Page 62 of Manhattan State of Mind

Clearly, this memory loss has turned me into an emotional fool.

“Don’t use this sink. It’s blocked.” I read the hand-made sign taped over the sink. Sure enough, it’s clogged with unidentified gunk. Ugh. What does he expect to happen, that the plumbing fairies are going to flutter in and fix this?

Dumbass moron.

There’s nothing like cleaning out a greasy sink to dampen a dose of arousal.

Should I consider Wolfe’s offer to move out? No, if I leave Spider Boy alone for too long, my apartment will be condemned.

With a sigh, I grab the rubber gloves. When did I become such a pushover? How did I end up here, unclogging my own sink from the mess that my unwanted roommate left behind? If Wolfe—no, JP—could see the “resilient woman” now, he might rethink that assessment.

???

“We got you a mocktail.” Libby waves a neon-colored, umbrella-topped drink at me as I perch on the bar stool. At least our local bar is the same. This cheese and wine bar has been our usual haunt for years, despite the ten thousand other options for bars in New York.

“Oh, goodie.” I dump my purse onto the table and take a skeptical sip of the virgin margarita. Doc’s orders, no alcohol for now. If only I could convince my body that kale smoothies are preferable. “Hope you got a ton of cheese to make up for the gaping wine-shaped hole in my life.”

“Coming right up,” Libby giggles.

Priya, typing furiously with one hand and barely glancing up from her screen, takes a sip of her gin martini.

“Make her stop working,” Libby whines. “Her furious typing’s making me jittery. Look at her! It’s like she’s got six hands.”

“This defamation case is giving me a headache,” Priya mutters, pausing to massage her temples. She snaps her laptop shut with a resigned sigh. “Sorry, Luce. It’s your first night out post-amnesia and here I am, treating it like any other night. How are you holding up?”

I choke down more sugary sadness. “I’m okay. Survived my first few days back at work.”

“I can’t wrap my head around it,” Libby muses, her face scrunched in genuine bewilderment. “I can’t imagine how it would be. Erasing everything…”

“Yeah, it’s pretty awful,” I admit, forcing a grim smile onto my face. I search for a good comparison. “Imagine the worst hangover ever. You wake up and your night is a black void. But there are these people around you who weren’t drinking, constantly poking you with a ‘don’t you remember what you did?’ stick. And it puts the fear of God in you, like did you tell someone to fuck off, or shit your pants, or commit a felony, or something? Because the way they are looking at you—it must be horrendous. And that’s not even close.”

Their shocked expressions say it all.

Priya finally manages a low “Jesus.”

I tell them through gritted teeth that real estate Dave wants me to knock ninety thousand off my apartment.

Priya’s hand covers mine. “Just hold out. Sex shops are probably more transient than other businesses. Don’t do anything yet. Next year, there’ll be a nice little cake shop there peddling cupcakes and overpriced coffee.”

I stab my glass with my straw. “That’s got to be the end of the nasty surprises, right? Sex shop, Spider. Taylor.”

“Mmm,” Priya sounds off, exchanging a loaded glance with Libby.

“What’s thatMmmsupposed to mean?” My incredulous stare bounces between them. “That’s it, right? End of story?”

She stalls a moment, then: “Yeah… sure.”

“Yeah… sure?” My voice squeaks with barely restrained panic. “Priya, there’s more, isn’t there?”

She swaps another look with Libby, who’s now downing her wine. “That’s probably the worst of it.”

Probably?

I take another gulp of my drink to calm my nerves. Where’s this cheese when I need it?

Libby breaks the silence. “Whatever happens, we’ll be here for you.” She rests a hand on my arm.

“Thanks,” I reply with a feeble smile. “I’d be screwed without you two. Mom is a disaster. But she’s agreed to go to the therapy sessions, even though she hates traveling to New York.”