Page 419 of The First Time
Epilogue
It's only two avenues and three subway stops from Columbia to the penthouse apartment. Barely time to feel the sweet relief of the air conditioning before I'm on the street again.
I run up the subway steps. Fuck. It's hot. Really hot. But it doesn't bother me.
My first day of college is over. The college part, at least. The school's art department loved my portfolio so much they offered me a spot in the fall class. A full scholarship, too. Meryl's money is still safely tucked away in my account, there for a rainy day.
God knows there will be plenty of rain soon. The city never relents. If it's not heat, it's rain, snow, wind. Still, I wouldn't trade it for anything.
Two blocks and I'm in the blissfully air-conditioned lobby. I wipe the sweat from my forehead as I wait for the elevator.
I'm not the picture of grace, but at this point, I've got nothing to prove.
"Good afternoon, Miss Wilder." The guard waves at me. "How is your sister?"
"In California. It's awful."
He shakes his head. Only a born-and-bred New Yorker can really understand. Who could leave the greatest city in the country for California?
The elevator doors open. I step inside and wave my key card for access to the penthouse floor.
The mirrors reflect my running makeup. I did my best college girl cat eye, but most of it has melted off. No matter. The only thing I want besides a glass of cold water is a shower.
Ding. I step into the hallway and dig into my backpack front pocket for my keys. It's silly that this door locks at all. The only way to get to the floor is with a key card. A lock is overkill. Three locks is insanity.
But it's so Blake.
There. I slide my key into the door, turn the lock, and step inside.
It's dark.
The lights are off.
The curtains are drawn.
Huh?
Something whizzes past me and bounces off the wall. Something small. A cork.
The curtains pull open.
Blake is standing in front of the window holding a foaming bottle of champagne. That explains the cork.
He points to the ceiling. There are a few dozen balloons in blue and white. Columbia colors. There's a banner hanging across the incredibly long main room.Congratulations, Kat.
And, my God, he's wearing one of those silly men's racerback tank tops. Blue, withColumbiain big, white letters.
He catches me staring. "If you think that's something, you should see the matching boxers."
"Oh, yeah?"
He nods, takes three steps closer, picks up the champagne flutes on the coffee table, and hands one to me.
"Aren't you glad you started college old enough to drink?" he asks.
"You graduated too young to drink."
"Don't compare yourself to an old man." He smiles.
