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Forty-Seven
It doesn’t take much for Imani to convince me to stay with her in her very chic hotel as opposed to another night in a skanky comedy condo. (Sorry, Nick, you’re on your own now, buddy.) Plus the hotel is within walking distance of the comedy club. I forgot how great it is to let my feet take me somewhere new. Us ladies can’t help but stay up the rest of the night, talking with the lights off just like our slumber parties in high school. I can’t imagine spending Imani’s last night here any other way.
In the gray morning light, I walk Imani out to the cab waiting to take her to LAX, where she’ll fly across the Atlantic to Germany. Not only is my first and only comedy road tour with Nick over, but this chapter with Imani in New York is coming to a close too. I’m nervous, understandably, but at the same time excited for this next season in my life to unfold in unexpected ways. Be prepared for anything, right?
My friend opens the door to her cab, passport in hand, ready for her next adventure. “So this is where I leave you.”
“Hey, I took off for my dream first, so it’s only fair you do the same,” I say, and she chuckles. “It means a lot that you came out here to see me.”
She fixes her hands into a heart shape over the left side of her chest. “Like I said, you’re my penguin.”
“Penguins for life.” Tugging her arm, I pull her close for one last goodbye hug. “Thank you for everything. I don’t know if I could’ve gotten this far without you.”
“You could’ve. You would’ve figured it out. Take care of yourself, Liv.”
“I will. You too,” I say as she climbs in the cab and closes the door. The taxi window eases down, her face coming clearly into view.
“Auf Wiedersehen,” she says.
“Auf Wiedersehen.” I wave farewell, watching the taxi drive off along Sunset Boulevard. Now it’s just me, and I’m okay with that. I have to be. This is the new Olivia Vincent Plan.
I’ve got Imani’s room all to myself until eleven. I should use this time to go back inside, pack my things (and nothing more), and get ready to head to the airport in a few hours myself. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t get on a plane without seeing Nick one more time.
Another taxi pulls up in front of the hotel entrance and I snag it. Who cares if I’m in leggings and Nick’s Buh-Bye shirt. The comedy condo is only about a mile from here. As we head up the hill, we pass The Comedy Shoppe and I imagine coming back to perform again after the Late Night Show taping. It’ll be nice to have a reason to visit Nick again.
The driver drops me off in front of the apartment building, my stomach in tight knots. I’ve seen Nick every day for the last two weeks, nearly every moment. Why am I nervous? I rush up to the second floor and bang my fist on the door. No idea if anyone else is staying here. After a minute, I knock again. No one answers.
Oh, no, I hope I’m not too late. Where would he even go? Probably his new place—sounds like he made arrangements for everything. I pull out my phone to call him and—
“Olivia?” The sound of Nick’s voice calling my name is something I will miss. I turn around and find him standing there with his coffee and a cigarette.
“So I guess this means you’re smoking again?” I ask, walking down the steps with my arms folded. I wish he’d say buh-bye to that nasty habit.
He pulls the stick out of his mouth and flicks it with his thumb. “No, this is one of those fake cigarettes that help you quit smoking.”
“You mean you’re faking it?” I joke.
“I’m pretty good at it, right?” Nick’s brows wiggle and he stuffs the faux smoke in his pocket. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a flight to catch?” he asks.
“I do, but I wanted to come see you and thank you.”
“Thank me for what?”
I shrug, thinking the list is too long to say. So I sum it up. “For bringing me on this mind-opening, life-changing, classic rock–filled comedy road tour.”
“You forgot orgasmic.”
My cheeks warm at the memory. “That too. I can’t imagine having done this with anyone else but you.”
“Olivia—”
“Wait, let me finish.” I step closer. “You and I aren’t that different. Except you’re much, much older than me,” I tease, and he rolls his eyes. “I get why you want to start over after what happened, but you can start fresh in New York too. And if you really want to stay here, in a climate that’s much more conducive to a soft-top Jeep, then at least don’t stop doing stand-up. The world needs your help seeing the humor in life. To make us laugh because you’re so incredibly amazing at it. Please, don’t give that up.”
He drops his head in a chuckle. “It’s hard to take you so seriously when you’re wearing a shirt with my face on it.”
I glance down at my tee. “Oh, hahaha!”
“Is that all?” he asks.
