Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 103050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
I want more.
“I’m not waiting around for a man to figure out that he wants me, or that it’s convenient for him to want me.”
Avril and Poppy share a glance.
“That sounds like the right attitude,” Avril says.
“Absolutely,” Poppy says. “Fuck him if he doesn’t realize how amazing you are.”
I smile and pull out some glasses for drinks. I don’t bother to say that I think Deacon cares, or cared, for me. I think he liked me a lot. It just wasn’t enough. And I need someone who thinks I’m worth moving mountains for.
The thought is settling in my brain and the sadness is pushed out by a little more hope than I’ve had since I last left the townhouse. Maybe it’s the knowledge that I haven’t wasted time or stayed still waiting for things to change. I’ve accepted things the way they are and I’m determined to move on, even if I haven’t yet. Even if I don’t know where I’m moving on to.
Listening to Darcy talk about The Rookery and how it’s the same as it always has been, and how they’re waiting for me to come back, doesn’t make me feel as good as I thought it would. I’m not here, wishing I was back there anymore. Yes, I’d like to be around the corner from Darcy, but she has her husband and children, and I don’t want to be on the sidelines of her life either.
I want a life of my own. I want a world of my own.
“Okay, so I have just weeks left in New York. And I want to see as much of the Big Apple as I can before I leave. Wanna help me make a plan to squeeze every last drop of juice from this city?”
“Yes,” Poppy says. “And can we invite ourselves along to some of the things we decide on too?”
“Have you done the Frick?” Avril asks. “Because that needs to be on your list.”
“Don’t bother with the Statue of Liberty,” Poppy says.
“What?” Avril replies. “Of course she has to bother with the Statue of Liberty.”
“Why?” Poppy says. “It’s a hulking piece of green metal. Maybe catch the Staten Island Ferry if you want a better view than the one you get from Battery Park. But don’t go over and hang out on Liberty Island.”
“Agreed,” Avril says. “Staten Island Ferry works.”
“Absolutely,” I say. “Any friends are welcome to join me.”
Poppy holds up a can of Coke. “To friends.” Her gaze slides to Avril. “To sisters. Biological and woman-made.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I say.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Aurora
I push an escaped strand of hair back into my bun and enter the lobby of Hotel on Ninth Street with a smile. I’ve been asked to solve an issue at reception. This time two weeks ago, I would never have come to reception when I knew Deacon might be around. It’s not like I want to run into him today, but if I do, I know I won’t collapse.
I don’t know why, but somehow this week feels easier. Maybe because I spent time with Poppy and Avril, and their friendship feels real and genuine. It distracted me from thoughts of Deacon and what might have been. I’m proud of myself for not clinging on to something that wasn’t mine. I’m proud that I’ve not gotten on the first plane home to Woolton.
It doesn’t mean I don’t miss Deacon, that I don’t wish things had been different. I do. But I won’t hang around while life proves to me over and over that things aren’t different.
It probably helps that I know today is the last day where there’s a risk of me running into him. I’m not sure what arrangements Gabby and he have made, but Room 325 will be occupied by someone else tomorrow night for two straight weeks. Deacon’s booking usually stretches at least a month in advance, but tonight is the last booking we have for him.
It’s a relief that I won’t have to risk seeing him, of having the pain resurface. It’s not gone, but I know I have to move forward. I know I can’t just lie on my sofa and wallow. Life is short and I want to get to the bit where I’m happy again. I know thinking about Deacon won’t make that happen any more quickly.
“Can I help?” I ask Magda, who’s called me down from a room inspection with the housekeeper. We were just agreeing on the list of repairs that maintenance needs to work on over the next two weeks.
“Mrs. Melia had requested a room near the elevators,” Magda says, in a low voice, so Mrs. Melia can’t hear what we’re saying. “She’s been given 626.”
I nod, since 626 is not near the elevators. Mrs. Melia is an older woman, who looks to be in her eighties. Some of the corridors in this hotel are long and the rooms quite a way from the lifts.