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You'll Find Me in Manhattan Page 13
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“Hey!” she handed me a bottle of Prosecco as she stepped into the entry way. “You both look nice.”
“Thanks,” I said, handing the Prosecco off to Alex. I managed to avoid eye contact with him as his fingers brushed against mine. “So, did you hear anything about any of our grades yet?”
Amalia’s face paled. “Why would you put this in my head on a holiday?”
“I haven’t gotten any of mine either!” I quickly tried to put her at ease. “But that’s it, no more school talk. I promise.” I gave her an over-the-top nod and pretended to zip my lips.
She nodded back. “I am pretty sure I heard Dr. Greenfield mumble something about the grades needing to be submitted no later than January twelfth.” She shrugged her tiny shoulders. “So I wouldn’t start driving yourself crazy for another week.”
“I’m not driving myself crazy,” I said. Alex shot me a look and then exchanged a knowing glance with Amalia. “What? I’m not!”
“Its fine, baby. This is what we love about you,” Alex hugged me from behind.
“I’m going to be a bit anxious until we get out grades back,” I uttered, easing out of the hug. “It’s the last transcript that doctoral programs are really going to care about.”
“We know,” they both said in unison.
“Hastings, you want a cookie?” Alex held the tray out under her nose.
“Absolutely,” she grabbed two and started nibbling away.
Good, I didn’t burn them.
“Why don’t you put on some music, baby?” Alex took a cookie off the tray and devoured it in one bite.
“Good idea,” I brushed past him and turned on the playlist on my iPod I had made for this occasion. A Sia song came on first and I adjusted the volume, keeping the music at a low, conversational, level.
Amalia crossed past us and walked over to the windows in our living room. We had a great view of the Manhattan skyline from our apartment in Roosevelt Island. Amalia stood in awe, taking it all in, as the moonlight bounced off the water and lit up the sky. Every skyscraper stood tall and proud. Taking a few steps toward her, I smiled. Watching her see what I experience every day out of my own window made me realize I took it for granted. I watched her eyes studying Manhattan, transfixed on a city she had grown up next to and still managed to be affected by to this day. A city that she stared at through my floor-to-ceiling windows. As if seeing it for the first time she had ever laid eyes on it solidified what I already knew to be true.
I loved living in New York. There was no way I was ever moving.
A couple of hours later, Michael graced us with his presence. Alex opened the door and I twisted around to get a look at Michael. He was wearing his usual dark-denim jeans, paired with a button-down with a grey V-neck sweater over it. The Michael uniform. Alex had on black slacks and a checker-patterned button-down. He had his sleeves rolled up, showing his forearm. I always found that sexy about him. But right now sex was the last thing on my mind.
Amalia shifted her weight and sat up a little straighter once she heard Michael’s voice. I turned to face her, us both sitting on the couch, and gently took the glass of wine from her hand. Surprisingly, it was only her second drink of the night. A puzzled look crossed her face as I placed the wine glass on the mahogany coffee table, but she didn’t fight me on it.
“Michael’s here,” I said pointlessly. The music was still low enough that I could hear them talking. I craned my neck a bit to see if Michael was going to walk this way, but he and Alex were talking about the Giants game that was on this week. I pressed my lips in a straight line as I watched Michael talk. He hadn’t even bothered to come talk to Amalia yet. Turning my attention back to Amalia, I saw she was staring at the same thing I was, only she had a longing look in her eyes. Leaning in a bit closer to her, I placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “I want you to do something for me tonight.”
“What’s that?” she gave me a weary smile.
“I want you to relax and just be yourself.”
“What do you mean?” Amalia let out a soft chuckle. She smoothed her hair down and then ran her fingers along a wrinkle that had formed on her dress from sitting.
“I mean all this,” I motioned up and down to her. She scrunched up her face and pursed her lips. “You are beautiful, Amalia. You are smart, you are funny, and above all you’re a good person. I know that might not seem like much of a compliment, but believe me it is. Especially when you live in a city like New York. You have been through so much these past two years, and you’re still standing. You’re still applying yourself and you’re still open to taking a chance on love. And don’t get me wrong, I find that very admirable.” I paused for a moment, thinking of how exactly I wanted to phrase my next sentence. “I know you love Michael.” She lowered her head for a moment and then quickly raised it back up. I could tell this conversation was making her uncomfortable. “And I know how badly you want him to love you back. But this is not you.”
“What’s not me?” she asked, shifting her weight again on the couch. She tucked a strand of blonde behind her ear.
I noticed the guys were wrapping up what they were talking about, so I lowered my voice.
“This,” I touched her stick-straight hair. “And this,” I motioned at her sparkly dress. “And most of all, this.” I pointed at her face. I was probably being a little more firm with her than I had to be, but she had to get this through her head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she countered. “I blew my hair out straight, what’s the big deal? And I wear make-up every day of my life.” She glanced over at her wine glass, probably hoping she could get it back without me swatting her hand.
“You only wear this much make-up when you are planning on seeing Michael. Same thing with the hair. It just comes across like you’re trying to be a different person entirely.”
