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“Sure, Kennedy.” He waves me in. “What’s up?”
Jamal is more than a boss; he’s also my mentor here at Wentner. He’s been championing me since I started working here five years ago. He’s a striking figure in his short braids and Armani suit.
I take the seat in front of his desk. “Remember when I told you my friend Skye was having a baby?”
He nods. “I recall that conversation, yes.”
“Well, she’s had him—he’s a boy.”
Jamal chuckles. “I gathered as much.”
I smile apologetically. “I know this is short notice, but I’d like to go see them this weekend. If it’s okay with you, my flight leaves at four. I hope you don’t mind.”
Jamal leans back in his chair and links his fingers over his dark gray vest. His fingers are adorned with heavy gold rings, some monogrammed, and some encrusted with gemstones. I can see the tattoos on his wrists peeking out from beneath his white dress shirt sleeves. His knuckles bear numerous scars from an adolescent career in boxing, prior to him being awarded a scholarship to Columbia University and majoring in finance—just like I did.
“Since you’re my favorite employee,” he says, “sure. Not a problem.” He waves toward the door. “Go. I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Thanks. You’re the best.” I jump to my feet and head for the door. At the last second, I stop and glance back. “And Jamal?”
“Yes?” His dark eyes twinkle as he smiles.
“You say that to all your employees.”
His booming laugh follows me out his office door.
* * *
I work through the morning, trying to tie up some loose ends on an assessment I’m working on. Unfortunately, I have to ask Lauren for a raincheck on lunch. At noon, I head for the station and catch the next train back to my apartment in Brooklyn.
On the ride home, I make a list of all the things I need to do before I leave. I have to pack and tell Mrs. Philbin where I’m going for the weekend so she doesn’t worry—she’s prone to worrying. Oh, and I need to ask her to take care of Betty for me while I’m gone—my spider plant. I’ll have to tell Ms. Talisman, too, another neighbor who lives on my floor. She also worries about me. They’re both elderly widows who think it’s their job to look after me. Actually, we take turns watching out for each other.
I’m thrilled that I’ll get to spend the weekend with two of my best friends. Will’s a freaking bazillionaire who could live anywhere he wants, and half the year he lives on a farm outside of Cincinnati, Ohio, Skye’s hometown. Will owns numerous properties in England, and he and Skye have since bought a castle in Scotland. Granted, it’s a small one, as far as castles go, but still it’s a legit castle. It’s on the historical register, or whatever they call it in the UK. And in addition to their many UK properties, they own a large parcel of land on the outskirts of Cincinnati, where they spend half the year to be near Skye’s mom, who’s an economics professor at University of Cincinnati.
That’s true love for you. Will would do anything to make Skye happy.
I envy them for their fairytale love story and happy-ever-after marriage. And to think, I was there when they first met. Skye had come to London for a year-long internship in finance after completing her master’s degree in the US. She and I met at Carmichael & Son Capital Investments, where we were roommates sharing a two-bedroom flat not far from London’s financial district.
I was a firsthand witness to their blossoming romance. I was at their wedding, and I was there for the birth of their first child, Penelope.
Of course Connor was there, too, at both of those events. That was the last time I saw him—at Penny’s birth, a little over four years ago. God, it was hard seeing him again. Being in the same room with him—hardly speaking and avoiding eye contact—was sheer agony. My heart longed for him so badly I struggled not to stare at him. He was obviously still angry at me for what I did. The few times I caught him looking my way, he glared at me.
I’m not proud of what I did, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Even though I didn’t tell him exactly why I left, I did tell him it wasn’t his fault. Unfortunately, I don’t think he believed me.
Suddenly, I’m struck by a horrifying thought. Surely Will didn’t invite Connor this weekend, too. That’s the last thing I need. It’s been four years since I’ve seen that silly, sexy, handsome face. He was nineteen when I left, five years younger than I was at the time. He was young and impulsive, and so much fun to be with. He’s twenty-three now. All grown up.
I send a quick text to Will just to be sure.
Kennedy: You didn’t invite Connor, too, did you?
Will: I haven’t spoken to Connor in ages.
I sigh in relief. I really couldn’t handle seeing Connor again.
The Brooklyn-bound train pulls into my station, and I disembark and walk the remaining distance to my apartment building on Normandy Lane, located in a quaint old neighborhood of red brick apartment buildings. Along the way, I pass the neighborhood grocery store, a pharmacy, a vintage clothing shop, a smoke shop, several restaurants, a bookstore, a coffee shop, and an ice cream parlor. All the creature comforts are within walking distance of my apartment.
I’ve lived here in Brooklyn, not far from the Brooklyn Bridge, since I returned to New York and started working at Wentner. Rent is ridiculously expensive in New York City these days, but I lucked out with this apartment. It’s small—just a three-hundred-square-foot studio—but it’s enough for me.
Fortunately, it’s June and the temperature is ideal for walking. When I reach my building, I race up the smooth stone steps to the front door.
