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Nick rubbed his beard and said what she’d suspected. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And besides. We weren’t really happy, you and me. Were we?”
Maya knew enough about men to realize that this line— about “them both” not being happy— was purely a manipulation tactic; it was gaslighting. If she was honest with herself, there had been no noticeable change in their relationship. Presumably, he’d begun this affair many months ago. But since then, Nick had taken Maya to Paris twice; they’d scoured Rome for the best pasta; they’d discussed planning a trip to Hawaii to study its cuisine. They’d said “I love you” hundreds of times.
Nick had reached the end of the line with her. But he’d only just decided that now. Today. And there was no making sense of it.
“I got you a hotel room,” Nick said, his eyes shining. He looked like a little boy who’d just been caught doing something wrong. “It’s a suite. Completely gorgeous, floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of Fifth Avenue. You can stay there for a little while until you get on your feet.”
Maya wanted to scream at him then. She wanted to remind him that “getting on your feet” wasn’t exactly an easy feat as a food critic. But if she did that, she’d have to acknowledge a painful truth— that her career had fumbled, that she wasn’t the lively intellectual she’d once thought herself to be. She was washed up. And now, her boyfriend was kicking her out. To Fifth Avenue, apparently. He didn’t care where she ended up after that as long as she was gone. How wonderful for him. They’d never married. They could make a clean break.
And Maya would be left all alone. Again.
ChapterTwo
One week after Nick broke the news of his affair, Phoebe came up from Philadelphia and appeared at the hotel on Fifth Avenue— her jaw clenched with rage. Maya threw her arms around her in the doorway of the hotel, inhaling sharply. Internally, she begged herself not to cry. She didn’t want her daughter to think she was so hung up on this man that she was going to let her world fall apart.
Phoebe’s face was marred with worry. She looked on the brink of peppering Maya with questions— probably about whether she was eating and getting enough sleep. Maya led her into the hotel and sat at the edge of the luxury couch. On television, she played a Netflix dating show, season five. She’d gotten so immersed in the characters that she’d forgotten about the rest of the world. And she hadn’t updated her blog since the breakup— not that anyone in the world was waiting for her next post.
“It’s a pretty place,” Phoebe said reticently. She walked across the living area and whipped the curtains to either side. Snow fluttered through the gray sky. Maya hadn’t been outside in four days. She’d told herself she was hatching a plan for the next stage of her life from the hotel room— but she was lost.
Phoebe had come to help Maya get the rest of her things from Nick’s place, move them into a storage facility, and look for an affordable apartment. Over the phone, Phoebe had suggested that Maya come to Philadelphia to be closer to her and start a new life, but Maya had said, “I already started a new life. Five years ago. I don’t want to start all over again. Besides, my food writing career is here.”
Phoebe and Maya took a cab to the old apartment while Nick was at the restaurant. Calvin, the doorman, greeted Maya warmly, but his eyes glinted knowingly. He looked like he pitied her. He’d obviously met Nick’s new girlfriend.
Upstairs, Maya led Phoebe to the bedroom closet, the writing office, and the bookshelves, indicating what belonged to her. Even in her own ears, there didn’t seem to be much. It was as though Maya had never fully settled in here, as though she’d been a guest who’d just brought a few too many things over. Within an hour, they had all of Maya’s things packed in suitcases. They were finished.
“Wait a minute.” Maya suddenly remembered the letter she’d gotten from her Aunt Veronica’s lawyer on the day Nick had broken up with her. In her grief, she’d forgotten it. She hunted through the mail on the side table of the foyer, then dove through the desk to find it. Eventually, she discovered it in the recycling bin and handed it to Phoebe, her eyes sparkling. “I forgot to tell you about this.”
As Phoebe read the letter, her mouth hung ajar. “What in the world? Mom!” Her eyes were illuminated. “Mom! This is it!”
Maya laughed, and it echoed strangely in the ornate apartment. “What do you mean?”
“You have to go to Hollygrove!” Phoebe said. “You have to get out of that hotel and go meet your aunt!”
“I just don’t know what to think about it,” Maya said. “You know how I was raised. Where was Auntie Veronica? Why is she reaching out now?”
Phoebe raised her shoulders. “Aren’t you intrigued? Especially about the ‘stipulations.’ I mean, what will she make you do?”
“Maybe there’s a treasure map,” Maya joked.
Phoebe handed the letter back and gestured vaguely toward the suitcases. “Whatever it is, you owe it to yourself to check it out. Why don’t you borrow my car and head up when you feel up to it? I can fly home.”
Although Maya struggled to imagine herself behind the wheel of Phoebe’s car, off on a wild goose chase, Maya was touched by Phoebe’s earnestness. Maybe she was right. Maybe she owed it to herself to get out of the city for a while and explore this strange, otherworldly scenario. She certainly owed it to herself to get out from under Nick’s shadow as soon as possible.
That night, Maya took Phoebe to a hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant with truffle pasta. Maya was disappointed, slightly, that Phoebe ordered wine with dinner. It meant she wasn’t pregnant, not yet. But soon, Maya and Phoebe fell into a comfortable and warm conversation, one that brought Maya back into her body again.
“I never liked him,” Phoebe said of Nick, then smacked her hand over her mouth.
“What?” Maya laughed. “You never told me that!”
“You were so in love with him,” Phoebe said. “I knew there was no talking you out of it. Besides, when you guys got together, I was only twenty-one. What did I know about the world?”
“You’ve always been too smart for your own good,” Maya teased. “Your father and I were amazed when you started talking. It was six months too early!”
Phoebe rolled her eyes and smiled.
“How is your father doing?” Maya twisted her fork through the pasta, surprised that the question no longer felt like a knife through her heart.
“He’s good! He likes his new house. It’s only about forty minutes from Philly, so I go over sometimes.”
