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I turn over and blink at the ceiling. There’s a suspicious stain by the light fixture. I wonder if Dolores from Number 29B has flooded her bathtub again. I hope it’s just the tub. That damp patch has a suspicious brown tinge to it.
After graduating from college, I took on an apprentice role at Estelle’s: a prestigious designer, and the biggest fashion name in New York. She has her own magazine and clothesline, and all the celebrities love her work.
I know I was lucky to get the apprenticeship. They told me over five thousand young hopefuls applied for the position. I won.
But the pay sucks.
And my boss treats me like I’m something sticky underneath one of her Jimmy Choos.
I know I shouldn’t be ungrateful; my altruistic, do-gooder parents raised me to be gracious and to appreciate every win I get. When they found out about my apprenticeship, they were so proud.
Not that they know anything about fashion, or what I do.
They’re both in Africa, leading a charity foundation that builds schools and teaches underprivileged children.
Anyway, I do appreciate the opportunity to build up my resume.
I’m also grateful for my tiny apartment in a nice corner of the city. It’s just a few blocks away from Estelle’s and right next door to my favorite bakery—Elle’s Kitchen.
Elle makes the best chocolate fudge squares. I asked her what her secret is once. She batted her oversized lashes at me, flashed me a glittering smile, and replied with one word. “Love.” I almost puked in my mouth.
Yuck.
After getting dumped by Todd, I have decided to stay off men altogether.
Besides, I’m now back to square one, swimming in shark-infested waters with more baggage and a heart that probably looks like a patchwork quilt.
No. The dating game is too stressful to deal with. Especially when I’m living on a shoestring budget. The only kissing I’ll be doing is up to my boss for a successful future.
Most of my friends have already leveled up. They’ve moved on, either across the States or into the world of marriage. Every girlfriend of mine who went from Miss to Mrs. jumped into an alternate reality, never to be seen or heard of again.
Except for the stomach-churning holiday cards I get in December—pictures of their little families, complete with furry pooch, round bump, or rosy-cheeked baby.
Thank goodness for Leila, my college roommate and sole bestie. She, like me, is totally out of the dating pool by choice and jumps from job to job like a lost frog.
The buzzer sounds, but my limbs are weighed down in sadness. I can’t move.
“Go away,” I moan, clamping my eyes shut at the jarring sound.
After a long minute, the buzzer falls silent, but the echo rings in my ears.
I puff out a breath. Then my front door clicks, and I sit up with a yelp as it swings open.
“There you are!”
I lay back with another groan as Leila waltzes into my apartment with a paper bag.
“I gave you a spare key for emergencies only!”
Leila plonks down on the bed and the mattress squeals under her weight. “Sorry. When you didn’t come to the door, I thought you were sick or something. Did you forget I was coming over this morning?”
I slap my forehead with a gasp. “I’m so sorry, I totally spaced it.”
I yank the towel up and wriggle into a seated position as Leila roots through her paper bag. “What is that delicious smell?” I ask. Then I hold up a palm. “Don’t tell me. Elle’s fudge squares?”
Leila beams at me and hands me one. “Bingo.”
I savor every bite of it, while Leila talks one hundred miles per hour. “So, next week is your high school reunion. You’re going, right? I just had mine last week, and it was so much fun!”
