***Hello there! You're looking great if I may say so.
So! Here it is. The sequel to Homecoming, and as per usual don't expect happy go lucky. Ain't happening, but I poured my heart and soul into this one, so I do hope you enjoy it. Because this is the most important book I'm working on right now, as of this moment this is the only book I'm going to be uploading. the reason is that I want to be able to finish the book before April arrived. Anyway, I will be uploading once a week, every Saturday or Sunday, so make sure to check it out. Thanks for everything guys.
Enjoy.***
I think it was past eight PM when I arrived at JFK International Airport. It was a long, boring flight from Lenberg, Oregon to New York City on a Tuesday night. Not to mention that annoying little girl who sat behind me and thought 'You know what would be funny? If I kicked this woman's seat the whole freaking flight!' Yeah, kid. Hilarious.
I was standing just outside the airport looking left and right for my ride and staring at my watch now and then to confirm that yes, I had been waiting for almost twenty minutes. Of course, he's late. He's always late. He's never been early to anything in his entire life. But when I saw a black sedan approaching and parking in front of me as he lowered his window, my anger washed away. He was wearing that wide, cocky smile he always got when he knew you were angry with him, but he wasn't in trouble. Not really.
"Hello there," he said in his playboy voice.
He got out of the back of the car and gave me a huge hug. He smelled like he always smells; expensive cologne and Cuban cigars.
He pulled me away and said, "Oh, my God. It's so good to see you. You look great."
I smiled and replied, "Thanks, you look great, too, even if you were half an hour late."
"Twenty minutes, actually. And I'm really sorry, I got out of work just now and traffic was awful. Here, give me your bag."
He took my duffle bag from my hand, opened the back door for me, and after I was inside the car, he closed it. He put my duffle bag on the truck and sat next to me.
"Diego, Upper West Side," he said.
Diego, the chauffeur, nodded and stepped on the accelerator.
I'm sorry, am I going too fast? I guess I just assumed that you already know who I am or at least, you've heard about me. So I guess I thought there's no need for me to tell you a lot of boring details that you're probably not interested in. Or maybe you are. I'm normally good at reading people but through something like this is very hard to figure out what you're thinking while you read this.
Or maybe you've never heard of me before. In which case, my name is Faye. I'm thirty-two years old and I'm an artist. Whenever I say that some people assume I'm a musician. I'm not, I'm a painter. A visual artist is what I've heard some people call it.
There, that's pretty much it. There's not a lot to me apart from what I've just told you. Or probably there is.
I'm not an idiot. I know there's a huge elephant in the room, but what you need to understand is that the elephant... is dead to me, and I am NOT talking about it.
I arrived in New York on a Tuesday night with the hope of getting the chance to impress some big shot in the industry and get my first solo exhibition. It meant a lot to me to be able to do something completely by myself at that point in my life, for reasons that I hope I won't have to explain. And I want to make something clear, though; those reasons are absolutely STUPID. But back then, I thought they were legitimate reasons. And maybe at the time, they were. It would make me feel independent, self-empowered. Feel... me.
Oh, my God. I'm doing that thing that she does, aren't I? I'm trying to say something and then go off on little tangents and completely forget what I wanted to say in the first place.
Point is, I was on a journey to find myself. And I did, which is why I can say this. Finding yourself is overrated. I know that sounds bad, but hopefully, as you continue to read, you'll understand what I mean.
So let's get back to it, shall we?
As the car moved through the streets of New York and the dazzling lights filled me with that exciting sensation you get when something new is opening up for you, he asked, "How was your flight?"
I turned away from the window and looked at him. "Fine. Long, but I do like flying at night. You get to see all the lights. So, talk to me."
"Alright," he said straightening himself up to have his body facing me. "I got you a meeting with my boss. She's a bit... much, but if she likes you she'll make it happen. She's a respectable art dealer so she has a lot of contacts that could help you make a name for yourself. Also, there's the exhibition."
"So what's the plan?"
"We're meeting tomorrow at eleven for brunch."
"Brunch?" I laughed. "Right, you're new yorkers and you love your brunch."
"Don't muck me! I'm not a new yorker yet. Point is, we meet, you talk to her and see what she has to offer, and hopefully, things take off from there."
"Good, good."
I felt my heart pumping in my chest as I finished saying that and I started to rub my hands together. He placed his hand on my shoulder and said, "Hey, it's gonna be fine. Don't be nervous. Tomorrow is gonna be a great day."
I sighed and nodded. "You're right. Thank you so much for doing this for me. I really can't thank you enough."
"Don't mention it, that's what friends are for."
Suddenly, the car fell quiet. Not that quiet when a conversation has naturally reached its end. More like there's something really awkward between us and 'you know I'm about to mention it' kind of awkward. And of course, he mentioned it.
"Have you talk to her?" he asked.
I went back to looking out the window and replied, "Nope. And I don't plan to."
"Faye, you're gonna have to talk to her eventually."
"Maybe, but right now, I don't want to talk about this."
"It may help you feel bett-"
"Scott, I'm not talking about her!" I didn't mean to yell, and as soon as I did I felt horrible. He had been a great friend and was helping me set all this up and I had just yelled at him. None of this was his fault. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell."
"It's fine. I get it. It's just that she's my best friend, and she will ask about you. What should I say? I mean, I feel like I'm trapped between a rock and a hard place."
"I know, and that's not fair to you, just tell her I'm fine. That's it."
Scott stared at me for a long time without saying anything trying to figure out what I was thinking. He sighed and said, "Okay."
