Lost in Love (11 page)

QUIRKY NEW YORKERS WORSHIP MANHATTANHENGE.
Two nights a year (one in May and one in July), the point of sunset is aligned with the Manhattan street grid such that every street running straight across from east to west perfectly frames the sunset. This year the July Manhattanhenge is happening tonight, July 12. I can't wait to share it with Rosanna and Darcy.

I also can't wait to tell them about Austin. I wanted to tell them everything he said after he showed up last night, but Darcy wasn't home and Rosanna was in her room with the lights out. When I saw her this morning, Rosanna told me she wanted to give me space last night in case I brought Austin upstairs to talk. She wanted to know what happened. But I was running late and said I'd tell her and Darcy together tonight. Darcy doesn't even know Austin
showed up. Will they think I'm crazy for talking to him? Will they believe the things he said?

Would it ever be possible to trust Austin again?

“Are we there yet?” Darcy whines.

“Almost,” I reassure her. “Just two more blocks.”

“Two more blocks! We've already walked like sixty.”

“Um, I think you mean six.” The best Manhattanhenge viewing point is the farthest east you can get at the end of any street with an unobstructed view of the horizon. The three of us are walking to 14th Street and 1st Avenue. I'd be up for walking even farther east. Rosanna was down with that, too. She wanted to see Alphabet City (mainly because it sounded like something from
Sesame Street
, which she has love for). But Darcy has not been charmed by our walk, even though we're walking the pretty way instead of the efficient way. Walking the efficient way is all about getting from Point A to Point B in the shortest amount of time. I only walk the efficient way when I'm running late. The top efficient ways of walking are 14th Street (basically a bunch of fast food places and discount stores) and 6th Avenue (too frantic and grungy). That's why we're walking over on 13th Street instead of 14th. I prefer to walk on quieter streets with more interesting things to look up at, even if it takes me out of my way. Surrounding yourself with beauty is worth an extra five minutes.

“Why did you wear those shoes?” Rosanna asks Darcy.

“I refuse to sacrifice style for comfort.” Darcy holds
her head high, expertly maneuvering her skyscraper heels around a subway grate. “The east side can eat me.”

We finally get to the southwest corner of 14th and 1st. There are about fifteen minutes to go before sunset. A skinny older guy with gray hair, retro teashade glasses, and a T-shirt that says
FIGHT ON
is taking pictures with a professional camera. A couple people crossing the street notice him taking pictures and turn to look west. But we're the only ones camped out on this corner so far. We gaze west down 14th Street. The sun looks like an orange blob suspended in a lava lamp. As we watch its apparent motion, the sun perfectly fills the gap between the rows of buildings on either side of the street, centered on the horizon. Its rays glow brilliantly, illuminating all the building glass in radiant shades of red and gold. When the streetlight turns red, I yank my girls into the middle of the street. A few other people gather in the middle of the street with us. This is the best vantage point to take pictures. Darcy snaps a few beautiful ones.

“The light's turning green!” Rosanna yells.

We run back to the sidewalk. A bunch of people are watching the sun now. The sun dips below the horizon. We watch the sun set until its last slick curve disappears.

“And that's why I moved here,” Rosanna says.

“That was amazing,” Darcy proclaims. She gives me an appreciative smile. “How many Manhattanhenges have you seen?”

“I try to catch one a year,” I say. “But the last few have either been too cloudy or I had plans. This is the first one I've seen in a while.”

Darcy stares down the long street as if she's still watching the sunset. “If anyone needs to learn how to be present in the Now, they should watch Manhattanhenge. You can't look away. Even after it's over.”

We all stand together in silence. In stillness. In respect and awe of our city. Darcy and Rosanna have shared enough about their pasts during our late-night talks for me to feel like I know them well. Their history is palpable at this moment. The years Rosanna worked so hard to create a better life for herself, hoping that she could live here one day, her biggest dream. The years Darcy battled for her dad's attention, only to be bested by his career, now throwing herself into a summer of excessive boy affection. I feel Rosanna's struggle to be the best version of herself in New York. I feel Darcy's need to be loved in New York. In this moment, we are not three girls who just met. We are one, and one with the city.

