Page 176 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

“I’m impressed but not surprised. Jackson’s always been reliable and a good guy. But it’s also quite the gesture of?—”

“Friendship.”

She starts laughing. “Yes, indeed.” Moving around the counter, she asks, “How can I help?”

To be standingin the middle of my empty apartment feels surreal.

Not mine.The bank’s.

I’ll never forget the years I lived in this palace in the sky.

I walk the perimeter of every room and meander. So many memories were made, from getting the call that I got the job at the gallery to this past summer when Jackson and I returned from the Hamptons and christened the white couch I sold this afternoon.

I remember the call I made to my dad telling him I found my dream apartment and how he outbid another potential tenant to make sure I got it. My mom even flew in to help me decorate before she was off to her next adventure. I think she was going toThailand right after. My memories from that whirlwind visit are fuzzy since she’s always traveling somewhere.

That might have been the only time she saw the place.

I don’t even know where she is. Should I send her an email to tell her what happened? I don’t think so. She’s as involved as she ever was or wanted to be. I’ve probably seen her more online or in photos for ads than I have in real life.

She abandoned me a long time ago. Giving her access to my problems will only earn me an,“I told you so.”

This is it, apartment. “So long. Farewell. It’s been nice knowing you.”

I walk to the window to take in this incredible view once more, finding it ironic that this apartment will eventually become a symbol for the time in my life when everything fell apart.

“Are you ready?”

I turn back to see Jackson standing in the doorway. A smile still shapes his expression, but it’s not as broad as before. The long day is wearing on him, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s sympathy built into the curve of his mouth.

I nod, taking one last look around, and then walk to the door with him. He takes hold of my hand. “I’m ready,” I say, closing one chapter of my life and beginning the next.

CHAPTER 14

Jackson

“What are the rules?”

“No rules,” I reply, studying Marlow from the kitchen. She’s not exactly made herself at home. Though I see potential once her excitement has worn off. Currently, she’s a kid in a candy shop acting like she’s never been here before. Maybe it’s because when she has been here prior, we had very specific plans in mind. It wasn’t just to hang out and watch TV.

Still, it surprises me how content she appears to be when she’s used to five-star hotels.

My place is great. It’s the opposite of hers in almost every way. Hers was clean, almost to the point of sparse except for the art. It reminded me of a gallery in some aspects with the white walls. It was a canvas for her art . . . for her probably as well. She always loved the spotlight and stood out.

Mine stands in contrast as it wasn’t just a place to lay my head but an investment and one that’s paid off. I could make a two-million-dollar profit if I sold today based on the currentmarket. It’s a two bedroom in a swanky part of the city. I know it’s up to snuff, but it makes me glad that she likes it.

What some would call more masculine with a cognac-colored leather couch and rich-wood floors others might call boring, Clutter doesn’t cover my surfaces, but I have a few things out and about that I’ve collected or put on display like a fishing lure my dad gave me to keep when I caught my first fish at five years old. We don’t get out to fish much anymore. It’s probably something I should make the effort to do again with him.

A photo of my friends, all six of us, from junior year at NYU when we stayed at Rad’s mom’s house in the Hamptons over spring break. We felt damn fucking fancy since it’s oceanfront and a chef had been hired in.

Oh, shit.

I set my glass on the counter, debating if I should make a run for it and snatch up the hairpin before she sees it. I didn’t even remember it was there until now. It must have fallen from her hair when she came over a few months back. It was a good night—the sex fantastic, as usual, but she stayed since it was the weekend and had a cup of coffee with me in the morning.

Later that day, I found the hairpin with the jeweled M next to the couch where I had her bent over the night before and must have set it down there for some reason. I’d forgotten about it until now. But if she sees it, she won’t understand because it will look like I’ve put a piece of her on display, and I’ll be called a creep for keeping it.

Distract her.“More pizza?” I cut across the living room as casually as I can and pocket the pin because let’s face it, I am a fucking creep because I have no intention of giving it back. Has she even missed it?

Maybe not.

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