His Royal Highness(70)

In the morning, I cook us breakfast with what I have on hand. After a busy few weeks, my fridge and pantry are all but empty. I peel an orange, toast some bread, and shake out enough cereal from the bottom of the box to make us each a small bowl of mostly crumbs. Whitney walks right out of my bedroom, darts around the island, and comes straight to me, wrapping her arms around my waist.

“Sorry about last night.”

“There’s no need to apologize.”

“I keep having flashbacks of our conversation, and yes…I definitely need to apologize.”

I chuckle and turn around, lifting her chin. Her face is back to normal, and I tell her so.

She brushes her cheek with her palm, relief evident in her gaze.

“Can I help?” she asks, glancing down at the counter. “Here, let me take over and you go sit at the table and don’t lift a finger. It’s the least I can do.”

“Breakfast is already done. Coffee’s on the table. Juice too. Well, some juice. We’ll have to share a glass.”

“What about silverware?”

“Beside the plates.”

“Okay, well, sign me up for dish duty, at least.”

It’s nice sitting across from her, eating toast, sipping coffee. It’s the most normal activity in the world, but there’s more emphasis on it now that we’re doing it together.

Whitney’s quiet, and I assume she’s probably tackling quite the hangover, so I don’t bother her.

When my plate is clean, I stand and her hand shoots out to stop me.

“I need to ask you for a favor.”





Whitney wants me to go with her to New York in a week.

It seems all but impossible with everything I have going on right now. I should be working in my sleep, especially with Cal still on sick leave, but I don’t say any of this to Whitney. I know why she’s asking, and I know she never would have brought it up if she didn’t really need me.

Besides, when she broached the subject, she made me a promise.

“After New York, I’ll decide what I want to do about my future. Okay? I’ll give you a five-year plan, and I promise to be serious about it, too.”

I bring it up to Heather and Cal the next day and Heather’s eyes go wide.

“Are you crazy? Are you both crazy?”

“Make it work. I’ll fly up on Friday, be there in time for her sister’s show, and return Saturday. With Whitney.”

Cal is fully on board. He won’t hear of Whitney going to New York without me.

“I told you those trips are always so difficult for her. She’ll do better with you by her side.”





Chapter Twenty-Two





Whitney





My plane plops me down in New York City at 9:00 PM the following Wednesday. My parents originally booked my flight for 6:20 AM. I changed it last minute. I told them I had to because I couldn’t take another day off work, but really, I’m trying to cut down on the length of the trip out of self-preservation.

My dad is waiting for me at baggage claim, impatiently looking over and around other passengers to find me. He’s wearing a Yankees hat and a matching t-shirt. His face is hard, unsmiling, even when he finally spots me.

He’s always been good at complaining. It’s the first thing he does. No, Hey, how are you? Just, “Can you believe this airport? Jesus, it’s the middle of the night and it’s still this crowded. Did you check a bag? No? Good. Come on.”

“Where’s Mom?”

“Asleep.”

Outside, he flags down a cab. Then, with his hand still in the air, he gives me a once-over. “You look skinny. You eating down there in Georgia?”

I didn’t have time for dinner because I cut it too close at the airport. I wolfed down a packet of peanuts like a rabid squirrel midflight, eyeing my neighbor’s bag greedily while he took his sweet time, eating them one by one, obnoxiously crunching them with his front teeth. After warring over a shared armrest for half the flight, I think it was retribution on his part.

“Yup. I’m eating. Just working a lot.”

“Oh? Well, that’s good. Is Carly still working with you?”

He means Carrie.

“Yes.”

“What does she do again? Does she make the shoes?”

Yes, Dad. She’s a cobbler.

“Costumes, actually. Dresses.”

He’s not listening to me. Now that we’re in the cab, he’s too busy arguing with the driver about a better route to take, talking over me until I just decide to shut up.

“Dammit,” my dad says. “We missed our turn.”

I sit in the back seat, stewing in regret. I should have stayed in a hotel. I should have waited and flown up on Friday with Derek so I could have used him like a human shield. Or, even better, I should have just not come at all.

After we finally arrive at my parents’ apartment building and I tip the cab driver heftily while my dad isn’t looking, we trek up to their eighth-floor walkup while my father starts to lay out our plans for the next day.

“Avery has time for breakfast if we wake up early and go to her, so I hope you didn’t plan on sleeping in?”

There’s a long pause and I realize he expects an answer from me.