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“Okay, Mom.”
“Cute. You may be fine to drive, but there will be assholes out there.”
Brooklyn leans in and kisses my cheek. “I’ll text you.”
“Thank you.” I reluctantly hand her the bag.
“I’ll see you next week,” she promises.
Next week will conclude our working arrangement. Maybe I should have let Jeremy mess things up again. “See you then,” I reply.
Brooklyn climbs into the driver’s seat. I close her door and step back. My heart lurches in my chest when she pulls away. What happens after next week?
“Hey! Are you gonna stand out there all night?” Ali’s voice yells from behind me. “Hurry up! Jeremy’s about to open the good stuff!”
I turn and make my way back to the house. I may not be grateful for the box of spirits Ali brought tomorrow. I’m thankful for the distraction tonight. “Yeah, yeah,” I call back. “Don’t open that bottle without me!” I glance back over my shoulder at the empty spot in front of my house. Whiskey sounds good.
***
DECEMBER 2nd
Occasionally, a change of plans is welcome. Any change of plans that delay the end of Brooklyn’s weekly visits is fine with me. I was pleasantly surprised when Brooklyn called on Sunday and asked if I had any desire to join her for some shopping in the city. She explained that her nephew’s first birthday party was happening on Saturday and she needed to get some gifts. She thought, perhaps, we might tackle some holiday shopping at the same time—if I was game. Truthfully, I should have declined. My deadline is looming. It’s becoming more ominous by the hour. Either way, I wouldn’t have been writing today. That’s my justification for hopping an early train to meet Brooklyn in Manhattan. Besides, I haven’t purchased anything for Christmas. Not one item. I can’t wait until one of my nephews contributes some children to my family. I’m terrific at finding presents for babies, toddlers, kids, and teens. Teens are the easiest. They want money. Then they get older and they expect something to open again. It’d be amusing if gift-giving wasn’t such a puzzle. I can’t buy bottles of whiskey or cases of beer for every holiday. What do you buy twenty-something men? A sweater? Maybe Brooklyn will have some insight.
I step off the train and make my way down a dingy corridor. I love Grand Central Station. It’s one of my favorite places on earth. Maybe it’s because I remember the first time I came here with my father when I was eight. There’s something magical about this place. It feels like the whole world collides when you reach the center. Maybe because the entire world, or some part of it, has traveled through here. I’ve traveled a lot in my life. I love London, Paris, Hong Kong, Tokyo, Seoul, Los Angeles, and Chicago. There is no city on earth that compares to New York City. Perhaps my American roots make me bias. I don’t think so. New York is unlike any place on the planet. The moment I set foot in the city, I can feel its pulse. It hums. I don’t mean the sound of passing cabs and rushing pedestrians. New York has a heartbeat. I look up at the ceiling of the grand station with the same wonderment I did at eight-years-old.
“Looking for something?”
“No.” I turn and offer Brooklyn a smile.
“It is impressive.”
“I was thinking magical.”
“You are the fantasy writer,” she replies.
I look back upward.
“See something inspiring?” she asks.
“You have a point,” I say.
“I do?”
I laugh and return my gaze to her. I never considered writing a book set in New York City. Why not?
“Oh, I see the wheels turning,” Brooklyn comments.
“You just gave me an idea,” I tell her.
“I did?”
Brooklyn’s given me loads of ideas over the last month that could be labeled as fantasy. This just happens to be the first that might inspire a book.
“Carter?”
“It would be an interesting setting, wouldn’t it?” I look up one more time. “What if it were a portal?”
Brooklyn chuckles. “I’d read that one.”
