Jack looked up at the bay window of the austere, four-story nineteenth-century Greek Revival town house on Bank Street that belonged to her father. Inside, she could just make out the dining room, and the white shock of her father’s hair presiding over the dinner table. After she told J.P. she couldn’t stay at the lofts anymore, she’d slowly packed up her belongings and made her way to the West Village. She hadn’t called her dad first, because it would just have been too awkward to explain the whole situation over the phone. The last thing she wanted to do was beg her dad to take her in. She’d hoped that once she got here and he saw her bags, he’d understand and take her to the guest room, no questions asked.
But now that she was here, watching her happy stepfamily eat dinner through the bay window, she couldn’t go in. She couldn’t face ringing the doorbell and admitting that her dad was right, she needed help. She couldn’t deal with her twin stepbrat sisters, or her only-eight-years-older stepmother, Rebecca.
She plopped down on the steps, feeling the cold seep through her Citizen skinny jeans. She couldn’t believe she’d moved out of the Cashman Lofts.
Jack pulled out her cell, wondering whom she could call. There was always Genevieve, but her apartment was positively tiny and her mom, a former actress who now starred exclusively on Lifetime Television dramas, was incredibly loud and embarrassing. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Just as Jack was debating whether she could live with a histrionic and self-obsessed mom who wasn’t related to her, her phone rang.
“Um, hi?” Jack began, trying to whisper. The last thing she wanted was one of the nosy stepbrats to peek out the window and see her.
“Hey, it’s Avery.” Avery’s voice always sounded perky, like she’d drunk three Dean & Deluca lattes in a row. How come Avery didn’t feel as hungover as she did?
“How are you?” Jack asked suspiciously. She still couldn’t believe they’d ditched the lofts party to hang out with a bunch of off-duty cops at a dive bar last night. Still, it had been pretty fun.
“Good. A little hungover,” Avery giggled easily into the phone. Jack imagined Avery in her gorgeous Fifth Avenue penthouse apartment. She suddenly felt very small and lonely. “How are you surviving at the lofts?”
“Um.” Jack paused. “I actually moved out. It was just…” Just what? Too nice? Too elegant? “It wasn’t working.” There. She said it. Somehow, once the words tumbled out, Jack fully realized what she’d done. She’d moved out of the most awesome apartment she’d probably ever live in. She’d practically rejected J.P., although technically they were still together. She’d fucked up her own goddamn life.
Suddenly, a sob began working its way up her chest, but she didn’t want to lose control over the phone. Instead, she twisted an auburn strand of hair around her index finger, sticking the ends in her mouth. It was a gross habit, one she only engaged in when she was under extreme emotional duress. But it wasn’t like Avery could see her.
“That’s too bad.” Avery sounded like she really meant it. “Do you want to come over?” Avery offered in such a small voice, at first Jack thought she hadn’t heard properly. “I’m just hanging out,” Avery added uncertainly.
“Sure,” Jack said slowly. “But I have a lot of stuff with me….” She gazed down at the two slightly battered Louis Vuitton steamer trunks propped against the concrete fish-patterned planters at the foot of the steps.
“Whatever, there’s plenty of room. Seriously, stay as long as you want. It’ll be fun.” Avery sounded so sincere and sweet, but instead of being annoyed by it, Jack was almost… touched.
“Well, I guess I could stop by,” Jack said matter-of-factly, still sucking on the just-trimmed ends of her auburn hair. She slid off her trunk and dragged it over to Seventh Avenue. Immediately, a cabbie stopped on the corner.
“Seventy-second and Fifth,” Jack rattled off. The cabbie nodded, opened the trunk of the car, hoisted her trunks inside, and slammed it closed.
“I’ll take you to where you belong,” the cabbie said gallantly. Jack nodded as she slid onto the black vinyl seats of the cab and shut the door. She wasn’t quite sure where she belonged, but at least she knew her first stop.