I'm treating the girls to fresh fruit drinks at Bubby's. Ever since Austin took me to the Bubby's in Tribeca for pie, Austin and Bubby's have become irrevocably intertwined. But I have no problem going back to Bubby's. I've decided I will not avoid places that remind me of Austin. I will not allow the places formerly known as mine that became ours to be off-limits forever. I'm determined to
take back the New York City I knew before him. My first city love that will always be here for me, no matter what.

So I'm taking back Bubby's. Maybe I'm not ready for the Tribeca Bubby's. But it's a start. We're going to the Bubby's across from the High Line. It's all the way over on Gansevoort Street near 10th Avenue. There is no way Darcy's walking nine avenues in those heels.

“I'm getting us a cab.” Darcy lifts her arm at an approaching cab. It races over, lurching to a halt right in front of us.

“Damn, girl,” I say. “Hail that cab.”

“Didn't even have to hike up my skirt.”

The High Line Bubby's is even more fabulous than the Tribeca one. This location has an old-school soda fountain. They have sodas, sundaes, shakes—anything you want. All of their ingredients are super fresh. They even make their own ice cream in-house.

“Oh my god!” Rosanna exclaims when she sees the menu at the bar. “They have watermelon juice!”

“Dude, they have all the juices,” I rave.

“You do not know how hard I've been craving watermelon juice. This is . . . I freaking love it here.”

Darcy peruses the scene from her perch on the high bar stool. She's on the prowl for cute guys. Not in the desperate, obvious way I've seen so many girls scan the crowd for cute guys. Or the way I've glanced around anxiously in countless cafés and bookstores over the years, searching for my soul mate. Darcy is the one in control. She's not
waiting for a cute guy to happen to her. She's scoping out potential guys who would be lucky enough to have her happen to them.

We decide to get our drinks to go. Being inside on this gorgeous summer night would be a travesty. The girls like my idea of taking our drinks to the High Line. I'm on a roll tonight, also taking back the High Line.

The bartender places Darcy's Meyer lemon soda and my blood orange juice in clear plastic cups in front of us. Darcy flirts with him a little. He flirts back because she's Darcy. Then Rosanna's watermelon juice arrives. A wedge of watermelon is sticking out of it. Rosanna almost falls off her stool in a fit of ecstasy.

“It's been too long, watermelon juice,” she coos at her cup. “Way too long.”

I smile as I pay. Rosanna is adorable.

“Thanks, Sadie,” Rosanna says.

“Yes, thank you!” Darcy chimes in. “Next time we're doing late-night pancakes at Coffee Shop. My treat. Gotta get our summer ritual on.”

Rosanna tenses at this. I know she's grateful when Darcy and I treat. But I also know she feels a lot of pressure to treat back equally, something she can't afford. The two of us have a sort of unspoken agreement that she'll do most of the cleaning around the apartment and I'll cook for everyone occasionally, and we'll call it even. Darcy knows Rosanna is scraping by. You'd think she'd be more
aware of the pressure Rosanna feels to keep up with us. But Darcy doesn't see it that way. Treating her friends is something she loves doing. It's a way of showing she cares about us. Treating is a gift, like the clothes she bought Rosanna. Darcy doesn't expect anything from Rosanna in return. Darcy wouldn't care if Rosanna didn't clean. Cleaning is Rosanna's choice.

“Let's keep Coffee Shop as is,” I say. “Everyone can pay for what they order.”

Rosanna smiles at me gratefully. She sips at her watermelon juice with more enthusiasm than a six-year-old on Christmas morning.

The High Line is dazzling at night. We climb the stairs at the Gansevoort Street entrance. The second I get to the top, I fall in love with this place all over again. It doesn't matter how many times I've been here. Every time is like a new beginning, a new opportunity for possibility. The High Line is an instant mood adjuster. Kind of like yoga for the mind. Any anger simmering under my surface is diffused when I slip past the tall grasses and trees and colorful flowers. I am transported to another dimension. I am free from my past, and the future is wide open.

