I grinned at her as I scanned her outfit. "I told you it would be too hot to wear that."
Trisha pouted, looking down at her outfit. "But it looks so cute."
I laughed at Trisha's put-out expression. She had insisted on making the trip up with me to New York, saying she needed a girl's weekend. I hadn't objected, grateful to have company on the long drive.
The air conditioning of the rental car we drove to New York had sputtered and died while we were still on the outskirts of New Jersey. We had opened the windows, but it hadn't done much to relieve the stifling heat.
By the time we made it to the Upper West Side, sweat was dripping down my back and I was praying that I would be able to find a parking spot.
"Our luck is looking up," I said as I spotted an open parking space on the same block as my new apartment and quickly parallel parked. We both jumped out of the car, eager to stretch our limbs, the long drive having taken its toll.
"The first time I lived here, I had to lug two huge suitcases up three flights of stairs," I said as I opened the trunk of the rental car. "Thank God for elevators."
My new apartment building was far from the Trump Towers, but it had an elevator and a doorman, luxuries in New York. I had shipped most of my belongings beforehand, so I only had one suitcase and a couple of boxes with me, in addition to Trisha's suitcase.
"Can you take my suitcase too?" I asked, lifting both of our suitcases out of the trunk and setting them down on the sidewalk next to Trisha. "I'll grab the boxes."
Trisha and I made our way into my apartment, stopping to introduce ourselves to the doorman. I heaved a sigh of relief as I unlocked the door to my apartment and stepped inside, happy that it looked exactly as it had in the pictures. It had been hard coordinating a move from D.C., but I had no time to spare to see the apartment in person. I had been scrambling to wrap up my projects at my old job before I left.
"This is nice," Trisha said, setting our suitcases down in the living room.
"It's small but it's in a good neighborhood and I really wanted a place with a doorman and elevator."
I set the boxes down and started to explore my new home. The bedroom was small but the large living room made up for it. The bathroom was serviceable if a bit cramped but the kitchen was a thing of beauty with stainless steel appliances and plenty of counter space. The apartment was currently filled with boxes and furniture that I had shipped from D.C. and I didn't relish the thought of unpacking everything.
"What should we do first?" Trisha said, collapsing on the couch that was still wrapped in plastic. "Please don't tell me you want to start unpacking."
I grinned at Trisha's pleading expression. She had come for a weekend of fun, not one filled with bubble wrap and packing tape. "Don't worry. The last thing I want to do now is unpack. I have plenty of time for that. I need to return the rental car, but why don't we get lunch afterwards? I want to explore my new neighborhood."
I waited while Trisha changed into an outfit more appropriate for the stifling heat. She looked much more put together than I did in her white shorts and gauzy blue shirt worn over a tank top.
"Don't you want to change?" she asked.
"You're the fashion plate, not me. I'm happy with my jeans and t-shirt." For as long as I had known Trisha, she had always looked put together, even in middle school. We had been best friends since the sixth grade except for a small bump in our friendship after my broken engagement to Sean. After his accident, Trisha had admitted that she had always been in love with Sean and hadn't been able to accept what I had done to him. She had tearfully apologized for abandoning me and begged for another chance. Fortunately, all the hours that we spent together helping Sean rehabilitate himself had made us realize that our friendship was worth salvaging. We had been close again ever since. It didn't hurt that Sean ended up falling in love with Trisha and they had gotten married two years ago.
After dropping off the rental car, Trisha and I walked along Amsterdam Avenue, debating which restaurant to choose out of the dizzying array of options. We finally settled on a Thai restaurant and gratefully stepped into the air-conditioned interior.
"Does it feel weird to be back?" Trisha asked after we had ordered.
"Kind of, since this is the first time I've been back since I lived here, except for the quick trip up for my interview. And I spent more time in the airport than in the city when I came up for it. It doesn't even feel like the same place to me. When I first lived here, I was so wide-eyed and naive. I thought New York was some magical place that was going to change my life. Now I know it's just another city."
Trisha hesitated before asking her next question. "Does it bring up painful memories of Jackson?"
I sighed, trying to examine my feelings. I had mixed emotions when it came to Jackson Reynard and the memories he stirred in me. Losing him had been one of the most painful experiences of my life, second only to losing my father. It had taken me a long time to put myself back together, but slowly and surely, I had. I had moved back to D.C. after Sean started making real progress, knowing that he was in the capable hands of Trisha. I had worked my way up in an advertising agency until I was made an account manager, becoming somewhat of a workaholic as my mother had once feared. Burying myself in work had helped take my mind off Jackson.
Not that it had been easy. Recovering from a failed relationship was hard enough. It was even harder when the person you were trying to get over had their face plastered on every magazine cover. Jackson's career had exploded after he starred in Negative Exposure, the John Warner movie that he had almost passed on because of me. Since then, he had been labeled as the intelligent man's action hero, starring in two more blockbusters afterwards. His meteoric rise to fame meant that every time I turned on the TV, every time I passed a bus shelter or a newsstand, I was at risk of seeing his green eyes looking back at me.
As hard as it was, I got used to seeing Jackson's face everywhere, until I didn't feel that gut-wrenching pain every time I saw an image of him. I told myself that he was just somebody that I used to know, a far away memory that still haunted me sometimes but had lost its power to make me feel that slicing lance of pain. Knowing that he had betrayed me with Claire, and that the desperate love I had believed in had been built on a bed of deceit, helped me get over him.
This didn't mean that I didn't avoid his image. I never went to see any of his movies and I avoided any TV show or magazine that he was featured in. I told myself that it was normal to still have those nights left over from when the breakup had been fresh. Those nights where I lay in bed, reliving the memories of us together as I clutched the diamond pendant he had once given me with eyes full of love. Those nights when I pleasured myself with my hands, imagining that it was Jackson caressing me. My body still craved him, even though my mind knew that he had deceived me, had cheated on me with Claire.