Page 155 of Manhattan State of Mind

Still smiling, I go in for the kill. “Here’s the thing. I feel my contributions have been undervalued here for a while. So if I’m not promoted by the end of the month, I’m handing in my notice.”

His eyes bulge out. “You’ll what?”

“I’ve loved my six years here, but if there’s no room for growth, then it’s time for me to move on. You understand, right? Opportunities abound elsewhere… Solaris International Hotels & Resorts, for instance, have a rather appealing vacancy in their IT team…”

He inhales sharply, nostrils flaring like he’s trying to suck in the room.

And for the first time since that horrible video of JP surfaced, I feel a smidge of hope.

FORTY-FOUR

Lucy

Five days later, I get the email that I’m being promoted. My eyes dance over the email on my phone. So the winning recipe was 30 percent talent, 30 percent hard work, and 30 percent backbone.

Good thing I don’t work in accounts. Apparently, my math is a bit off.

“What’s got you smiling?” Priya asks, leading me to her spare room.

I share the news of my promotion, my plan paying off. She envelopes me in a warm hug. “See? Life’s not so bad.”

I force a smile, but it’s brittle and false. Sure, life’s looking up, but deep down, I’m shattered. My nights are filled with insomnia as thoughts of JP invade my mind. He’s the first thing I think about when I wake up. I haven’t seen him since the day outside the elevator.

He’s back in Vegas. The ever-chatty office gossip asserts that he’s there for good. Matty managed to glean a bit of information about JP’s location from a girl in marketing. The word is, JP has been a steady fixture in the casinos every evening. Ruling his empire.

Priya pirouettes in the center of the room like a kid. “Well, what do you think?”

I take it in—modest but homey. Only a bed for now, but I can already picture my possessions scattered about. A breeze drifts in through the open window.

“It’s perfect,” I say, and I mean it.

She pulls me into another hug. “Welcome to your new home, roomie.”

Yesterday, I tackled the apartment issue head-on. Deciding to put it up for rent. Turns out there’s at least a rental market for living above a sex shop. The rent’s enough to cover the mortgage until I conjure a permanent fix. For the time being, I’m shacking up with Priya, an arrangement I’m genuinely thrilled about. If I survived living with Spider, I can handle living with my best friend.

Priya squeezes my shoulder and tells me she’ll give me “space,” and thank fuck for that because I’ve needed nothing but space lately.

With a heaviness I can’t shake, I collapse onto the bed and begin to unzip my bag. Amid the everyday detritus—my phone, keys, wallet, an absurd number of coffee receipts—lies my secret torment, the pieces of the past I can’t bring myself to abandon. The photos JP gave me. Our shared moments, frozen in glossy 4x6 rectangles. For days, I’ve been this way, masochistically thumbing through them, only to hastily shove them back into the safety of my bag.

The one on top is like a punch to the gut. Central Park. A selfie with his strong arm wrapped around me, my lips pressed to his scratchy cheek. He’s wearing a baseball cap and he looks so handsome. There’s a picnic basket in the background. I look undeniably smitten, the proverbial cat that got the cream.

I don’t know why this photo hits me the hardest.

My eyes well up, the happiness in our faces too stark a contrast to my current reality. I turn it over.

Here’s to new beginnings. New beginnings without JP. My throat tightens painfully.

???

Central Park has a way of tricking you into thinking you’ve escaped the city. Strolling along the curving pathways, it’s all trees and blooms as far as the eye can see. But then the Manhattan skyline peeks through the greenery, an ever-present reminder that you’re still in the concrete jungle. One of them is JP’s apartment building, jerking up into the skyline like an arrogant cock.

I tell myself that I’m just out for an innocent stroll, and I almost believe the lie.

Feet with a mind of their own take over. It’s not like I know where I’m going, except I do.

The Untermyer Fountain, with its iconic bronze figures forever suspended in a watery waltz. It’s unmistakably visible in the background of the photo.

An unsettling knot forms in my stomach, pulling tighter as I near the section of grass that lines up with our picture. The exact spot where our bodies had apparently once lain entwined.