In a New York Minute(24)

Well. Leave it to Eleanor to find all the words. I opened my mouth to protest, but she waved me off.

“But I also know how truly kind you are, Hayes,” she continued. “And I know this whole thing blew up in your face, but try to remember it started from you doing something nice.”

“If I recall correctly, you and Perrine agreed that I acted, and I quote, ‘borderline chauvinistic.’”

“Well, yes, that too, maybe,” she said. “But you’re good to the core, Hayes Montgomery. I know that, and don’t you forget it.”

She smiled at me, one of her serious smiles that she didn’t offer up too often.

“Maybe she knows someone,” Eleanor said, her brain shifting back into work mode. “For our space. She’s a designer. She definitely has contacts.”

She turned to her computer but then twisted around toward me almost immediately. “Or!” She waved her index finger to signal that a brilliant idea had just arrived. “We could just hire her,” she said. “Money is better than an apology, right? Plus, it could be cool to work with an up-and-coming designer.”

“Are you insane?” I tightened my grip around my coffee cup. “I asked if I should send a quick apology, not hire her.”

Eleanor shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Later that afternoon, long after Eleanor had grabbed her canvas duffel bag and hustled out of the office, I walked home, the air muggy but slightly cool, the city already emptied out. I plotted my weekend in my head: work, run, work. Central Park would be quiet, which would be nice. Maybe get my ass in gear and hang some art. (Franny had been right about my apartment lacking personality.) Watch the Yankees–Red Sox series. I could order food. I’d check in with Perrine.

There was plenty to do. And I’d always told myself that I didn’t mind the quiet, thought I was built for independence, that from isolation grew ideas and innovation. I’d accepted it as the consequence of a failed marriage. It was what I deserved, even, for not noticing things had gone off the rails until it was too late to save our relationship.

But recently, the quiet of my life was starting to feel too quiet. I had people who loved me and whom I loved too, and yet every time I got home to an empty apartment at the end of the day, the loneliness that whispered at my back turned into a roar.

Maybe, I reasoned, as I turned onto Central Park West, that was what had been so thrilling, so maddening about that morning a few weeks ago on the subway. And why, even though I’d said a bunch of dumb stuff to Franny in our interview together, I couldn’t push her out of my thoughts. It had been a jolt of something frustrating and exhilarating all at once. For a second, my life had skipped a beat. And I’d liked that feeling. I’d liked it a lot.

*



“What’s this?” Eleanor stared at the folder I’d left on her desk. It was the day after the long weekend, barely 8 a.m., but we were already operating at warp speed.

“A list of possible designers. Some images of their work. There’s a really cool woman in there who did Tesla’s new office.”

“Look at you, jumping into action.” She gave them a glance and nodded at me approvingly. “Not bad.”

I passed her compliment off with a shrug.

“I had some free time this weekend.” Free time, no plans—same thing.

“And now I need you to do something else for me.” Her smile was wicked, glinting. She was enjoying this. “You have to go on a date with Henry’s coworker Serena.”

When she said she wanted to set me up, I hadn’t realized she meant immediately. “And subject another unsuspecting victim to my winning ways?” I scoffed, shaking my head.

“Oh my god,” she grumbled with an eye roll. “We’ve already established you were a dick to Franny.”

“On live TV,” I added. Yes, it was still bothering me.

“Hayes, it’s in the past. It’s time to deal with it and move on,” she said, as if that were an easy thing to do.

But my brain wasn’t letting me move on. Instead it was circling the memory over and over again, still.

“It doesn’t need to be about romance,” she continued, her voice shifting into life-coach mode, peppy and confident. “Become her friend, for all I care. You need to see other people besides…you know.”

She gestured broadly, waving her hand through the air as if she were presenting our office as a prize on a game show.

“You,” I said, my voice monotone. I didn’t quite feel like playing along.

“And Perrine, yes.” Her gaze shifted from mischievous to kind.

“I’m not trying to be a pain in the ass, you know,” she said, pushing back in her chair to get a good look at me. “You’re my friend. I’m allowed to worry about you sitting alone in your apartment every night.”

“I’m not,” I protested, but she wasn’t wrong.

“You know what I mean,” she said, and I did. “And look, you know I love to matchmake, and I’ve kept my mouth shut since you and Angie broke up. That’s been, like, seven hundred years.”

“Three,” I corrected.

“Whatever,” she said, waving me off.

I sighed. “Fine.” Maybe it would be nice to meet someone new. I’d been mostly relying on dating apps this past year, and I hadn’t made it past the fourth date with anyone I’d met there.