Chapter 1

1

how did I ever let time pass this long without seeing you?

“Jia, I’m not sitting at the table with them, I have no idea what they’re saying,” I whispered in a hushed tone from the coverage of the booth I was hiding in.

“Then what was the point of going!” Jia responded over the phone.

“To make sure Gabe doesn’t get murdered, of course,” I responded seriously, watching Gabe from across the restaurant on his date.

“You’re in the West Village, Dani, no one’s getting murdered. The only crime around here is the preposterous real estate prices,” Jia said matter-of-factly.

“We’re twenty-two, this is the prime murdering age.” I turned back to Gabe as he began furrowing his eyebrows. “Gabe’s giving me the look.”

“The look? —Wait, why are you dressed like you’re going on a date?” Jia said entirely off topic, commenting on my (apparently uncommon) blouse and jeans.

I turned around abruptly in my seat where I found Jia entering the restaurant. If you could call it entering; it was more like a hunched walk behind a menu to hide from Gabe’s date. I raised a discrete waving hand above my own menu to catch Jia’s attention.

“Where did you go?” I asked, turning my phone off and moving over in the booth making room for her. She had a maxi skirt on, leather boots, and a small top that just covered her chest. Her hair was naturally black, but it’s been dyed every color of the rainbow, changing it every season. It didn’t matter what she colored her hair though, because everything complemented her thin face and tall frame. This spring it was blonde. Her parents hated that she colored her hair, but her response was: “I work in fashion, it matches my job description.” A very Jia response—to me, of course, as she reiterated the conversation to me. No way in hell would she talk back to her parents.

“I had to pick up fabric for the devil and drop it off to her,” Jia said, exhaling, as she rested her chin on her fist.

“Why don’t you just quit? You have enough experience at this point,” I insisted, worrying about the last of her energy.

“If there’s any chance she can get me into the Met Gala next year, then all of the work I’d done would be worth it,” she said with a matched urgency and concern.

Before I could reply, Josh, our waiter, arrived at our table with a look of scorn. Rightfully so. I had been sitting at this table for thirty minutes without ordering anything other than water. But there were about ten other open tables and no one waiting at the door to be seated, so I didn’t feel that bad.

It was fine though; I leave him a really nice tip every time and I’ll bring him flowers in a few days.

This was our love-hate relationship. Jia, Gabe, and I used the table at the restaurant once in a while for scoping out dates in case we needed a reason to get out of an awkward situation (and to avoid being kidnapped), annoying Josh a little, in which I then brought him flowers that he swooned over.

He mentioned wanting peonies before seating me.

“Ladies, you need to order something if you’re going to use

the table—”

“Two waters,” we responded in unison. “And a basket of fries, please, Josh,” Jia added in. Josh rolled his eyes, walking away with the order.

“What’s happened so far?” she asked with curiosity, bringing the menu just below her eyes.

“Gabe has laughed twice, checked his phone once—”

“Good, good.”

“—and finished four glasses of wine,” I finished, pressing my lips into a solemn line.

She smacked her palm against her forehead in disappointment, “And he did a look?”

“The look, yes.”

“Yeah, it’s over, let’s wrap this up,” Jia said, putting the menu down and getting up from her seat. As quickly as she got up, she was turning back around, pointing a finger at me with a threatening glare. “Don’t forget the fries.”

Here we go, the funniest part of the night.

Jia made her way to Gabe’s table with her hands in fists at her sides, mustering up her performance.

“How dare you,” Jia shouted with seething anger as she slammed her hands onto the table in between Gabe and his date. “I tell you I’m pregnant and you decide to go on a date!?”

Gabe clutched his chest, choking on his shrimp at her abrupt appearance. The blonde guy across from Gabe was washed with horror, his cheeks turning pink and his eyelashes practically reaching his eyebrows.

Gabe pressed a hand against his throat, now clear of shrimp, with feigned earnestness, “Darling—”

“I thought you were gay!” Gabe’s date interjected with horror.

I have to say, that would not have been my first concern when hearing the word pregnant…

Gabe’s head tilted with audacity of his date’s concern, obviously mirroring my exact thought.

Jia grabbed Gabe’s collar. “This is the last time I let you out of my sight,” Jia raged, trying to get Gabe out of this—apparently—horrible date, pulling him out of his seat.

As if on cue, Josh placed the basket of fries on my table while Jia and Gabe rushed out of the restaurant. I swiftly picked up the basket, leaving cash on the table behind me, with an apology wave to Josh.

Scrambling out of the restaurant, I found Jia and Gabe outside waiting for me, laughing. “Pregnant?” Gabe asked, practically wheezing with laughter. “We agreed on you being my girlfriend, not my baby mama!”

My own laugher spilled out at Gabe’s comment. “If you ask me, that was an award-winning performance, Jia.”

She bowed at the waist and said, “I would like to thank my mom and Daniella for their support, and Gabe for his horrible taste in men.”

Receiving a slap on the shoulder from him, she only erupted

in more laughter. “You owe me a drink for that performance,” Jia stated, pointing at Gabe.

“Yeah, yeah,” he responded, “It’s on its way.” Rolling his eyes and scrunching up his button nose, making him look like a kid. His height alone gave him a child-like appearance, standing two inches shorter than me, meaning several inches shorter than Jia. You could never tell though because he wore platform sneakers, a gift from the company he interned at as a marketing assistant.

Turning another corner, we made our way to the bar down the street, entering into the usual crowd.

“A beer and a Dirty Shirley,” Gabe asked the bartender, squeezing in between those also asking for drinks as Jia and I shouted our thanks.

Turning to me, Jia took another fry out of the basket, “You never explained the cute outfit.” Her gaze swept over my clothes, from the well-fitting jeans to the low-cut, long sleeve top that accentuated my chest in a way I know she commended, but I opposed. It was a stark contrast from my usual attire which often consisted of overalls, trousers, midi dresses, etc.—anything that didn’t stick to my body.

I pulled at the top, trying to cover more of my chest, but it then it exposed my belly button. Sighing, “I needed a silhouette example for the dress I’m sketching. I wasn’t sure if I liked the combo of this cut with a bodycon style frame towards the bottom.”

Was she listening? Because she looked more focused on how I couldn’t stop touching my shirt. Then suddenly, she was pulling at the top too, trying to fix the mess that was me in fitted clothing.

“What did you end up deciding?” Jia asked, apparently listening.

“To keep the dress fitted in the waist and hips, but have it flare from there. If the neckline was higher, I would’ve decided otherwise, but I feel like it’s too much all together, right?” I asked.

Talking about design-thoughts wasn’t good for my mental health after class hours—it made me stress-sweat—but it had to be done because it was all I could think about. If I didn’t figure it out now, then it’d knock on my glass window like a desperate Romeo visiting Juliet tonight. And I liked my sleep uninterrupted.

Pulling my flower hair clip out of my purse, I began sweeping my short brown hair up.

Jia continued, “Nope, I totally—”

“Oh crap,” I exhaled, my hair clip falling to the ground. Squatting down, I searched for the bright clip. As soon as I reached the floor, I was standing back up with the clip in hand—shit. Was that the bottom of someone’s beer that just hit the top of my head?

“Shit,” I said in unison with the person holding the beer. Standing up, I ran a hand through my hair (no beer, thank God) as I went to apologize to—

How hard did I just hit my head? Because there’s no way this is actually happening right now.

“Daisy?” Levi asked. Levi Coldwell. Levi Coldwell was standing in front of me.

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