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“Wonderful. Tell your mom I’ll be home soon. I just need to check in with Albert on one quick thing.”
“Okay,” I agree, knowing one quick thing will probably turn into ahalf an hour.
Rosie calls, right as I’m pulling out of the building’s private garage.
“Hey,” I greet, turning left instead of my usual right as I head in the direction of my parents’ house.
“Hey?The last we talked, you told me you married Oliver Kensington, and when you finally answer, all I get isHey?”
I laugh. We’ve been playing phone tag this week, and part of me was relieved, since I haven’t felt like talking to anyone. But Rosie’s familiar voice pulls me out of my own head a little, which is welcome. “I’m sorry. Work has been crazy.”
Workhasbeen busy, but not in comparison to my personal life. To Oliver coming here and staying with me and ensuring that anytime I think about sex, he’s the one thrusting into me. None of that is information I want to share with my best friend, and that’s highly concerning.
Rosie knows all the details of my past relationships. But Oliver is different. It feels too personal to share, which I’ve never thought before. Especially the details I’ve been obsessing over: how he pulled a blanket over me and his promise before he came inside of me.“The only way I’ll ever see you getting fucked is ifI’mthe one fucking you, Hannah.”
I really wish I could forget those words. Wish I’d never made the stupid joke about him watching to begin with.
“So you haven’t talked to yourhusband?”
I shake my head, then remember she can’t see me. “No. We both have attorneys. They’re handling the divorce.”
“Have you changed your mind about asking him for money?”
I roll my eyes as I take a turn. “No.”
“I’m not saying demandhalf. You could just request like…ten million?”
“Seriously, Rosie?”
“What? He can afford it! And then you can buy a penthouse in Lakeview and visit me all the time. Not to mention, quit working for your dad.”
“I got into architecture school,” I blurt.
Rosie shrieks. “Shut up! Are you serious?”
“Yep.”
“I can’t believe you applied. You talked yourself in and out of it for weeks senior year.”
“It was an…impulsive decision.” I made a few of those that night, as it turns out.
“Where did you apply?”
“Just Los Angeles School of Design.”
“Nowhere in Chicago?”
“You could always move back here,” I suggest.
Rosie makes apfftttsound. “I like having seasons. And I’m not surprised you didn’t apply to anywhere here, but why didn’t you apply to any schools in New York? You wanted to live there for a while.”
I did. I saw New York as a needed change, a way to experience something new and different. And itwasnew and different. But I also got swept up in the status and the toxicity of that city. It’s been nearly two years since I visited. I retreated into the known, among family and familiarity.
“No. New York isn’t for me.”
I pull into my parents’ driveway for the first time since I came here with Oliver. I’m prepared for the stab of sentimentality that’s been a constant companion this past week.
“I’m at my parents’ for dinner. I’ll call you this weekend so we can catch up more, okay?”
