Page 2 of Five Years
The tattoo used to represent belonging. Now, it was a reminder. It was small enough to be removed. She used to cringe at the idea of matching tattoos—until she fell in love. Then, it felt like the most permanent, perfect way to show her commitment.
She should’ve known Ariana would bring her ex.Theex. Technically, Leah was the new ex. Which made Hannah the ex-before-the-last-ex. But is someone still an ex if they get back together?
Either way, Ariana brought Hannah. And Leah didn’t hate her. Shewantedto. That would’ve been easier. But Hannah was kind, respectful, optimistic—and, annoyingly, really fucking hot.
It was Leah’s biggest test of emotional maturity. And she passed.
The shame of being single at a wedding did concern her. The pity. The unsolicited sympathy. She half-expected couples to queue up one by one, offering condolences for the death of her love life.
Turning up alone clearly screamed “pity me, I’m undatable.”
She was only thirty. She’d accepted the death of her twenties like a champ. Okay, maybe she had to run an extra hour of cardio every week to combat the weight that clung to her like the silky blouse she wore once and never again—thanks to a nipple-related incident that made her the talk of the town. But overall? Thirties weren’t bad.
She had independence. A solid circle of friends. And a newly developed “fuck it” mentality she never would’ve dared test in her twenties.
Of course, there was still the gut-wrenching pain—the kind that lit her up inside like a bonfire—every time she thought about Ariana.
She missed her. Sadly.
The day should’ve been about the bride and groom—and it was—but Leah couldn’t help the way thoughts of Ariana consumed her. Whenever she looked in her direction, it felt like an out-of-body experience.
In two years, Ariana had rooted herself so deeply in Leah’s psyche, she wasn’t sure how to begin the process of letting go. Grieving hadn’t even started. Leah was still treading the line between moving on... and holding out hope.
She hoped that would fade with time.
ONE
Five years later
The mile-long trip from Leah’s new apartment in NoHo to the office building on Park Avenue was the perfect way to experience fall in New York. The morning frost and vivid foliage only deepened her love for the city. A thick pair of socks and a smoking-hot cup of the season’s finest hot chocolate helped keep her hands warm on the walk.
After a week of said walk, Leah tried taking a car. But despite her father’s insistence she use the company vehicle, sitting in traffic angered her more than being shoved by a disgruntled local on the sidewalk. She didn’t take it personally. After a couple of weeks, she realized New Yorkers weren’t rude—they were just late. For everything.
Leah now considered herself a New Yorker. She was working in the city, paying a sickening amount of rent, and understood the chaos that erupted Monday through Friday on any corner, of any street, outside any coffee shop. When ninety percent of the people surrounding you were tourists, getting to work was an extreme sport.
She was no stranger to the city. Leah had been lucky enough to visit at least twice a year. She’d spent many holidays and school breaks here with her father, owner and founder of Douglas Green Advisory Group. Douglas was a clever man. Leah had always admired his work ethic, even if it was likely the reason her parents’ marriage hadn’t survived.
The company specialized in investment management, life insurance, retirement planning, debt management—basically all the mundane parts of life no one wanted to deal with, but eventually had to.
After thirty-five years in business, her father finally convinced her to join him in New York. A position as “Advisor to the CEO” had conveniently become available. Leah knew that wasn’t a real role. It was a glorified assistant. But her dad was adamant she learn the CEO’s day-to-day itinerary in preparation for her inevitable takeover. She was an only child. Her mom had trouble getting pregnant after the complications with Leah—strike two on the failed marriage scorecard.
Leah had always wished for a sibling, but her father was even more upset his wife hadn’t given him a boy—not in a 1500s Henry VIII sort of way, but it was a factor. He loved Leah more than anything—she was his pride and joy—but she didn’t have the desire to run his company the way he’d always hoped his offspring would.
A week after her thirty-fifth birthday, she packed two large suitcases with anything of significance from her apartment in Michigan and hopped on a plane bound for Manhattan. Leah had reached a standstill in her career as Vice President of Marketing. The title sounded glamorous, but in reality, she worked for an obscure charity with creative PR strategies, minimal funding, and aspirations of becoming as well-known as Make-A-Wish.
Leah took a salary like everyone else—definitely inflated by family allowance—but she insisted on paying for her own apartment and living modestly. She’d never asked her father for much. Growing up, she was given everything she could’ve wanted, but once she left the nest, she was determined to stand on her own two feet—aside from the down payment on her first apartment.
She could’ve lived the penthouse life. Five Chihuahuas in Louis Vuitton carriers, a personal chef, and friends who only stuck around because she had status. But that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted a simple life.
Office management didn’t quite know what to make of her. They were suspicious of her intentions—and probably her work ethic. They watched her daily, waiting for a chance to chew her up and spit her back out. She tried to win them over with mints and promises of Free Doughnut Fridays. So far, it hadn’t worked.
She was two blocks from the office when the rain started. It hadn’t been forecast—but when was it ever? New York had a pompous, narcissistic approach to weather. It gave a daily middle finger to its eight million residents, just because it could. If the city had a voice, it would shout, “Predict this, mother fu—” and laugh like a hyena.
Thankfully, Leah had embraced her mom bag.
What’s a mom bag, you ask?
After day two—when she mistakenly wore a thin white knitted jumper to work with no coat, tricked by a deceptively sunny sky—she endured the humiliation now referred to asWhite Jumper-gate. A kind stranger with a pushchair didn’t laugh as Leah awkwardly bent under the coffee shop hand dryer. Instead, she offered her a sympathetic nod and one of many helpful items from her cavernous bag.