Her face growing red, she darted her eyes to the floor and then back up to me. I could tell she was feeling self-conscious, and I was beginning to feel like the bad guy.
“And that’s not to say you don’t look beautiful. Amalia, you’re a pretty girl and you’re going to look pretty no matter how you do your hair and make-up. Or if you’re wearing jeans and converse sneakers or a tight metallic dress.” I was talking fast, quickly trying to get to the point of my rant. “What I’m trying to say is that you shouldn’t have to try this hard to look good for someone. Michael knows you, he knows how you usually dress. And if you feel like you have to go through some kind of make-over transformation to get him to notice you, then I can’t imagine he’s making you feel good about yourself.”
“It’s not like he asks me to straighten my hair and wear shiny lip-gloss,” she shrugged, a pained look on her face. She crossed one leg over the other and tugged at her hemline.
“Then why do it?” I asked, trying not to sound judgmental. “It just seems so out of character for you.”
She paused for a moment and seemed to consider this. She shrugged lightly and sighed.
“Because I want to look perfect,” she stated.
I pursed my lips, thinking of what I should say next. Before I could say another word, Alex and Michael joined us in the living room, taking a seat on the other couch. Amalia’s eyes were fixed on the television. Some New Year’s Eve special was playing, but I could tell she wasn’t really watching it. Michael scanned Amalia up and down. I guess this dress was on his approved list of outfits.
A low buzzing sound came from the coffee table and Amalia immediately reached for her phone.
I took a sip of my wine and inched closer to see who had texted her.
“What the hell?” she mumbled. Her brows furrowed and a puzzled expression told hold of her face.
“What is it?” I asked, the four of us looking at her for an answer.
She let out a soft snicker. “Cassandra just texted me.”
“What did she say?” Michael asked
Amalia’s eyes widened and then darted to Michael. I think we
were both surprised that he showed interest in what was going on in her life.
Another point I had been trying to make.
Amalia shook her head. “Nothing, really. All she wrote was Happy New Year’s Eve.”
“Are you going to write back to her?” Michael asked.
Again, Amalia seemed genuinely surprised that he was asking these questions.
“I don’t know if you should,” I chimed in. “Maybe it’s best just to get her out of your life altogether. She’s become pretty toxic.”
Amalia nodded, but her downcast glance told me she wasn’t going to take my advice. I looked over to Alex, who hadn’t said a word in the past ten minutes. He just sat there next to Michael, watching the mess that was Michael and Amalia unfold.
“I’m just going to write her back the same thing she said to me,” she said without looking up.
“Who wants more wine?” I stood up, playing hostess in an attempt to thaw this icy situation.
“Me,” the three of them all said at once.
“Coming right up,” I collected their wine glasses. “Alex, care to join me in the kitchen?”
“You bet,” he stood up and followed me out of the living-room area.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” he whispered. Never one to relish relationship gossip, I was surprised to hear these words come from his mouth.
“I think I know what they’re talking about,” I said, reaching in the cupboard for another bottle of Malbec.
Alex raised an eyebrow “So, tell me.” The volume of his voice made Michael and Amalia both stop talking and raise their heads to look at us.
I cocked my head to the side and gave him a look.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
A beat later Amalia stood up. Michael instinctively put his arms on the back of the sofa, sprawling out. How nice it must be to remain so calm and cavalier while the person you’re dating is suffering from daily mental breakdowns because of you.
“Hey,” she uttered. “Can I talk to you alone for a minute?”
I expected her eyes to be watering, or at least be wearing a downcast look. Instead her eyes looked wide and hopeful, with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
“Steal her if you must,” Alex said with a dramatic sigh. He crossed past us and joined Michael in the living room, their eyes both fixed on the television.
“Let’s talk in my bedroom.” She nodded and followed me out.
She glided into my room and kicked off her high heels. After a quick scan of the bedroom, she darted for our queen-sized bed and immediately plopped down on it. I followed suit and sat down next to her.
“So what’s going on?” I asked. “Did Cassandra say something else to you?”
“Nope,” she refocused her weight on the bed, tucking her legs and bare feet underneath her. She gave me a big smile and I could tell by the glassy look in her eyes that she had downed the rest of her wine when I wasn’t looking.
“Okay then,” I smoothed out my black dress. I was feeling slightly annoyed at her behavior. I had to admit, Amalia had grown up a bit since I first met her, but she still had a little ways to go. Chiding her about her drinking wouldn’t get me anywhere right now, so I just let it go. I tucked it away, and reminded myself to talk to her about it at a better time. “If it’s not Cassandra that’s made you so happy, then that could only mean one thing.” I could feel my face twist into a grimace.
Amalia pulled her weight up, balancing on her knees as she grabbed me for a hug. Her curtain of blonde hair ensconced my face. As I returned the hug, I breathed in her scent. Whatever perfume she was wearing was being masked by the amount of alcohol she had drunk. I loosened her from the hug and coughed.
“Michael and I just had a talk,” she beamed.
I folded my hands and placed them on my lap. “Amalia, you were only alone with him for five minutes. How much could you have discussed?”
