Page 115 of The Sweet Spot

“Welcome to New York, little bird,” he says, hugging me. My mother really is rubbing off on him.

New York City is even more grand than in the movies. I gape at everything as we pass by in our Uber: the frenetic crowds, the glowing lights, the jaw-droppingly tall skyscrapers. I’ve heard that you can always tell who the tourists are in NYC because they’re the ones staring up. Well, that’s me.

Arlo talks a mile a minute—I swear to God, his accent is even stronger here. We stop at his apartment in the West Village so I can drop off my luggage, where I’m met by the exuberant barking of Melvin, Arlo’s little black and white rescue mutt. Pamplemousse, a regal marmalade cat, watches the spectacle from the windowsill.

“Are you in the mood for some real New York pizza or would you prefer Thai food? Two of my favorite joints are within a block of here,” he offers as we jog down the steps.

“Pizza, for sure.”

And, of course, we stop at a bakery for macarons after.

“We’ll come back for chocolate croissants in the morning,” he promises as we hurry across a crosswalk. “They make ‘em fresh every day.”

By the time I collapse that night on a pull-out in the living room, I’m so exhausted I can barely move. My mind whirs with memories of the day—taking off for the first time, watching the ground below us drop away, turbulence in clouds, landing, Arlo. Bridges and people and lights and traffic and Arlo’s nonstop narration of the city he loves.

He pauses beside the bed before sitting on the edge of it, his hand resting on my back. “Are you comfortable? I can move her, if you want.”

He means Pamplemousse, who’s curled and purring against me. We’ve been cuddling since I lay down, like she knows I need it. “S’perfect,” I mumble, smiling sleepily. “Thanks.”

“Good.” He smiles, nodding. “So, ah, Lily told me you and Luca are taking a break or something?”

The unexpected mention brings a hot round of tears. I close my eyes, shrugging. “I don’t know.”

“I know it’s kinda late now, but if you wanna talk about it, I’m all ears. Anytime. Okay?” he says. “I know how guys think.”

“Okay.” I give him a little smile. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing.” He ruffles my hair and stands, stretching. “Get some sleep.”

Luca

Shutting my laptop, I rise from my desk and glance over at Nathalia. “I’m heading out for lunch.”

“Hold on, I’ll come with you,” she says, distracted by whatever’s on her screen. She’s got seniority, so her desk is right by the window.

Sighing inwardly, I slide my wallet into my pocket. I shouldn’t have said anything. In the past, I always enjoyed taking lunch with my coworkers, but lately I’ve preferred going solo. I’m always around people these days—I share an office, albeit a big one—and sometimes I just need time to think.

Wren and I haven’t spoken since she landed in New York last week. She messaged me the night she got in, asking for Mãe’s number.

So I can thank her,she’d said.

Mãe had wanted to send “a little something” to celebrate Wren’s first time going overseas. She didn’t say anything, but I could tell she was beyonddisappointed by my decision to cool things off with Wren for the summer. In retrospect, that was probably one of the first indications I’d fucked up—Mãe’s silence. She never, ever passes up on an opportunity to share her opinion, so it’s a little ominous she held back this time.

Anyway, I gave Wren the number, then told her I missed her. Which was painfully true. Still, I don’t know why I said it, other than I was a few drinks in, and it was late, and my filter had evaporated in the vulnerability of being alone in a foreign country.

It’s not like I have to be alone here. My coworkers, many of whom I’ve come to know well over the years, always invite me out for drinks or dinner. Former classmates from my time at UFSC are scattered all over Brazil—I could spend next weekend at my friend Martim’s villa down in Florianópolis if I really wanted to.

But I meant it when I told Wren that São Paulo would be a cycle of work, eat, sleep, and repeat. I’m not here for fun this time.

Which is good, because I’m definitely not having fun.

Wren said she missed me too, and then quickly typed that she had to go, cutting the conversation short. I don’t know that I would’ve continued it, anyway. She said, before I left, that she needed space so I’m trying to give it to her.

After all, by telling her I didn’t want to be in a relationship over the summer, wasn’t I telling her I wanted space too? Thing is, I don’t want space. I want to keep the relationship on ice: perfectly preserved. No infidelity or long-distance drama to push it past its expiration date.

“Ready?” Nathalia asks in her husky voice, smiling over at me.

“Sure.” Giving her a brief smile, I nod for her to go on ahead of me. With her bronze skin, long, dark hair and full mouth, she’s a real Brazilian beauty. The first time I met her, years ago, she was engaged, and I had a little crush on her. I was fresh out of high school, and she was this super-hot, very unattainable older woman.

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