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Grabbing my jacket, I threw the strap of my work bag over my shoulder and poured myself a go-cup of coffee from the small machine on the counter. Today’s a new day, I thought, forcing a smile as I stepped out the door and closed it quietly behind me. And I can do anything I want.
--
Work was fine – it always was. My boss had hired me without knowing about Michael…but the death of a billionaire’s son doesn’t stay quiet for long. During my second week of work, the New York Times had published a spread on Michael and his life. There was a big photo of us on the front page of the Style section – it had been on of our engagement photos, with Michael and I both looking happy. When I’d gone into work the next day, my boss had thrown his arms around me and apologized. I hadn’t been pleased about the article. I was sure that Douglas had manipulated the editor into making sure there was little mention of me, and it felt like an overall stain to Michael’s memory. The article had made him seem so cold and calculating, just like a little version of his father. I’d saved it, of course, but it hadn’t been the Michael I’d known.
I’ve been thinking about him a lot today, I realized as I descended into the grimy subway. I wonder what that’s all about.
When I got home, Heather was standing in front of the stove, stirring something delicious. The air was thick with the creamy, tangy smell of marinara sauce and I grinned when I saw a bag of fresh pasta perched on the side of the stove.
“Hey,” Heather said. “Long day?”
I shrugged. “Same as every other, to be honest,” I said. “God, that looks good. How long have you been cooking?”
Heather laughed. “It’s nothing,” she said. She lifted the lid of the trash can and I saw a jar of gourmet pasta sauce from the bodega down the street. Heather rolled her eyes and we laughed together.
“Still not much of a cook,” I cracked. I put my work bag down on the floor and perched on a barstool.
“It’s better than takeout,” Heather shot back. She snickered. “God, I can’t wait for the weekend.”
I nodded. “Me either.” I yawned. “I feel like ever since I started working full time, I’m just exhausted. Like, all the time.”
Heather nodded. “I get that,” she said. “Hey, can you put on the TV?”
“Why?” I frowned. “What’s coming on?”
“Some guy robbed a woman on my subway car this morning,” Heather explained. “I wanted to hang around and see if he got caught but I was already running late so I had to go.”
I nodded. “Sure.” I walked over to the small TV we kept on the edge of the bar and flipped through the channels until I found a local news station. The anchors were sitting in front of a tall desk, looking both comical and serious as they read bits and short stories from a televised prompted.
“So,” Heather said. “This weekend, I was thinking – you wanna go shopping in Jersey? Mom offered to take us to lunch.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t know, I was thinking about catching up on my sleep.” Keeping one ear on the television, I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone. Suddenly, one of the anchors said a familiar name.
A name that chilled my blood when I heard it spoken.
“Alessio Amoruso, owner of local restaurant chain Amoruso’s, has been officially released from prison today. He served six months after violating parole.”
I grabbed the remote and fumbled, dropping it on my feet. The plastic bounced off my toes and I cried out in pain as I reached down and grabbed it again, desperately punching the ‘volume up’ button as I aimed the plastic square at the television.
“What the hell,” Heather hissed. “What’s wrong with you, spaz girl?”
“Shut up,” I said. “I’m trying to hear this.”
The female anchor turned back to her co-star and laughed politely. “Sources say Amoruso could be facing more severe charges, but a lawyer for the family has released the statement that he’s happy to be out of jail, and looks forward to returning to the restaurant empire.”
“Oh, Amoruso’s,” the male anchor said. “Wow, I love their pasta. You ever eaten there, Cindy?”
The female anchor laughed. “No, Mark,” she tittered. “I haven’t, but I hope to soon!”
Groaning, I muted the television and buried my face in my hands.
“This is so fucked,” I mumbled under my breath. “I can’t believe he’s out! I can’t believe they didn’t get him for Michael!”
“Babe, what are you talking about?” Heather walked over and put a hand on my shoulder. “I thought you were having a good day!”
“I was,” I moaned miserably. “Until I heard about this!”
“Oh, honey, I’m sure he doesn’t want anything to do with you,” Heather said.
