“Oooh.” Iris drops her voice into her best ghost impression and wiggles the fingers of her free hand at me. “The family’s worst fear is a woman who won’t eventually become their in-law and is only there because she’s being paid to tolerate their bullshit.”
I roll my eyes. “I just want to get this right.”
“I know. But would it be the end of the world if you did enjoy spending time with him?”
“I can’t date him. He’s paying to spend time with me. That’s not a dynamic I’m comfortable with turning into a real relationship.” I repeat what I’ve been telling myself non-stop these last few weeks.
Distractions lead to mistakes and I literally can’t afford to make any with so much on the line. I have a plan.
Help with this article. Get the money. Pay for my master’s. Get a job that pays enough for me to not constantly stress.
It’s already been put at risk once; I won’t let it happen again.
She gasps, a hand flying to her chest. “Relationship. Have I ever heard you say such a dirty word?”
“I’m not that bad.”
“I’m not going to justify that with a response. But I will point out that he’s not paying you—Spitfireis. Plus, he knows what you do for work and wouldn’t get all weird and judgy about it.” Her mouth curls into a grin, proud of herself for finding a loophole. “And you can’t say you’re leaving soon, because you aren’t.”
“Iris,” I start, but her phone chimes, interrupting me. Her face lights up with a smile. “You really like Jasmine, don’t you?” I ask. A hand squeezes my heart, because, really, I want what she has. Not just someone in her life that makes her light up from the inside, but the ability to let herself be swept away. To fall without fear.
When I think about falling, what occupies my mind is the inevitable brutal landing. Maybe that’s because the few times I’ve trusted people to catch me, they didn’t.
“Yeah, she’s been sending all of these updates for her big holiday shoot. But she’s stressed as hell.”
“So, are we officially in girlfriend territory?”
“Soon. I think part of it is that we’re finally putting down roots.”
The words are as close as she ever gets to admitting she’s been purposefully holding off on pursuing long term relationships. I hate feeling like she’s limiting herself because of me.
“If I don’t get into the program and move you could stay here with her—if that would make you happy.”
Iris props a hand on her hip and levels me with a stern expression that I know she must use on her difficult patients.“Henrietta Elm, you’re not talking that way. You’re smart and hard working and aced the stupid fucking standardized test to get in.”
“Fine. Just promise me that you’ll also take care of you. Don’t put your life on hold because of me. Okay?”
“Okay.” She reaches out and wraps me in a hug. “But remember, you’re part of my life too, you hyper-independent idiot.”
An hour later, I meet Liam at The Attic, a used book store along Union Square. It’s on the second story of a diner, up a set of rickety stairs with steps that I’m scared to put my full weight on. Music hums through a small speaker on a stool and the muted chatter from the patrons rises up through the floorboards like smoke.
The spot was Liam’s pick. Usually, I plan everything, but he suggested that we come here for the day. And it was nice not having to be the one in charge of every detail for a change. Most of the time, I like the element of control, but there was something exciting about being invited deeper into his world.
“Why this place?” I ask. It’s small, as far as bookstores go, especially for New York with some shops spanning multiple stories.
“It’s never crowded, which is nice. And kind of makes me feel like if I go anywhere else I’m cheating on this place because it doesn’t have too many customers. It’s also one of the first places I found when I moved here.” We walk through the historical fiction section, arms brushing as I step aside to let an older man pass by us. His fingers hover over the dented and cracked spines.
“Have you brought anyone here before?” I ask and immediately wish I could take it back. I blame Iris for puttingthoughts in my head. I’m not important to him and starting to act like I am is a bad idea. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to this.
“No. But I don’t really have anyone to bring here. There’s Jasmine, but she wouldn’t appreciate it and I wouldn’t put either of us through that,” he says, selecting a Hudson Sloane title. Does that mean he thinks I would appreciate this place? “Sorry if I just made it sound less special.”
“I’m honored to be your first. Are books how you got into writing?”
He hesitates. “I had an accident when I was younger—ACL tear. The ligament was completely severed. My family lives on the ski hill pretty far away from anything else and I couldn’t exactly be on the slopes while I recovered, so I hung out in the library and read.”
“Do you miss it?”
“The mountain? Plenty. Competing? No, not really. I was always more concerned with what other people wanted than what I wanted. Honestly, I could have gone back, but I pretended the injury was worse than it was. Because of it, for the first time in my life I could pick my own path instead of having everything down to what I ate for breakfast planned out for me.” His grip on the book tightens.
