Page 87 of I’m Dreaming of a New York Christmas

I left Ethan’s early on Monday morning, telling him I had an outfit to collect from Fifth Avenue. Which was true, of course. But also true was the fact that I had a potential showdown with my ex to mentally prepare myself for, since I’d ended up sending Will a DM just before going to sleep:

Flora:

Hi. Laurie told me everything. I think we should meet. I’ll be in the coffee shop underneath the Empire State Building at 1 p.m. tomorrow: ///taking.silver.host.

Please come alone.

Will had replied almost immediately.

Will:

ok

Ethan had a busy Monday planned, too; he was working from home, but also had to arrange same-day printing for his wedding gift, sort the speech projection logistics with the venue, and go to the rehearsal dinner tonight. So, on every front, it made sense for me to get going. We’d arranged when and where to meet for the early-evening ceremony tomorrow, Ethan full of reassurances that I’d get on with everyone and that it would be ‘super-chilled’.

‘A nice way to end our time together, I guess?’ I’d said, as I’d pulled on my shoes – dry once more thanks to the efficiency of Ethan’s heater. Ethan had swallowed before replying.

‘Yeah, I guess. I mean, you’ll get to see the final speech.’

‘A full circle moment.’

‘Exactly.’

We’d hugged tenderly and silently on his stoop before I’d headed off, my head down against the bitter wind – no more rain, sleet or snow for the time being. I repeated my schedule over and over in my head as I made my way towards the subway, which had now re-opened:

9:30: collect jumpsuit.

10:00: manicure.

12:00: head to Empire State Building. Grab lunch and wait for Will in coffee shop.

13:00: meet Will.

14:00: meet Mum and Anneka.

For the first time since mine and Ethan’s universes had overlapped, I wished that the day’s schedule looked more like this:

All day: lie on sofa with an orange cat and take occasional breaks for food and toileting.

I only had three more days to get through before that fantasy would become my reality.

You can make it through three days, Flora. Then you can crash.

I descended the subway steps for the journey back into the heart of one of the busiest places on Earth, still without the security blanket of my noise-cancelling headphones. I knew that, when I emerged, I’d have to face one of the hardest conversations of my life.

Three hours later, my altered outfit was collected, and my nails were freshly filed and painted bright pink to match the lining of the jumpsuit – a bold departure from my usual inky black. Thankfully, not a single member of staff had asked me about my ‘wedding’, and I’d even accepted the aesthetician’s offer of a free trial of make-up products while my nails dried so I’d look less like a see-through ghoul when I met Will at the base of the Empire State Building. I’d bought a tube of rose-pink cream blush as a gesture of thanks for the free face of make-up, which also doubled up as eyeshadow, figuring I could raid Mum and/or Anneka’s make-up bags for any other products for the wedding tomorrow. That’s if they were talking to me by then.

I’d been trying to ignore the knot that had tied itself tightly in my tummy ever since Anneka and I had argued yesterday. Last night’s call from Laurie had taken my mind off it for a while, but that was like saying a third-degree burn had taken my mind off a punctured lung. I thought New York had been repairing me, but everything felt more broken than ever.

By the time I arrived at the coffee shop, I was trembling with anxiety and struggling to hold myself together. I ordered a hot chocolate and a giant oatmeal cookie, not able to face an actual meal, and waited for a table to become free as close to the specified what3words location as possible. Once I sat down, I checked the time.

12:17 p.m.

Will would be here in less than forty-five minutes. But, knowing him, he’d be early – no doubt so he could get this ordeal over with as quickly as possible.

I thought back to the last time I’d seen him, that awful Thursday in mid-June. It’d been a busy but pleasant enough morning; we’d both finished work the day before, ready for a week and a half off for the wedding and a mini-moon to the Cotswolds for a discounted midweek break. Will had gone to the barber’s to get his hair cut, promising to bring back some sausage butties from the local greasy spoon for lunch. While he was out, I’d sent a few emails to confirm things with the venue and the florist’s (and the caterer’s and the entertainment and the photographer and basically every other supplier I’d been in touch with on a weekly basis since the start of the year), and I was getting the spare room ready for Laurie and Ben when Will burst into the room clutching my laptop. I’d never seen his face that colour before – somehow both pale and red in marble-like blotches.

Writing that speech had been such a massive mistake on my part. It had been written for my benefit, not his. But I’d left the file open, so when he opened the laptop to check a few things on my wedding spreadsheet, it was right there. And then everything had gone to shit. After he’d spilled his annihilating truths, I disappeared inside myself, unable to even look at him, let alone have anything resembling a mature conversation. Eventually, he’d taken his pre-packed mini-moon suitcase and headed off to his sister’s. After that, everything logistical had been handled by her and Laurie while I’d done nothing but lie in bed, my wedding dress watching over me from its hanging position on the curtain rail. I’d since re-sold it on Vinted.