"I think the architect's intention was if that you had a party or something, you would place security and coat check here."
"Throw a lot of swanky parties lately?" I asked as he punched in a number on the high-tech keypad next to a heavy metal door.
"Yes—the fair with the haunted tiny house and all the chickens you held at my estate."
"That doesn't count! That was for kids. It wasn't swanky."
"You are of course free to host a party here," Garrett said.
"I don’t know, this building looked a little small from the outside," I remarked.
"It is a very long building," Garrett said as the large metal door whooshed open.
"No kidding!" I said in awe when I walked into the condo.
My experience in New York City thus far had been a small step up from that of the rats and the pigeons. When I had lived in Manhattan, it hadn’t been anything like what I’d seen on TV. There were no fancy prewar apartments with super-high ceilings and fireplaces and tall windows. Instead, there were converted tenements, moldy wallpaper, and pipes that leaked and, in the winter, coated the walls with ice. There were crazy neighbors and fights in the street below a tiny window that let in no light on account of the brick wall that was a foot across from it.
Garrett's condo was movie-star living—or actually, I supposed, it was billionaire living. It featured huge windows and tall ceilings with the original wood structure visible. Plush carpets with geometric contemporary patterns soaked up the sounds of my footfalls. It was so quiet. The double-paned glass in the large windows hardly let in any street noise. The large balcony that looked over a side yard was filled with plants. It also had a chaise lounge. There was tea sitting out. Garrett poured me a cup.
"This is like a cozy little oasis. Tea and snacks? " I said, eating a perfectly tiny cream puff. "It's like magic."
"It’s really an overzealous doorman," Garrett said with a small smile. "My brothers aren’t here a lot, and I think he likes to plan fun little gestures whenever he has the chance. He takes care of the plants and lets the cleaning people in. He’s a nice guy. His kid is at Harvard with a few of my brothers. We set up a scholarship fund to pay for his education."
"That’s so nice!"
"He’s a good dad."
"Sounds like it!"
"Better than mine," Garrett said, face dark.
I held his hand. "My mom is a scummy person too."
Garrett kissed me. "Maybe we should have some alcohol. I think I need it after that Halloween store."
"I make a good whiskey sour," I told Garrett. "Where's your alcohol stash?" I said, walking back inside. Garrett pointed. There was a whole bar with a wall of expensive liquor along with a hammered copper sink and a wine fridge and everything.
"This is insane! Now all I need is a baking kitchen."
"There’s a catering kitchen," Garrett offered.
"Shut. Up. Why is this condo so huge?"
"It was designed for entertaining—fundraisers, business parties, the like. The design isn't really geared toward families. As you can imagine, it’s a pain whenever my little brothers are in town. There aren’t that many bedrooms."
"It's nice to have another kitchen, though," I said. "What do you do with all this space?"
"I know Weston skateboards in his."
"You can hear him?" I asked, mixing the drinks. "You would think there would be soundproofing."
"There is," Garrett said. "You can’t physically hear it, but I know when he’s up there, and I know when he’s skateboarding."
Laughing, I snuggled next to Garrett on the couch and handed him his drink.
"I want a beanbag chair," I said.
"Why?"
