I lost my crown somewhere between Wind River and here, and frankly, I couldn’t give a flying fuck. I see that now, even if it burns.
“I thought we were friends,” I say half-heartedly outside her door.
“We were… I mean,are.” She does a bad job of covering her slipup. “We will be again once this all goes away. We’ll do brunch. Bottomless mimosas and eggs Benedicts on me! I’ll text you, okay?” she asks, but she doesn’t wait for an answer. The door is already closing in my face.
I stand there, stupefied with the horror that the only friendship I’ve had for the last few years was never real. It was all built on falsities and posturing. I no longer serve Bentley so she leaves me with nowhere to go.
Well, notnowhereexactly. But not anywhere I want to go. Not anywhere I should go.
Yet what other choice do I have?
My fingers move to call Noelle. In Wind River, she wouldn’t bat an eyelash at my outlandish predicament. She’d offer me a place to stay.
Hector’s blocked contact taunts me. He’d know what to do too. If only I’d given him a chance to explain. Stupid me. Believing my parents and suffering the consequences. Once again. I’ll never learn.
I can apologize all I want. It will never be enough for blowing them off, running away over a misunderstanding.
Coat flapping in the wind, I’m a dog with his tail between his legs, pounding the pavement in the direction of the only place I can think to go.
I’ll show up, unannounced, and hope for the best.
***
Hoping for the best was a stupid idea.
Bentley’s brush-off was bad, but once I walk the gazillion blocks to get where I’m going, I’m greeted by the only doorman in New York City who absolutely hates my guts.
He’s a short, built, bouncer-type with a dramatic buzz cut and a permanent scowl. He’s despised me ever since I got too drunk on a night out and threw up in one of the lobby’s ficuses. In my defense, it was the plant or his shoes, so at the time I felt I deserved a thank-you. Now I know better; I was in the wrong for overdoing it.
“Hello, Norman,” I say with a congenial smile so he knows I’m here with good intentions.
“Mr. Prince, what a joy, a privilege, an honor.” His deadpan response makes me wish I were dead.
“Sorry to bother you on a holiday.” He grunts at that. “I’m just here to see Baz and Spencer.”
His smile tells the whole story. “Sad to say they’re gone for the holidays. They happily left for a getaway on some far-off island. You know all about those, don’t you?”
“Suppose I deserve that,” I say. I don’t know what hurts worse, the jab or the fact that my exes are on a vacation, living it up without me. Not that I expected them to clue me in or be moping in my absence. If I weren’t on a social media lockdown, I could’ve deduced this for myself, but nevertheless, I’m more upset than before. “Do you know when they’ll be back?”
“I’m not allowed to disclose resident information,” he says.
“You just told me they were away.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You—” I stop myself. He wants me to argue. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction. If Baz and Spencer can’t provide me the holiday haven I need, then I know it’s not meant to be. Scratch that. I’ve known for a while it wasn’t meant to be, and coming here has only confirmed that their lives never needed me. I was ornamental. Fun for a time. But that time has passed. “Thank you for your help, Norman.”
He aggressively tips his hat. “Merry Christmas, Matthew Prince.”
Cue the somber Charlie Brown music as I rack my brain for a warm place to share a meal and spend the night. I never expected to long for Grandma and Gramps’s cabin, yet here I am. Wishing for a place I wanted so desperately to escape.
I may have been forced to go there, but they never made it seem that way. They opened their home and hearts to me as if I’d been invited.
Invited.That thought reminds me of another invitation I received recently, so I recalibrate my GPS and prepare, against the abrasive cold, for one final pilgrimage.
Chapter 38
“I can’t believe you came here last,” Oksana scolds, piling my plate high with Christmas dinner. She spoons out samples of different vegan dishes. A woman holding a baby across the way encourages Oksana to give me more since I’ve never tried most of these delicacies except the kolach, a braided bread taunting me from the center of the hay-covered table.