"I don't want to think about it. I want to enjoy myself. I mean... this is new to me."
"What?"
"Think about it. She and I started dating when I was sixteen. We broke up and a few months later you and I got married. Then you and I got a divorce and a month later I married her. I've never been by myself, I've never experimented or done stupid things or one-night stands or shit like that. I've always been with someone. I wanna be able to just be with myself. To find out why people are so in love with being single. Find out what's so good about it."
"You do understand that people who have romanticized it and brag about been single are either deeply damaged, or just can't keep a relationship and then pretend that it didn't work just cause they didn't want it to, right?"
"Then let me find that out for myself."
He smiled. "I get it. You want to not rely on anyone to make you happy."
"Yeah, exactly."
He nodded. "Good for you. That's a really good thing to do."
I grinned, "Is that why you're single?" He looked away and I recognized that look. I gasped. "You've got a woman!"
He laughed and replied, "I'm not talking about that."
"Oh, so you want me to talk about Voldemort but you won't talk about this girl."
"Ugh. Don't call her girl. She's a woman in every sense of the word."
"I like it. What's her name?"
"I'm not talking about this!"
"Oh, come on!"
We joked around for another ten minutes. He refused to talk about the woman he was dating, no matter how much I joked that I wanted to know. Honestly, I was fooling around. If he didn't want to tell me, he had his reasons and I respected that. But it was nice to be able to joke and laugh with him, especially after everything that had happened between us.
Scott and I were great friends, but romantically we hated each other. We got married out of me wanting to get back at you know who, and him being obsessed with me. He used me and I used him. There was nothing good between us, so it eventually imploded. It took years for us to be able to be in the same room again, and a bit longer for us to decided that we wanted to be friends again. But it's one of the best decisions I've made.
We arrived at the building at around nine PM. Scott said he'd rented me a small but very cozy studio on the Upper West Side, but I wasn't picturing this. The building itself looked impressive, luxurious; the kind where you think celebrities stay in when they're passing by. He grabbed my duffle bag and told Diego to take a drive around the block while he took me to my new apartment, and that he'd call him once he was ready to go.
We got in the elevator and he pressed the button for the sixth floor.
"It's nice to have a chauffer?" is said, partly joking.
He laughed, "Oh, please. He's my boss'. I wish. I hate driving in New York."
The elevator made a ding noise and the door opened up. Scott led me to apartment number 0612 and opened the door with a "Ta-da!"
He wasn't joking when he said the studio was beautiful. It was already furnished with a beautiful kitchen, a comfortable couch, and a really big TV. Wooden floors, a nice view, and a small partition divided the space between the living room and the bedroom, which also had a huge TV and a queen-size bed.
"What do you think?" he asked.
"Oh my god, I love it," I said hugging him. "This is mine?"
"For the next six months. All yours."
I ran through the small studio like a crazy person looking inside every drawer, sitting on the bed, then on the couch, and then on the kitchen table. I went back to hug Scott and I noticed he was nervous, which could only mean one thing.
"Oh, no," I said.
"What?"
"How much is it?"
"Well... you need to keep in mind that this is the Upper West Side."
"How much is it?"
"Central Park is just a few blocks away."
"Scott, how much is it?"
"The building has its own gym and barbeque zone."
"How. Much?"
"And utilities are included."
"Scott!"
"$2.700."
"Oh, my God!"
"Yeah... I knew you were gonna say that."
"This would cost $900 in Lenberg, tops!"
"I knew you were gonna say that, too," I looked at him like I wanted to murder him, but then he said. "Look, this is Manhattan, the best place in the best city in the world. And I know it's a bit expensive but trust me, it's so worth it. Also, I already paid for the deposit so you don't have to worry about that. Come on, you're gonna love this place. I promise."
I sighed and smiled. He was right, and I could afford it... I was just kinda hoping not to have to.
"You're right. The place is great," I hugged him again and said, "Thank you."
"You're welcome. So, make yourself at home, get some rest and I'll see you tomorrow. I'll text you the address."
"Sure."
He was about to leave, but he turned to me and said, "It's great having you here, Faye."
I smiled and replied, "It's great being here."
He extended his fist and I bumped it with my own. After that, he left.
I hate silence. Lately, it makes me feel so... alone. But that was something I needed to get used to. Being alone, in a quiet house.
I pulled my clothes out of the duffle bag and organized them into the drawers. I loved how new everything felt. How different, how these were my things, not ours. How this was me, and not us.
After I finished, I poured myself a glass of water, turned the TV on, and did what everyone does when they turned the TV on.... not watch TV and focus on my phone. I had three new text messages from my mom, one from Connor, and one from Mrs. Brenan. All of them asking me how my flight had been and if I had gotten to the apartment safe. I replied to all of them and cut the conversation short saying I wanted to go to bed.
But instead of going to bed, I did something very stupid, very painful, and very necessary. I opened my pictures folder and started watching old pictures of us. Of her. Laughing at the camera while I took the photo, smiling while leaning against the wall, preparing herself to punch a boxing sack in some kind of carnival that I couldn't remember, and then flexing her arms when she got the highest score. A picture of us by the beach, or sitting on a bank with snow all around us... or those sneaky pics I took of her back after we'd made love and she was beginning to get dressed. She's so beautiful.
I cried. Of course I cried. I was alone with myself and nothing to distract me from the unbearable pain I was feeling, so there was nothing left for me to do but cry.
And after I was done crying, around midnight, I deleted the pictures.