“A lot,” she slurred. A wide grin spread across her face and she widened her blue eyes. She put her hands on my shoulders and looked deep into my eyes. “We’re going to do it.”
“Do what?” I asked, but I had a pretty good idea of what she was talking about. I just hoped, for her sake, it wasn’t true.
“We’re going to give it a real shot,” she answered. My hope deflated. “He told me he thought about the deadline I had given him–”
“The ultimatum,” I cut her off.
“Yup, that,” she continued. “And he decided he wants us to date exclusively and see where this relationship can take us!”
“So that’s means, what, like you’re boyfriend and girlfriend?” I shook my head, puzzled by this entire encounter.
“That’s exactly what it means.” Her eyes reached a new circumference of wide.
So many thoughts came flooding to me at once. “But what about Hayden? Are you sure you’re completely over him? And what about applying for doctoral programs? Has Michael decided if he is even going to stay in New York? Are you? I mean seriously, Amalia, what’s your plan?”
She looked at me, her head cocked to the side, a knowing smile on her face. “This was my plan, Olivia.”
“What are you talking about?” I inched a back, suddenly worried her craziness might rub off on me.
“Being with Michael,” she went on. “This has always been my plan. School, work, all of the other stuff will fall into place. I can work harder, I can beg professors for letters of recommendation, but I could never make Michael want to be with me. And now he does. The big challenge is over. From here on out, it’s a cake walk.”
I gaped at her. She sounded absolutely unhinged. “Amalia, I still think you need to–”
Shaking her head, she put a hand up, indicating me to stop talking. She dropped her bare feet to the floor and picked up her shoes. With a stroke of one hand she smoothed down her hair, and reached for the doorknob with the other.
“There’s nothing left to worry about, Olivia.” She offered me a warm smile. I couldn’t tell if she was acting like this because she was drunk or not. “You and Alex, me and Michael. This is how it’s supposed to be.” She said the words slowly, letting each of them land for effect. I sat perfectly still, frozen in place on my bed. She slid her shoes back on and then looked back at me. I took a deep breath. I wanted to say something to her, to tell her she was making a mistake, but I just couldn’t find the right words to say it.
“We’re going to leave now,” she uttered. “Michael and I really just need to spend some time alone.”
“Okay,” I mumbled.
“I love you. Have a happy New Year,” she said, pretending to tip a hat towards me.
“Yeah. You too.” I stayed where I was, too unnerved to see her out.
She twisted the doorknob and then offered me her last words of the night.
“Don’t worry, Olivia,” she raised an eyebrow. “Everything is going to be alright.”
And with a turn of her heel, she exited my bedroom, gently closing the door behind her.
Twenty – Olivia
I woke up to the sound of fresh coffee percolating in the kitchen. Which was, in my opinion, the best sound to wake up to. And the best scent. Rolling over on to my side sent a pain shooting up my back. As I gingerly tossed the duvet off my waist, I felt a dull pain in my head. Confused by the body aches, I rubbed my eyes and then remembered what had happen.
New Year’s Eve, too much champagne, passive aggression, and the worst part of it all, Michael and Amalia were in an exclusive relationship. They were “officially” dating; a certificate should be presented at any moment.
Actually that wasn’t the worst part of the night. The worst part of the night was when I told Alex to sleep on the couch.
Sitting up in the bed, I pulled my arms up to stretch. That’s when I realized I was still wearing the little black dress I had on last night. Taking in a deep yawn, I reluctantly put my feet on the hardwood floor. The sound of the coffee machine stopped and I sighed. I had to go in the
other room and force Alex to tell me what was going on with that girl. The girl with the red hair.
A moment later I was measuredly gliding into the kitchen in one of Alex’s NYU t-shirts and a pair of yoga pants. Before I could even open my mouth to yawn, he handed me a cup of coffee, followed by two pills. I raised an eyebrow.
“Ibuprofen,” he said with a shrug. “It should help with the hangover.”
“And how do you know I’m hung over?” I responded, my voice flat.
He swept a strand of messy brown hair off my forehead. “Because I’m hung over.” Taking my hand, he led me to the living-room sofa. “And I’ve got about sixty pounds on you.”
Letting out a deep sigh, I plopped down on the couch and took a much-needed sip of coffee.
Alex and I exchanged glances and he smiled. Even first thing in the morning he looked good. His dark-blonde hair was tousled ever so slightly: a look most men would probably put product in their hair to achieve. Still in his pajamas, Alex was wearing a plain-white undershirt paired with black and grey flannel pajama pants. He took my left hand (the one what wasn’t holding on to the coffee for dear life) and kissed it ever so gently. Right by where my engagement ring was.
Even when I sleep, I never take it off.
“Alex,” I murmured. “You’re sober, you’re awake,” I looked him square in the eyes. “And you’re stalling.”
Alex let out a soft chuckle. “No I’m not, sweetheart.”
“Then at the risk of sounding redundant, who the hell is that girl?” I was growing more and more impatient.
“If you’re talking about who I think you’re talking about, the woman with the red hair is my cousin, Lauren.”
“So, your cousin has been here in New York all of this time and you didn’t think it was worth mentioning?” I narrowed my eyes.