I scan the depths of my brain, groping about for clues, but come up empty-handed.
It doesn’t matter, anyway—there’s no excuse for me mauling him like that. As humiliating as it is, I need to apologize. And maybe, if I’m lucky, he’ll volunteer the rest of the information. Then we can have a good laugh at drunk old Alex and put it behind us.
I consider going up to his place now to apologize, but as I polish off my muffin, nausea climbs the back of my throat. I’m getting serious morning-after-my-birthday flashbacks and I think I need to lie down again. I greatly overestimated my ability to be up and at ‘em today.
Abandoning my half-drunk coffee, I rise to my feet and hurry back home along the street. My head is pounding again by the time I push through the door, and I’m relieved to see Cat is still out and the apartment is quiet. I slump onto my bed and crawl under the covers, typing out a text to Michael. He’s supposed to be driving me up to the cabin tomorrow, so an apology right now might be a good idea.
Alex: I’m so sorry about last night, I was wasted. Can you forgive me?
Michael: You don’t need to apologize.
Alex: No, seriously, I’m sorry. Can we just forget everything?
I watch the screen, waiting for his reply. Apprehension squeezes my gut as the little dots appear, then disappear, then appear again. After what feels like forever, his reply comes through.
Michael: Fine.
I exhale in relief. Thank God, I haven’t destroyed our friendship with my crazy antics.
Alex: Cool. Is it still okay to get a ride to the cabin tomorrow?
Michael: I’ll pick you up at 7 a.m.
* * *
True to his word,Michael pulls up outside the building at seven sharp in an old, beat-up 4x4 truck. He leaps out, taking the front steps two at a time.
“Hey!” I grin as he enters the lobby.
“Hey,” he says, not meeting my gaze. He grabs my bags, heading straight back out onto the street, and I feel my smile slip as I follow him out. Then he dumps my bags on the back seat and opens my door, not saying anything.
“Thanks,” I mumble, hopping in.
We don’t speak as we weave through the streets, out of the Village and up along the Hudson River towards the George Washington Bridge. When I sneak a glance at him, his line of sight is fixed on the road, his brow furrowed slightly. Something seems a bit off with him, but I’m not sure what. Well, it is early. Maybe he hasn’t had his coffee yet.
I twist in my seat to gaze back at the city as we cross the bridge. I see the Empire State Building and Chrysler Building silhouetted against the slate-gray sky, and a smile slides onto my lips. I still can’t believe I live in this city—the city I’d dreamed of for years, the city I’d seen in movies, that always felt more like a dream than a real place. And now, I call this city home.
With a happy sigh, I sit back and stare ahead through the windshield. “Thanks for letting me tag along,” I say after a while.
Michael grunts and I look at him with a frown. Jeez, what is going on with him today?
He glances at me and I smile, hoping it might somehow make him lighten up, but the V between his brows deepens and his gaze cuts back to the road.
Bloody hell, he’s in a bad mood. I haven’t seen this guy for a while. This is Starbucks Michael, Halloween Michael—the first Michael I knew. I wonder why he’s back all of a sudden?
“Um, is everything okay?”
He looks at me again and sighs. “Yeah. Fine.”
I study him for a second, then cross my arms and turn to stare out the window at the gloomy sky. Dark clouds are gathering fast, which seems to match Michael’s mood perfectly. This is going to be a long trip.
* * *
I don’t knowhow long I sleep for, but when I wake the first thing I notice is that everything is white. Like,everything.
Michael is leaning forward in his seat, squinting his eyes to make out the road as we inch along.
I sit up, taking in the frosty surroundings. “It’s snowing,” I say in wonder.
