In a New York Minute(47)

But the word connection only made me think about Franny again, and the weird electric energy I felt pass between us. Every time I was near her, it felt like the words got stuck in my mouth and came out all scrambled, and yet I kept wanting to be around her more.

“Serena’s great,” I said, a reminder to myself more than anything. “Her job’s also hectic, so really we get each other. We have a lot in common.”

“That’s awesome,” Perrine said, shooting a smile in my direction as we kept running.

“Things with Lola are going well, though?” I asked, eager to get the spotlight off me.

“So good.” She looked at me with giant saucer eyes, lit up by the streetlamps dotting East Drive. “I mean, we’ve only been dating for a little over a month, but I really like her. I think I’m falling in love with her, honestly.”

Before I could respond, she asked, “Sprint to Eighty-Sixth Street?”

And we were off, chasing that final bit of endorphins, the last call of a long day.

Perrine dashed to the Reservoir, stopping at the edge and bending over to catch her breath, her hands on her hips.

“Wow, Perr,” I said when I’d caught up with her. “That’s a big deal.”

“It is.” She flopped down on the grass, legs butterflied in front of her. “But it also feels like not a big deal at all. It’s weird, you know? You just, like, suddenly realize this could be it, and then everything feels easy.”

“Yeah,” I said, stretching an arm up, grabbing my elbow with my opposite hand. I turned her words over in my head. Did I know this? There had been a time with Angie, a moment early on, where I had thought, “This is it. This is being in love.” But our relationship had never been easy, for either of us. Maybe Angie had been right: Maybe we’d never even been in love at all. And if that was true, what the hell did that say about me?

“Have you told her?” I asked, not wanting to dwell on yet another possible flaw in my character.

She shook her head. “I will, but right now it just feels nice to know it myself.”

I sat down next to her, half-heartedly stretching my legs and picking at blades of grass that poked up by my shins. I didn’t want to think about my marriage falling apart, because it all fell squarely on my shoulders. And then I’d have to face the insecurity that remained, that maybe I wasn’t meant for a relationship with anyone.

*



A few nights later, I was pacing the floors of the new office space, anticipating Franny’s arrival. It was a relief to know that we had a designer on board, and that things were finally back on track. In the last forty-eight hours, she’d sent over a barrage of emails to Eleanor and me—lighting fixtures to approve, a few different sources for repurposed wood to check out, some article on the best ergonomic desk chairs. And then, a two-page outline on rooftop gardens, and the benefit of a green space within a work environment.

She’d hand-sketched a simple design plan, with planters, a small seating area, and a long industrial table with benches. Utilizing the outdoor space this way was such an obvious and brilliant idea that when she’d first texted me, I’d been embarrassed I hadn’t thought of it first.

Tonight, she burst off the elevator like an exclamation point. “Hayes!” she shouted, giant box in hand. A delivery guy from the hardware store pushed a large pallet of wood and bags of soil behind her. Do not look at her legs, I told myself, because they were bare and long and tempting in cutoff jean shorts. I turned my attention to her hands, pressed around the box. This was a safe spot for my gaze to land. Her nails were a bright cherry red. I’d never noticed a color on them before, and my eyes shot to them instantly, and then followed her long slender fingers to her wrist, which was curved and smooth and—

“Hey,” she said as she got closer.

“Want me to take that?” I asked, outstretching a hand.

“No,” she said, enunciating the word as if I’d offended her. “I know the first time you saw me holding a box I was falling apart, but I got this.”

She scanned me as she passed, heading toward the door that led to the roof deck. I took a few quick steps to get ahead of her and grab the door to hold it open. “Is that what you’re wearing?” she asked.

“Yes, why?” I’d run home and changed out of my work clothes before coming here and into a white cotton button-down and some jeans that Eleanor and Henry had convinced me to buy but I had hardly worn. They made me look cooler and calmer than I actually was, which Eleanor had insisted was “a good thing.”

“A white shirt? We’re literally going to be moving bags of dirt.”

“I can handle a little dirt,” I said as I followed her through the doorway. I inhaled deeply as I passed her, and then caught myself. Jesus Christ, Hayes. Get it together.

I tipped the delivery man, who had dropped everything off as close to the roof as he could get. Then I followed Franny outside, undoing the top button on my shirt.

“Solar twinkle lights?” I said, grabbing a container out of the box she’d opened.

“Obviously,” she answered, giving me a grin. “We’ll attach them to a stake in the garden box and string them to the edge of the roof. You’ve gotta have mood lighting out here!”

One of her tank top straps fell down her shoulder as she dragged a bag of soil to the opposite side of the roof, and she mindlessly reached up and tucked it under the strap of her bra. I couldn’t stop lasering in on every small detail of how she moved, how everything about her felt effortless and relaxed.