Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 140874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
“It isn’t working for me, either,” I admitted. “But she said some…really unfair things.”
“This is Holli we’re talking about. That’s her part-time job.” She snorted, then sobered half a second later. “I’m sorry. We’re probably not at a place where we can joke.”
“Not at all.” I wanted both of them back in my life, but I wasn’t willing to gloss past our troubles with humor.
“Look, I’m better face-to-face,” she began, resigned, as though she already considered the call a loss. “I know you guys were planning on moving. I don’t know if that already happened, or if you’re commuting to the city—”
“I’m actually in the city right now. I mean, we were going to head back, but… I mean, I’m here now.” I twisted my necklace absently. Did I want to do this? I wanted to fix things with Holli, and now, I had what seemed like an opportunity. But if it didn’t happen, if I did more harm than good…
“Can you meet me? For lunch or a drink or something?”
“I can do a drink.” It was less of a time commitment than lunch. If things didn’t go well, we wouldn’t be stuck staring at each other over half-eaten plates of food, wondering when we could run away without seeming rude.
“Okay, so…two o’clock?” Her relief poured over the line; it had never occurred to me that Deja would feel like I was entitled to anger over the situation.
“Two is fine. Just text me an address.” When I hung up, I turned to Neil, my eyes so wide that my eyelids kinda hurt. “That was Deja.”
“I assumed it was either her, or Holli. Are you all right?”
“Yeah. I’m…cautiously optimistic?” I shrugged. “Look, I don’t know how long this is going to take, and I know you wanted to get home. Why don’t you go on ahead, I’ll call the helicopter guy and get a last minute charter, and I’ll be home before dinner. Or, I’ll hire a car and be back after dinner. Just keep it warm for me.”
His eyebrows hitched up a fraction, either in surprise that I would voluntarily get on a helicopter again, or that I was cavalierly making a choice that I would have dismissed as frivolous and bourgeois just a few months before. “If that’s what you want to do. I’ll have Tony drop you at the apartment?”
Before I got out of the car, Neil gave me an extra-long kiss in lieu of a pep talk, which was appreciated, and made sure I would be okay one final time before he and Tony set off for home. And while I really was cautiously optimistic about this meeting, I dreaded it. I ate some lunch and tried to watch some television. I called and arranged a charter back to the house. I went through some of the stuff we’d left behind, to see if I’d forgotten anything I couldn’t live without once I found it, but there was nothing. I ended up sitting in the kitchen, drinking too much coffee and watching the clock until it was time to leave.
Deja sent a text with the address of a bar in the village. I took the subway—it was nice to revisit the stinky, stale air of my first NYC mode of transport—and found the place. It was quiet, dark, and uncomplicated.
Deja was waiting in one of the high-backed booths, facing the door. Her chest rose with a visible breath when I stepped inside. She’d changed her hair since I’d last seen her. Now one side fell in an impeccable asymmetrical bob so straight it looked like you could cut yourself on the ends, and the other side clipped short in a graceful arch around her ear. As always, she was dressed rock star cool, to the point that a passerby would likely stop and wonder if they’d seen her on TV before. Her dark, exaggerated eye makeup looked effortlessly applied, and the subtle bronzer on her dark, golden brown skin accentuated her perfect cheekbones.
“Hey,” I said, feeling like a slob in the long-sleeve T, jeans, and mostly bare face I’d just planned to wear on the drive back to Sagaponack. Though I wasn’t in fashion journalism anymore, “look” was always on my mind, whether it was healthy or helpful or not. “You look great.”
“Thanks.” She plucked at her matte black leather vest, worn open over a long, tight white t-shirt with burnouts that revealed a black cami underneath. “I didn’t know what to wear.”
A server stepped over and took our drink orders, and Deja and I sat in part awkward silence, part inconsequential awkward chitchat until the woman returned with them. I sipped my rum and coke through a straw. I needed something to fortify myself for the helicopter.
It was Deja who broke the silence. “Look, I’m really nervous. Because I feel like I only have one shot at this.”