City Love(22)

The walk begins. Vienna and I fall into step next to each other. I watch the other people around us. Some of them lost loved ones so long ago that the years have reduced their hurt to a dull ache. Others are struggling with the gaping raw pain of recent loss. Everyone deals with grief in their own way. Those coping mechanisms become apparent during the walk. Some people laugh and celebrate life. Others brush away tears, lost in their memories. Last year one woman was so consumed by grief she crumpled to the ground. The gut-wrenching sounds of her desperate sobs haunted me for weeks after.

There’s a moment of silence when we get to the top of the reservoir. We all stand with our heads bowed. Some people put their hand over their heart. Others put their hands together in prayer. Vienna closes her eyes tightly. I know she’s remembering her brother. This is the time I should be thinking of my loss. But even thinking about everything that happened would initiate a flood too powerful not to drown in.

We start walking again. The mood is reflective now. People are more subdued, speaking in quieter tones. I catch glimpses of buildings over the trees surrounding the park. What are people dealing with behind all those windows? How many hurting souls will remain broken forever? There’s so much secret pain in this city. It’s amazing how many of us are tied to one another by the things that hurt us the most. The most painful experiences bring us together in the most powerful ways. Walking with my people once a year is enough for me. I’m not ready to open up to anyone yet. If I ever will be.

“So . . . yeah,” Vienna says. “I might be interested in someone, too.”

“Ooh?”

“He might be a good friend of mine. Someone I want to be honest with. But I might not want to risk ruining our friendship.”

“That’s rough.”

“This is all hypothetical, of course.”

“Of course. It’s hypothetically rough.”

“The thing is . . . I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s like all of my brainpower is dedicated to imagining what it would be like if we were a couple.”

“Do you think he might like you?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell.”

“You should definitely tell him how you feel. I know it’s scary, but you have to take a chance.”

“But what if he doesn’t like me that way? And then things become so awkward between us we stop hanging out? I’d rather have him this way than not have him at all.”

I understand how conflicted Vienna feels. But she has to follow her heart to find the love she wants. Deep down, I know following your heart is the only way to create true happiness.

Then there’s my cynical side. The side of me that I keep hidden from the world. I want to believe that the world is good and happiness is abundant. Except . . . there’s a reason I do this walk every year. A reason that totally sucks. What happened was so unfair. And so random. It could have happened to anyone. Is it hypocritical to be an optimist when I’m disappointed with the world? My anger is always lingering. It’s always there below the surface.

And I don’t know how to make it go away.





ELEVEN

DARCY


CHILLING ON THE WASHINGTON SQUARE Park fountain after class will definitely be one of my fave low-key activities this summer. Tons of kids are sitting around the edge of the fountain kicking back with friends or soaking up some sun. The fountain is clearly a frequent origin point for hookups, but social perks aren’t its only attribute. This whole park has a soothing energy that mellows me out. Balance is something I’m trying to be more aware of. My natural state is to be on 24-7. That might not be the healthiest thing in the long run. And I want a long run. What better way to be invincible?

Rosanna is meeting me here after camp. We seriously need to work on that girl’s wardrobe. My heart goes out to her. She doesn’t have a lot of money to spend on nonessentials. Although I would argue that a killer wardrobe is essential. Your daily ensemble selections are how you choose to present yourself to the world. Which, I get it, sometimes a sister needs to be dragging. There were mornings back in California I was so exhausted from some all-night private-beach party I could barely pull on leggings and a cami. I mean, I’d still accessorize, but yeah. So it’s not like I expect Rosanna to be a fashion plate every single day—just most days. I want her to shine. I want her to show that fun and free side of herself I hope is hidden under her serious, critical shell. A complete wardrobe would reveal all the sides of her personality. Fortunately I can help her in that department. Soho has some of the most eclectic shops and I’m treating.

A cute boy with a UNY tee sits down next to me. “How’s it going?” he asks.

Maybe if he didn’t look so much like my ex he’d be my next boy adventure.

I ignore him. The last thing I need to be reminded of is the one thing I’m trying to forget.

He’s not giving up. “Beautiful day, huh?” he tries again.

“Seriously?” I snap.

The smile is startled off his face. I immediately feel horrible for being such a bitch. I’m about to apologize when he gets up, moves to the next free spot on the fountain edge, and starts chatting up another girl. Not cool, Darcy. Not cool. How could I let myself become such a hot snapping mess?

I still feel horrible about snapping at Rosanna the day I moved in. My anger hasn’t been the easiest emotion to tame lately, which sucks. It royally, epically, historically sucks. The last person you would describe as angry is this girl. Until some boy destroyed her happy streak. But I will not let a boy shape me into a person I don’t want to be. Especially some * who had the audacity to dump me. An * I loved more than anyone.