Page 141 of Booked on You
Tired. Ready to be home.
I stare at that word. Home. I typed it without thinking, but Brooklyn doesn’t feel like home anymore. I’ve only been back two days, and it already feels wrong.
Ezra
Ahh, yeah, I can imagine.
Scarlett
How’s your pottery making going?
Ezra
Great. I’ve been working nonstop for days. I’m sure the auction will be incredible.
Next Saturday, Ezra will stand before a room full of people, continuing his mother’s legacy, doing something he’s passionate about.
Scarlett
That’s incredible.
Ezra
My mom’s assistant, Paula, is excited. She thinks this will be a record year.
Scarlett
I’m sure it will be!
The train finally screeches into the station, and I squeeze into an already packed car. A man with a huge backpack nearly takes me out. A woman next to me is on her phone having a very loud argument with someone about dinner plans. Her perfume is so strong that it makes my eyes water. The car lurches forward, and I grab the pole to steady myself. My hand sticks to something I don’t want to think about, and I quickly wipe it on my jeans.
By the time I get to my stop fifteen minutes later, the headache behind my eyes has turned into a full-blown migraine. I climb the three flights of stairs to my apartment. When I enter, it’s stuffy because I forgot to open the windows this morning. The couple next door is fighting again, and I can hear every single word through the walls.
“Home sweet home,” I mumble to myself.
I drop my bag and squeeze the bridge of my nose with my finger and thumb. Books are stacked everywhere because I ran out of shelf space two years ago. My desk is shoved in the corner next to a window that overlooks an alley and another building that’s so close, I can see a woman in her kitchen making dinner. The person I was before I left New York isn’t the person I am now.
I’ve only been back two days, and I feel like a stranger in my space.
My phone rings. It’s Hallie, and I’ve never been more grateful for an interruption.
“Hey,” I answer, and my voice sounds overly excited.
“Want to do coffee?” she asks. “I’m around the corner from your place.”
“Yes. Please. I have a migraine, but I think it’s because I need caffeine.”
“Great. Come meet me. Want your regular double iced espresso?”
“Yes, please.”
I take two aspirin, then change clothes. The walk to the coffee shop should only take five minutes, but I’m forced to navigate around delivery guys blocking the sidewalk and a group of drunk people who started their Friday night early. A siren wails past and makes my head throb harder.
The coffee shop is packed when I arrive, but Hallie has already snagged us a table by the window. She takes one look at me and her eyebrows go up.
“You look terrible,” she says.
“Thanks.” I sink into the chair across from her. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”
