“Tyler!” My father bellowed from the garage, a metal table folded under his arm. “We need an extra table for the food. Come help me set this up.”
My dad and I were the grumpy ones, or so we were told, but my father was a retired fire captain who preferred to be left alone at these things. He never minded appearing unapproachable and excelled at it. I wished he’d share his secret with me on how he pulled that off.
I nodded and jogged toward where Dad stood.
“Grandma still has this old thing? Didn’t she used to play cards on it or something?” I helped him open the table and push the legs out.
“Don’t knock it because it’s old. Nothing is made this well anymore.” He nodded with his chin toward the end of the yard. “I guess I saved you from Olivia.” He glanced in her direction. “You could never handle that spitfire.”
“I can handle her,” I grumbled as we lifted the table to place it next to the rest of the food, not turning to where I still felt her eyes on me.
Her offer was more than I could handle though. That’s why I had to say no. I’d take the humiliation on the chin and move on, just like I did the last time I saw Amy. It would be easier if only I had something—or someone—to move on to.
THREE
OLIVIA
“Istill can’t believe you moved back,” my best friend, Morgan, said, her chuckle reverberating in my ear. “You had the sweetest apartment in the best location, all to come back to this sleepy town on Long Island and move back in with your mother.”
“First of all, Morg,” I started while trying to pay attention to the last few numbers in my expense sheet before I fired it off to my accountant, “like I’ve said, I am living in the lower-level apartment in her house, not technically living with her. I have my own side entrance, and this apartment has a laundry room, patio, and can fit two of my East Village apartments inside.”
Once I saved the file and emailed it away, I fell back in my chair and prepped for what seemed like the hundredth iteration of the same exact conversation. Was my old place in a great neighborhood with the best restaurants? Sure. But even before my father passed away, I’d started to outgrow it. I wished it hadn’t taken a family tragedy to make me realize I wasn’t where I belonged.
“I know,” she grumbled. “I’m just upset we can’t have any more nights in the city. We still could, but now we have to take the LIRR home or get a hotel, neither of which sound fun.”
I laughed at her exaggerated tsk.
“Iamglad you’re back, although I don’t know how you’re managing a living out here.”
“It’s not that bad.” I shut my laptop and pushed off my seat, my stiff back and legs telling me in a loud voice I’d been working too long without a break. “I still have my freelance job, and as for the other one, it’s actually more convenient. I’m driving to restaurants and not chancing the train or a late-night cab. I can’t indulge in too many cocktails, but I can sip enough to form an opinion. There are lots of hidden gems to be found out here.”
I tried to sound chipper about it, but it had been a little too easy to pick up and move. I had nothing—and no one—to regret leaving behind.
“But I’m sure it put a damper on your social life. Unless… you met someone already…”
“And how would I do that? When I’m not working, I’m unpacking and assembling. That can wait.”
“Men always seem to find you though.”
“They do.” I sighed. Admitting how exhausting it was, even to my best friend, would make me sound full of myself. But it had been a long time since anyone had garnered my interest for more than a drink or two. Men were always a fun pastime, but fun didn’t interest me much these days. When I was working, I’d politely but firmly stop anyone’s attempt at flirting. That was the old, selfish me. And as much as my new therapist reiterated how I needed to allow myself some good times, I was still too pissed at myself for too many things to comply.
“Liv? Honey, do you have a second?”
I bit back a smile at my mother’s tentative tapping on my door.
“Hold on, Morgan.” I pressed my phone to my chest. “Sure, come in.”
She creaked open my apartment door—my apartment on the lower floor ofherhouse. She was so thrilled when I asked to rent the now vacant lower-level apartment and swore she’d never invade my privacy. And she didn’t, she just enjoyed visiting—a lot. But that was why I was here.
“I better go,” I whispered into the phone. “I’ll text you later.”
“Yes, maybe I’ll go on one of your foodie excursions with you someday. How’s she doing?”
I hated the concerned dip of my best friend’s tone.
“Good. So far.” I smiled at Mom, masking my own concern the best I could, as I’d done since I’d moved back.
“We’re all glad you’re back. Go talk to your mom, we can talk about your lack ofDand what to do about it later. Love you.”
