself.
