I give her a smile. It feels wobbly.
Victor strides down the steps from City Hall with Steven beside him and I hurry to follow. Drizzle hangs in the air and New York is gray, the heavy clouds above multiplying in the glass panels of brutal skyscrapers.
It’s the kind of day I long to be anywhere but here.
Nadine and I catch up to Victor by the curb. Steven walks briskly down the sidewalk. “He’s going to get the car,” St. Clair says.
“To get the car,” I murmur. “Steven… Oh. He’s Steven Daugherty. Your driver.”
St. Clair nods, glancing up at the sky like he considers the rainy haze a personal affront.
Nadine clears her throat. “I’ll give you two a minute. Congratulations, Victor.”
He looks surprised, but then gives a single nod. I don’t know if it’s in thanks or acknowledgement.
We stand there in the drizzle. Husband and wife, after one of the shortest engagements in history.
“Well…” I say. “What happens now?”
“I have interviews lined up for your replacement.”
I nod. That’s a safe topic. “You can send the shortlist over to me, and I’ll look them over for you. I know what you need.”
His eyes slide to mine. “I will.”
“Good.”
“Steven will take you to my apartment to settle in. Have him drive any things you need from your old place. You have the numbers to the movers I used last. Fix everything and charge it to my account.”
“Right. Thanks.”
He nods again and just like that, I’m dismissed, another thing checked off his schedule. Get married at one, investor meeting at two.
He hails down a cab with a single raised arm. It stops in front of him and he looks at me over his shoulder.
Neither of us has words, it seems.
“Thank you,” he says.
Our eyes hold for another long moment before he nods, like he’s confirmed something, and disappears into the cab. It drives off and leaves me on the curb, my best friend a few feet away, beneath a New York sky that wants to evict us.
“Are you okay on your own?” Nadine asks. Her voice sounds like it’s coming from far away, through a fog, but I nod.
“Sure. I’ve got… Steven.”
“I can help you move tomorrow, I think.”
“You’ve got work,” I say. “Don’t you dare take one of your precious vacation days for me.”
“I can call in sick,” she says. “I’ve been working on my fake sniffle.”
“You’re the worst actress in the world. No, go ahead. Thanks for being my witness.”
She pulls me in for a hug and I wrap my arms around her tightly, with her deep-red peacoat and the scent of coconut from her hair. Normalcy in this sea of chaos.
“You’re brave,” she whispers.
“Or foolish,” I whisper back. “I haven’t decided yet.”