New York for New Year’s had been his idea. We’d reconciled and had been just friends for five years when he called me and said he didn’t want to waste the opportunity to stay in his godparent’s timeshare on the Upper East Side.
After getting lost on colored lines and lettered trains, I made it back to the timeshare. When I knocked, I heard him say, “She’s here.” He hung up the phone just as I stepped inside.
“I hailed a cab. I figured you’d use the directions that woman gave you and we’d meet up at Ground Zero eventually.” He mixed orange juice with the vanilla vodka I’d brought at the liquor store earlier that day, swirled the glass around and handed it to me. “I’m glad you’re alright.”
I drank it all in one gulp.
He bounced a little, “We can do one of the things on your list of things you just have to do in New York, if you want.”