Determined not to indulge any more fantasies of Prince Charming.
21
There’s something about being drunk at midday that feels kind of naughty, like sneaking into the copy-room to have sex at an office party, knowing you might get caught.
Not that I’ve ever worked in an office. Or had sex in a copy room.
I don’t make a habit of drinking in the middle of the day, but according to Cat, “boozy brunches” are a thing in New York. Basically, you go to brunch and eat as normal, but you also get bottomless cocktails. Bottomless cocktails.
It’s bloody brilliant.
Cat decides that I’m not a proper New Yorker until I’ve had a boozy brunch, so she takes me to a restaurant in Chelsea on Friday.
We meet Mel outside the restaurant and I immediately shrink when she approaches us. I’d forgotten how stunning Mel is. Today she’s wearing a charcoal wool minidress with tan, suede over-the-knee boots, her long dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Next to her I feel like a teenager in my jeans, knitted sweater and ballet flats.
We sit at a tiny table and order. It’s not long before a huge pitcher of margaritas is placed on the table and I pour a generous glass, taking a big swig. Ooh, this is delicious. Another big swig. I could get used to this life.
“So.” Mel fixes her attention on me, margarita in hand. “I’ve read your blog.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “My blog? Really?”
Cat elbows me. “I hope you don’t mind—I showed it to her. It’s so good.”
I give Cat a bewildered smile. I knew she was reading along, but I figured it was just a moral support thing.
“Shit.” She reaches into her purse to retrieve her phone and frowns at the screen. “It’s Hayley at the store. I’d better take this.” She pushes to her feet and wanders down the back of the restaurant, leaning against a wall as she talks.
Mel turns back to me. “Cat’s right, your writing is good. I love the way you explore being single here in New York. It’s hilarious.”
“Oh. Well, uh, thank you.” I’m not sure I was going for “hilarious,” but that’s okay.
“Are you happy being single?”
“Er… yes.” I raise my drink to my lips, ignoring the dart of disappointment I feel.
Mel nods, not saying anything more, and for some reason I feel the urge to ask her about her own love life. A sophisticated, chic New York woman like her could have her pick of men. She probably dates handsome billionaires. Exclusively.
“What about you?” I ask, slurping back my margarita. “Do you like being single?”
She gives me a tight-lipped smile. “It beats being married to an asshole.”
“You were married?”
A shadow falls across her beautiful features. “Years ago,” she says, gazing off into the middle distance. “He cheated on me. Said he was bored with our life together and that I wasn’t enough for him, after I caught him in bed with someone else. I was heartbroken.”
“Wow.” I shake my head in disbelief. “That’s terrible.” I can’t believe that someone would cheat on Mel. She’s the woman you cheat with when you’re bored with your old wife, not the one you’re bored with.
She straightens her shoulders and clasps her perfectly manicured hands together, forcing a stoic expression. “Anyway.” Her lips twist into a secret smile. “I’ve met someone new.”
“Oh!” I lean forward, grinning. “Tell me more.”
“Ah—” Mel’s gaze flicks over my shoulder then back to me as Cat joins us at the table again. “Another time. So, what are your plans for your writing, going forward?”
“Um, I’m not sure.” I take a long sip of my margarita as I turn this question over. I’m chugging along with the blog, despite still hearing nothing from the sites I’ve been contacting. But it’s important that I keep focusing on this single topic, because right now it feels like the only way to keep my head on straight.
After talking to Mum a couple of days ago, I’ve been trying to dial down the Michael fantasies. This wasn’t helped by him texting to ask when I want to go sightseeing again, but somehow I managed to keep my wits about me and reply with a vague, “Sometime soon.”
Instead of daydreaming about Michael, I’ve been throwing myself into my blog to remind myself why I’m choosing to be single right now. And as for my novel, well, I’m just working on that on the side. Mostly.
The problem was that my fantasies were getting out of hand. I wasn’t just writing my novel, I was letting myself imagine Michael with, well, me. So I’ve been rounding out the Annie character, developing her so we are polar opposites. For example, she’s got red hair. And she’s an inch shorter than me. And she’s from a totally different part of New Zealand than I am.
Okay, I’m clutching at straws here. I know. But it is helping, because yesterday I hardly thought about Michael at all, after working on my novel for six straight hours.
A smile sneaks onto my lips as I recall a really juicy scene I wrote between Matthew and Annie, inspired by the ice-skating shoulder injury thing. It starts with her putting the ice-pack on his bare shoulder, but then he turns around and pulls her onto his lap. He tosses the ice-pack aside and unbuttons her dress, a slow grin spreading across his face as he—
“So, what do you think?” Mel is looking at me intently and I feel a spasm of alarm.
Shit. What did she say?
“Er, absolutely.” I nod as if I’d been listening the whole time.
“Great. I think you’re going to like Justin.”
Justin?
“Okay,” I say, taking a big slurp of margarita to hide my confusion.
Mel waves across the restaurant. “Justin, over here.”
I watch as an older man with salt and pepper hair and an earring in each ear strides over and shakes hands with Mel and Cat.
“This is the friend I was telling you about,” Mel says, gesturing to me. “Alex.”
Justin takes a seat at the table,