We walk to section two of the High Line, which begins at 20th Street. Illuminated plants rustle in the breeze. The sweet smell of hyacinths is in the air. City lights sparkle in the distance. I don't look across the river to New Jersey. Nothing can be allowed to harsh my High Line mellow.

We perch on the top row of the Seating Steps bleachers. The High Line rules at repurposing materials. These bleachers were made of reclaimed teak from old industrial buildings. We have plenty of room. Even though it's a gorgeous night, the High Line usually isn't crowded this late since it closes at eleven in the summer. That gives us over an hour for boy talk. I can feel the boy talk coming on even before Rosanna says that she wants to come here with Donovan.

“When's the last time you saw him?” Darcy asks.

“Three days ago.” Rosanna puts her juice down next to her, then picks it up again. “He's been busy putting in more time at his internship. And he's planning some more apartment renovations. And . . .”

“And what?”

“He's . . . hanging out more with Shayla.”

“Seriously with her? He needs to be hanging out more with you. It's summertime. You guys should be seeing each other every night.”

Rosanna drinks her watermelon juice. She doesn't look like it's Christmas morning anymore.

“Have you talked to him?” I ask Rosanna.

“Yeah. I told him it bothered me. But I know it shouldn't. I need to stop being the crazy jealous girlfriend who can't handle her boyfriend being friends with a girl.”

“What did he say when you told him it bothered you?”

“That they're just friends. That he can have friends who are girls just like I can have friends who are boys.”

I don't want Rosanna to worry more than she already is, but I can't help asking this next thing. “Not to be paranoid? But do you think they really are just friends?”

“He says they are.”

I hope that's true. Only, I can't help thinking about how Austin lied to me so easily. I mean, he was freaking married and I had no idea. Is it that much of a stretch to wonder if Donovan is being honest with Rosanna?

“We cannot endure another manwhore fiasco,” Darcy trumpets. “We're done. D has to be telling the truth. Demand a dating prenup. If he's playing you, we get his apartment. How much fun would we have living there?”

“I like our place,” I say. “We don't need anything fancy.”

“Speaking of fancy . . . check out this necklace Logan gave me last night.” Darcy pulls a Tiffany box out of her bag. She lifts a delicate silver necklace out of the box. A round tag pendant that says
TIFFANY & CO. NEW YORK
dangles from the chain.

“Wow,” I gush. “It's beautiful.”

“He enjoys spoiling me. And I enjoy letting him.”

Rosanna and I exchange a look as Darcy puts the necklace on. We're not Logan's biggest fans. Yeah, it was incredible of him to come after Darcy to get her back. And yeah, he seems like a nice guy. But how nice can he actually be after the way he broke up with her? Once a boy breaks your heart, can you ever trust him again?

“Logan wasn't the only boy adventure last night,”
Rosanna informs Darcy. “Sadie had one right outside our door.”

Darcy gapes at me. “Austin came over?”

“Not up to the apartment. I went down to talk to him on our stoop.”

“Because seventy-three messages weren't enough communication,” Darcy snorts.

“Twenty-three.”

“Oh, sorry. Only twenty-three.”

“What did he
saaay
?” Rosanna is dying.

I tell them everything Austin said. How if he could have only one thing in the world, it would be to be with me. How he'll do anything to get me back.

“Sounds familiar,” Darcy says. “Isn't it awesome having a boy beg forgiveness after he was a total meathead?”

“Are you thinking of getting back together with him?” Rosanna asks.

I hesitate. “No. Not after what he did.”

Rosanna's look lingers on me.

“What?”

“No, it's just . . . I mean, he
did
leave his wife for you. And he told her about you.”

“But not how much I mean to him. Not that I'm the love of his life. He told her we're soul mates, but he hasn't broken it down for her.”

“What does that even mean?” Darcy says.

“Soul mates? You know when you feel it. It's this
connection that's so intense it feels completely different than anything you've felt before. You feel the way you'd always hoped you would when you found the person you're meant to be with.”

“Um-hmm.”

“And the chemistry is off the charts.”

“Oh, I hear that. I'm just wondering . . . like, would a soul mate lie to you the way Austin did?”