Hannah took Kate’s hand. “Well, there is a story about some teenagers and the poppy fields behind the high school.”
Kate rested her head on Hannah’s shoulder. “So yeah, I’m a home-wrecker.”
Hannah stroked Kate’s curls, pulling her fingers through the ever-tangled strands. “I don’t think you can be a home-wrecker if his wife is aware of his penchant for sleeping with other women.”
“Pregnant wife.”
Hannah sighed, tightening her grip on her best friend. There was no easy answer to this situation—a man supposedly allowed to cheat on his wife. Was it even still cheating? Maybe not to Teddy. The growing wet spot on Hannah’s shoulder proved it meant something to Kate.
HANNAH TURNED THE DEAD bolt. Kate only lived two blocks away, but Hannah always asked for a safe-arrival text. She glanced at her phone, though Kate was probably still in the lobby chatting up the doorman. Kate loved older gentlemen with character, and Ronny was a character. He knew all the residents and had taken a shine to Kate when she’d stayed over for a few weeks between apartments—and boyfriends. Hannah plopped down on the couch, wishing she had cable and could channel surf. But cable had been one of the first things to go when her rent went up last year.
The apartment had been her home for the last four years. With a little help from her parents, she’d been able to get a small, one-bedroom unit instead of a studio—a decision that she couldn’t regret, even though it had cost her a dishwasher. She loved having a bedroom with a door instead of everything being in one open space. Not that paying the rent and keeping herself and Binx fed had always been easy. Journalists, especially ones working for small alternative music magazines, didn’t exactly make enough money to support a New York City lifestyle. But Hannah had made it work, first by leaning on her parents too heavily and then by working too many hours at Starbucks. Now, she embraced the art of budgeting and forced herself to take an honest look at how she spent her money. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it.
Hannah picked up her untouched red wine. She swirled it around the glass, watching as it caught the rim and dripped down the sides. Wasn’t there something about the quality of the wine and if it left marks?
“Happy birthday, Hannah,” she said, toasting the air. Thirty. Fuck. On the outside, her life looked, if not perfect, certainly close to it—dream job, Manhattan-adjacent, long-term boyfriend, her own place. But something had felt off for a while. She could pinpoint her ennui to her sister’s wedding. Stephanie and Charlotte had met in London in a whirlwind romance. They had married within a year. Stephanie, who was all of twenty-six, had a house in the suburbs, a wife, stepkids, and a chocolate lab. Hannah had six hundred fifty square feet, her cat, and Brian, who couldn’t even be bothered to call on her thirtieth birthday.
She took another sip, glancing at her phone again. Two notifications. She clicked on Kate’s message, which included a picture of Milo Ventimiglia’s butt. Happy birthday, chica.
The other text was from Brian. A booty call if ever there was one. She was used to it by now—the late-night texts from her boyfriend—but they were seldom appreciated. Particularly because he always asked her to come to him.
Only if you come here, she typed before she could consider giving in again.
To her surprise, he answered right away. Be there in 10.
She glanced down at her penguin pajama pants. No one wanted a booty call in penguin pajamas.
Hannah’s phone buzzed again, this time with a friend request. She stared at the name—William Thorne. The last time she’d seen him had to have been at Melissa and Tommy’s wedding. That had been five years ago. It seemed like another lifetime. But they should’ve already been Facebook friends. She’d just seen a bunch of pictures of him from her twenty-first birthday in her Memories update. Had he started a new account or been hacked? Hannah clicked on his profile. They only had thirty mutual friends. Hannah opened her friends list and typed his name into the search bar. Will Thorne. Nothing. An inkling of a memory came back to her—graduation night, too many beers, and Will’s lips on hers for the first and only time.
She jumped as her phone vibrated, shaking the thought of Will and that long-ago kiss from her mind. Brian was here.
