Time didn’t make losing Clay any easier. But the one thing it did do was move the nation’s obsession off the infamous naked selfie. The news cycle was moving with the pace and responsibility of a drunk driver. Clay Russo’s naked body was a brief distraction from frightening new pollution statistics and arguments about health care. But Zia didn’t stop thinking about it. Or him.
Was he still mad about it all?
Did he think about her?
Listen to the voice mails she’d left him?
Zia had no idea. And so, she tried to forget about Clay.
At first, taking a shift at an In Love in New York wedding at Brooklyn Winery seemed like a good idea. Close to home, good money, and working with people who were more like friends than coworkers. But as toast after toast celebrated the blissed-up couple, Zia’s defenses weakened. The couple began their first dance and grief landed on her chest, full force. She found herself in the side alley, feeling stunned and breathless, talking herself out of crying. Someone said her name. Liv.
Zia startled. “I’m sorry, I was just—” Staying up late watching old movies. “Having a moment but I—” Making love in the shower. “Just, um—” Talking about everything and nothing, curled up in bed together, the city a twinkling distant dream.
It was too much. Her face fell into her hands, and she started to cry.
Liv put her arms around her, soothing. “Shhh. It’s okay.”
“I just—miss him—so much,” Zia said between sobs.
“I know, honey. Oh, I know.” And she did know. Liv was a widow. “You don’t really have any family in the city, do you?”
“Not really.” Zia still took her niece and nephew to the park once or twice a week. But every time she looked at her sister, all she could see was cold, cruel venality.
Liv gave her a tissue, tucking her hair out of her face. “Why don’t you come over for dinner tomorrow night? Sam will cook. And we can talk about it or not talk about it. Whatever you want.”
“Thank you, Liv,” Zia said. “I’d really like that.”
“Good. Take a minute, then get back in there. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Liv ducked back inside. Zia collected herself. She would move on. She knew she had to. But at least once a day, she couldn’t help picturing him. Alone in his trailer, jaw tense, gold eyes turned inward. Regretting what happened. Missing her.