Page 111 of We Used To Be Magic

AUDREY

MY FIRSTNIGHT INNEWYORK,I WASWANDERING AROUNDNEARthe apartment, looking for somewhere to get food when I looked up to see a rooftop party. Or the periphery of it, at least – a few stragglers leaning against the edge of the terrace with drinks in hand, backlit by the fairy lights strung around them. I remember thinking what cool, beautiful lives they must all lead. Only now I’m on a similar rooftop at a similar party, and no cooler or more beautiful for being here. I’m just … here. And tomorrow I’ll be elsewhere.

‘Wow,’ Nicole says, appearing at my side in a fringed, sparkling cape and matching eyeshadow. ‘Audrey, you lookstunning.’

‘Oh – you too.’ I beam, awkwardly adjusting the strap of my dress. It’s the one I wore the night I met Ezra – Marika gifted it to me while we were packing and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’m glad that she insisted. It feels like I have a tangible grasp on those memories now.

‘Aw, thanks.’ She smiles back. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Great. This party isamazing, Nicole. Really.’

Amazing feels like an understatement. Nicole pulled this together in less than twenty-four hours, according to Marika, and the décor is a wild mishmash of every conceivable theme. It looks like someone ran through a party store blindfolded – there’s a pumpkin-shaped punch bowl on a table draped with princess-patterned cloth, a blow-up cactus wrapped in tinsel stationed beside it. It’s deranged, and I absolutely love it.

‘Well, I had to give you two a fitting sendoff.’ She grins. ‘My apartment may be the size of a shoebox but this rooftop makes it all worth it.’

‘You get to throw parties up here whenever you want?’

‘After Irene okays it. She owns the building – she’s over there, actually.’

Nicole points and I turn to see a wiry, white-haired woman wearing a paisley kaftan, twirling slowly on the makeshift dancefloor while anABBAsong plays.

‘She’s my muse,’ Nicole says reverently. ‘Honestly – if you get a chance to talk to her tonight, take it. She has some unbelievable stories – she’s a true New Yorker.’

‘Do you have to be born here to be a New Yorker?’

‘I don’t think so. It’s kind of intangible. A vibe. An attitude.’

‘Sounds like Marika.’

‘Yeah, she’s got it.’ Nicole smiles. ‘But she might find another city that suits her better.’

I glance over at Marika; she’s in an iridescent lilac dress, standing next to a polystyrene snowman and talking to a girl I vaguely recognise. But her eyes keep drifting back towards us – towards Nicole, specifically.

‘I don’t think so,’ I say mildly. ‘I think this might be the one, for her.’

‘What about you?’ Nicole smiles. ‘Tempted to come back someday?’

‘Someday,’ I nod. ‘For now, I need to spend some time at home.’

‘Right,’ Nicole says, her eyes softening. ‘Marika told me that things didn’t work out with you and that Ezra guy.’

‘Oh. Yeah, uh – I’d forgotten you two had met.’

‘Uh-huh. I liked him, actually. But if he screwed you over then I hate his guts and I’ll help you egg his apartment.’

‘No.’ I laugh. ‘No, I – it was a mutual clusterfuck, unfortunately,’ I say, brushing a strand of hair out of my eyes. I noticed quite a lot of brown peeking in at the roots when I was getting ready tonight, which’ll probably be obvious before long. But I’m sort of used to the blonde now. I’ve stopped associating it with Julian. It’s just my hair.

‘Well, time heals most wounds,’ Nicole says easily. ‘Promise me you’ll get in touch if you find yourself back here? We can grab dinner or something.’

‘I will.’ I smile. ‘Thanks.’

Nicole grins back, squeezing my arm before moving away to rejoin the party. I’ll follow her in a moment. But for now, I stay where I am and gaze up at the sky. There’re no stars, obviously. They don’t stand a chance against this city, so I put my drink down and lean against the edge of the building to look down at the street below. We’re not particularly high up. I think I could recognise Ezra if he passed by, though of course he won’t. The universe doesn’t owe me any more favours.

For days I’ve been telling myself that it’s too late to reach out. But now that it almost definitely is, it’s all I can think about. I take out my phone, pulling up his number.He never reached out, I remind myself. But neither did I, and I’m the one who left. I was so angry, in that moment – I thought I hated him, and what if he saw that? What if …

Fuck it, I think impulsively, and hit call, raising the phone to my ear. My mouth is dry and I have no idea what I’m going to say, too focused on bracing myself for the sound of his voice as the phone rings, and rings, and—

‘I’m sorry, the number you have called is currently unavailable. Please leave a message or try again.’

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