“But when?”
“Graham sent her a pic of the store and the one of you at Borelli’s. She works fast. She’d be a great friend to you. They stay in the penthouse on and off.” He pauses. “Maybe Graham will let you keep it, you know, afterwards.”
“Right. Is all this bedroom stuff new?”
“I picked everything out, and Graham approved it. I wish he’d let me redo the entire place, but he wanted to start with this room.”
He could have just put a cot in here, and I would have been fine with it, but these little touches, the new furniture, the sketch, his bangle, the money after our divorce—he’s done more than was required. I’m unused to someone else taking care of me.
In the kitchen, Brody gives me a paper with a schedule on it that tells me a grocery delivery is sent every Tuesday that I’ll need to pick up downstairs, or they’ll deliver it to the door if someone is here. A housekeeper comes every two weeks, on Monday mornings.
“If there’s anything you want moved here, such as furniture, I can set that up,” Brody says, and I tell him no, seeing no point in moving in anything but my toiletries and clothes, and Jane is bringing those to the store tomorrow in a duffel. I can get more as I need them.
He makes to leave, then pauses at the door. “Cas and I have cocktails in the apartment in the evenings. Come join us sometime if you want.”
“Thank you. Wait,” I say and then chew on my lips, my head churning.
“Yeah?”
“Your dad asked about my siblings and wants to meet them. He gave me his card. What do you think about a dinner with your dad, here at the apartment? I actually love to cook, but the stove at our place is always on the fritz. It might give your dad a chance to see that we’re connected as a family.”
He thinks about it, his hand tapping his leg.
“Super casual,” I add. “Just letting him know how crazy I am about Graham.”
“And are you?”
My hands clench around the paper I’m still holding, and Brody smiles broadly. “Fine, set it up. Dad would love to be invited here. He’s never been.”
After he’s gone, I walk the apartment again, peeking in all the closets, except in Graham’s room. I walk out on the balcony and take in the park.
A deep loneliness sets in.
My heart feels hollow and empty.
I try to ignore it but can’t.
I wish Graham were here.
I wonder where he is. Most of all, I wonder if he’ll be safe at camp. I can’t stop thinking about CTE and the absolute unknown of the disease.
His absence leaves a strange void at the center of my being. I look at my phone, hoping for a call or message from him.
An undeniable feeling of dread overcomes me as I drop into a chair, my head in my hands. The truth is that I long for him with every ounce of my being, and I can’t deny it any longer, not the sparkle in his eyes when he smiles, his dimples, the way his nose flares slightly when he’s near me yet doesn’t make a move. I relish in his banter, the way he opens up to me when I least expect it.
My stomach drops as the realization hits me. I’m falling for him. His warmth, his vulnerability, the way he wants to keep me safe at all costs, his unconditional love for his brother, the look of despair that lingers on his face whenever he speaks of losing football.
How do I navigate this and survive with my heart intact?
I won’t. I can’t.
Jesus. I need to stab this feeling right in the center of my chest and rip it out.
Needing a distraction, I call Jane, then the rest of my friends.
A few hours later, I’ve got enough Chinese delivery for a feast. Jane, Andrew, and Londyn arrive first, then Babs, Ciara, and Mason. Magic finds his litter box, does his business, then goes to sleep in my lap.
I’ve tossed a blanket over the giant penis for Londyn’s sake.
Chapter 22
GRAHAM
Two and a half weeks later, I wake from a groggy dream, trying to figure out where I am. I rub my eyes. Right. Back in Manhattan. I arrived last night on a late flight during the middle of a huge thunderstorm. By the time I got to the apartment, it was midnight, and Emmy was already asleep with her door closed.
Once I’m dressed in gym clothes and out of my bedroom, the apartment is silent. Emmy’s already left for work. As I drink a protein shake, I stalk around the apartment, seeing hints that my wife lives here: a cup of half-drunk tea left on a side table, several fortune cookies left over from takeout, and a blanket over the giant penis.
We’ve communicated briefly through texts, but I’ve done my best to keep my distance.