Shit, shit, shit. Hannah scrambled to clear the mess, putting the wine glasses in the sink, the pizza box on top of the garbage, and the leftover crusts in the pail. She didn’t need Binx presenting her with a dead mouse in the morning. Brian’s keys sounded outside the door as he fumbled with the dead bolt. He never remembered which key went where. Penguins could be sexy. Not that it mattered. He was probably wearing Star Wars boxers.
“Hannah?”
She stepped into the living room, pulling her hair back in a messy bun. Brian leaned against the back of the couch. He was beautiful—tall but not lanky, athletic but not muscular. His light brown hair fell to his ears and hid the soft green of his eyes. It did her in every time she thought about ending things. She would miss those cheekbones, those bony hips, and the flutter she got every time he acted like the man she knew he could be instead of the boy he insisted on remaining. He’d even forgone the graphic tee tonight, opting for a fitted polo. Small miracles.
He turned to her with a smile, holding out a boutique of red roses clearly from the bodega down the street. “Happy birthday.”
So much for pretending until morning.
Chapter 2Hannah
Binx at her side, a steaming cup of coffee, and Brian’s soft snores coupled with rain pattering against the building made for a perfect morning. Hannah had been sitting on the couch with her feet up for the last twenty minutes, bundled in her favorite hoodie that she’d stolen from Brian. The temperature had dropped overnight, but the heat hadn’t kicked on yet. She breathed in the aroma of her coffee. If only it was the weekend. Hannah loved rainy days with their built-in excuse to stay inside under the covers. The dulcet sounds of a rainstorm calmed her, eliciting memories of childhood movie nights. Her knee, however, did not appreciate the change in pressure. It hurt the most when it rained. Lately, it hurt all the time.
Formative years filled with basketball and volleyball hadn’t done her knees any favors, and a full-on, butt-in-the-air slip on some ice right after college had only added to her problems. All that had been manageable, but then there’d been the car accident last year. Hannah had been prescribed physical therapy, but the marketplace plan she had for catastrophes didn’t cover such luxuries. At least, it didn’t cover them enough to keep both her and Binx housed and fed. Her pain had ebbed and flowed over the last fifteen months.
Hannah had a sneaking suspicion she needed surgery. She stretched out her bad knee, pushing her leg as straight as it would go without pain. She noted the minor swelling with a sigh.
“You really need to do something about that knee.” Brian stood in the doorway of her bedroom, wearing boxers covered in R2-D2s and C-3POs. He watched her with a concerned pout, as if that helped her any.
“It’s just the rain,” she said, bringing her knee back to a comfortable position. “Coffee’s fresh.”
“It’s not just the rain. You’ve been favoring it for weeks.”
Months, actually. It had worsened since that half-marathon she had known better than to run, but she wasn’t going to agree with him.
Brian wrapped his arms around himself. “It’s freezing in here.”
He disappeared into the bedroom, reemerging in the sole pair of pajama pants he kept at her place and the zip-up hoodie he’d arrived in last night. It had been a battle to get him to leave any clothes there because of Binx and his alleged cat allergy. However, after a few frigid nights without heat, he’d brought over a single outfit and pajamas.
“I’m sure it will warm up eventually.”
He zipped the hoodie all the way up. “You really need to talk to your landlord. No one should live like this.”
This is New York City! she wanted to scream. She didn’t have bedbugs. Her rent was a steal considering the fact that she had an elevator and a doorman. She could live with the inconsistent heating situation.
“Is my Claritin in the bathroom?” he asked when she didn’t say anything.
The discontent that resided under Hannah’s ribcage stirred. She lived with it much like she lived with her knee pain—never quite feeling comfortable. She told herself being with Brian was better than being alone, but right now, she felt that discontent spiraling into resentment.
“Babe.”
Hannah glanced toward the kitchen where his voice had come from. Maybe he had decided coffee was more prudent, considering she hadn’t heard him sniffle once in the hours he’d been at her place. Her eyes passed over the roses she had arranged in a vase next to the television. Agitation swelled in her chest. She took a breath. The roses weren’t the problem. She liked roses fine. But didn’t her thirtieth birthday deserve more?
