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“I should have gone with you, though.”
“You made a donation, and that was the goal anyway—to raise money.”
“It was 50s themed?”
“Yes.” I smile at the memory. “That year, I had this great skirt—big and poofy with a poodle on the front and a matching sweater. It was the prettiest shade of blue.”
“Like your eyes—” His hand leaves mine to return to the steering wheel before I even process what he said.
“Like my eyes?” My lids flutter without permission. God, that’s humiliating. I don’t think I’ve ever fluttered my lashes before, and now, I’ve gone and done it to one of my friends.
Then, as if he’s entering evidence into a case in court, he states, “You have pretty eyes.” Direct. Professional. Affirmative. A pregnant pause leads to him reaching for a button on the steering wheel. “Music?”
As a classical song hits fever pitch, like my face, he scrambles to turn it down. “Sorry,” he yells before he can lower the volume. Hopefully, that was distracting enough for him not to notice me pressing my hands to my cheeks to lower the temperature of my embarrassment. He noticed my eyes? I get compliments, but not usually from Rad. Come to think of it, Rad doesn’t say much of anything to me. Of course, that could be attributed to Marlow usually owning the conversations and Cammie discussing wedding details when we all get together.
An awkwardness permeates the air just as we enter Manhattan, reminding me of the topic I’ve been avoiding. It may not change my fate, but I’d like his perspective. I ask, “Have you ever thought of leaving New York City?”
“No, never.”
“Wow, that was fast. Never?”
His smile returns, but it’s tight at the corners, guarded. “Correction. The easy answer is I have, but I wouldn’t want to at this point in my career.”
“The hard answer?”
“I used to think about leaving after college, but . . .” He pauses, seeming to debate with himself, which is something I’ve never seen Rad do. He’s always sure of himself. Not in a bad way . . . and sometimes in a bad way. He’s intelligent and confident. I guess he has a right to be arrogant occasionally.
“But what?”
The tension starts to ease as does his grip on the steering wheel. “You’ve always been honest with me, so I will be with you. When Cade and Cammie got together, and Jackson and I met you and Marlow . . . I don’t know. It felt right. It made me want to stay. I mean, what would I do without Jackson texting me about food or Marlow wondering if I’ve seen the society page?” Chuckling through the sarcasm, he adds, “They’re family.”
I grin, but it’s half-hearted as my gaze falls to the floorboard and my confession rolls off the tip of my tongue, “I stayed for the same reasons, but is it enough when the rest of your world is falling apart?”
The light turns green, but Rad stops to look my way. “What’s going on, Tealey?”
I suck in a breath, my heart thumping, and try to steady myself. Admitting it out loud to my friends—to Rad—makes it more real. I’m leaving. Them. My life. This city.
I’m not ready, but with only a few days left until I need to be out of my apartment, I’d need a miracle to keep me here.
“If we’re telling truths, I should have told you and the others already.” I close my eyes briefly. “My apartment building sold. The new owners are demolishing it and replacing it with ten stories of modern condos. It’s already been approved by the city.”
“You’re moving.” His tone is somber without an ounce of surprise. “How soon?”
“By the end of the week.”
I hadn’t noticed his watch until a fluorescent sign gleamed off the large face. The man’s all money. Always has been, but not in the flashy kind of way . . . other than that watch. Oh, and this car. His office and awards. And we can’t forget his donations. “Doesn’t sound legal. Owners must give proper notice. Less than two weeks is unreasonable, especially in New York. I’d like to look over your rental agreement.”
I stare at the red light ahead as the car comes to a stop. “I was given two months’ notice. I’ve been looking for a new place, but I can’t afford anything in this market. The prices have gone up so much that even a studio in the cruddiest neighborhood isn’t affordable on my salary.”
“You can’t leave.”
“I also can’t afford to live here, so I’m doing what I have to. That means leaving.”
He grips the steering wheel tighter, and his jaw ticks. Finally, he looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “You’ve kind of become a habit.”
“Yeah, a regular fixture like a lamp.”
He whips his head my way. “What? No. Not like a lamp. Not like that at all.” My face flushes when he looks away again. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
