Page 100 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
It was. And then it happened again on the double date, which mom doesn’t even know about. She’s so, so right.
“What do you expect me to do right now?” I hiss, running a hand through my hair. “You’re right. But Adam is in surgery across town—”
“And that isnotyour problem,” Mom says, cutting me off. “You need to set up some boundaries before you lose the woman you’ve loved your whole life. Again.”
I sort of thought parental wisdom came with the territory. Like I’d suddenly be able to offer advice and make logical choices after having a kid. But so far, I’m only made aware over and over of how little I know. Meanwhile, my mom just keeps getting smarter.
“You’re right,” I tell her. “I’ll fix it.”
“Good,” she says with a curt nod. “When?”
“Tomorrow. And I might need help with …” My gaze shifts to Isabelle who is on the front porch with Dad, luring Banjo into his enclosure with fruit loops.
“Anything you need,” Mom says, then pokes me in the chest with a perfectly manicured fingernail. “But whatever you do, don’t let Merritt go.”
I don’t plan to.
But when I reach the hospital and see the text that came in during the drive, I wonder if I’m already too late.
Merritt:I hope everything goes well for Cass. Heading to New York in the morning. Hopefully we can talk soon.
TWENTY-TWO
Merritt
New York sucks.And I couldn’t be happier about it. The familiar smell of exhaust plus whatever food is sold in that block—pizza, falafel, pretzels, hot dogs, curry—makes me smile with nostalgia, but that’s it.
Fine. And it also makes me get a giant pretzel I eat while walking through the city that somehow, after all these years, feels like a familiar stranger.
New York is like the blond guy who got on the train the stop after mine every Monday through Friday. I could pick his blond curls out in a crowd, and sometimes we made awkward eye contact, but we never spoke. We didn’t learn each other’s names. He won’t miss me.
“You won’t missanything. Really?” The sarcasm drips from Jana’s words.
To her point, I’m almost ready to lick the butter masala sauce off my plate. If the waitress doesn’t bring me the extra naan I ordered, I might.
“I’ll missyou. Obviously.”
I roll my eyes to emphasize the point, even though I’m quite certain Jana is a work-only friend, whose memory will fade a little slower than subway guy. Maybe we’ll call and text a little, but since we hardly did over the past month, I doubt it.
Sad, but a testament to the life I built here, which was, as it turns out upon closer examination, thin. Insubstantial. Almost—and this was a rough realization—inconsequential.
As a literal testament to this, I braved the Times Square tourists only to discover my latest campaign has already been replaced by a Kardashian. Or a Kardashian look-alike. They’re pumping out new ones so fast, I can’t tell anymore.
“And the food,” I say, glancing around for the waitress. “Oakley Island doesnothave curry.”
“Notgoodcurry?” Jana asks hopefully.
“No curry at all.”
“How will you survive?” Jana asks drily.
“No idea.”
I drag my finger across my plate, then lick off the sauce. Her expression shifts to horror. Jana, of the sleek, dark hair and perfect winged eyeliner does not condone such behavior.
Initially, her sarcasm drew me to her as a sort of pseudo-Sadie I could relate to. But I didn’t realize how much her uptightness fed that part of me too. Together, we were tough New York women, surviving the city and a male-dominated workplace together. Somewhere along the way, mystrongbecamehard. Not in a way I particularly like.
Now, as I’m embarrassing her with my uncouth dining manners, the gulf between us has widened.
