The Sweetest Fix

She supposed she could try and get a job. But where? She had no waitressing skills. Definitely no office experience. She taught little kids how to shuffle hop and pulled soft serve cones. By the time she found a job she was qualified for, she could be out of money. And anyway, having a job would prevent her from using the meager space of time to attend auditions.

With no solutions forthcoming, Reese did what she usually did in a moment of indecision. She called Lorna.

“Hello, my darling Reese’s Pieces,” Lorna answered slowly, expectantly. Reese could see her mother rocking side to side, toes digging into their old carpet. “Before you tell me if you were chosen by Bexley, I want you to know I’m proud of you, no matter what. Okay?”

Reese’s eyes slid shut, a pang catching her in the breastbone. “Thanks, Mom.” She blew out a breath, finding herself incapable of revealing the depth of her shame. Not even making the audition. It was too hard a pill to swallow herself, let alone ask her mother to share in the grief. “Mom, it’s, um…not going to happen with Bexley. I’m so sorry.”

“Okay!” Lorna said too quickly. “Hey, that’s okay, kiddo. Why would you be sorry? I’m sure you gave it every ounce of effort you had. Did you have fun? That’s what I want to know!”

The only fun she’d had in the last twenty-four hours was with Leo, but there was no point in thinking about that right now. “Mom, I was thinking…and you can say no, of course. Please say no, if it’s better for me to come home. I’ll understand. But—”

“You want to use the Victory Fund.” She could hear the smile in her mother’s voice. “I was kind of hoping you would say that. You’ve never really had a chance to dig in, Reese. You need time in New York. The cash won’t buy you much, but it’s yours. It’s been waiting for you.”

Reese tipped her head back and let out a long breath, relief cascading downward from the crown of her head to her toes. “Are you sure you’ll be okay teaching classes without me?”

Her mother’s voice was warm. Reassuring. “I’m positive, kiddo. Go get ’em.”

After hanging up the call with Lorna several minutes later, Reese took a moment to let the situation sink in. It was really happening. She had the gift of time, thanks to Lorna. Not a lot. But after the sacrifices her mother continued to make for the sake of Reese’s dancing? She wouldn’t let a single second go to waste.

Reese woke up her phone again and tapped open the site advertising short-term sublets she’d been browsing on and off all morning. As soon as the ads went up, they disappeared almost immediately, gone in the wave of competitive New York apartment seekers. Even single room rentals were out of her price range…

A new ad appeared at the top of the feed and Reese sat up straighter.

$100/night. Midtown West.

Was that number a typo?

She could afford that. For a week. Two, even, if she was stingy with her food budget.

Holy shit. This chance was going to vanish in a heartbeat.

It might be early in the morning, but this city never slept. Especially on real estate.

Coming to her feet, Reese tapped the ad, her thumb hovering over the phone number that would connect her with the advertiser. Was she really doing this? Was she going to use her savings on what could be a pipe dream?

The Pikachu’s words floated through her mind with startling accuracy.

You got all the way to New York on a day’s notice and you’re just going to pack it up and go home to friggin’ Wisconsin? At the first sign of an obstacle?

No.

If she was the heroine in a musical, she would pull up her stockings, pick up the new edition of Front and Center, start circling open calls. She wouldn’t let this setback be the end of her hopes and dreams. Doing so would plague her for the rest of her life.

Reese turned in a hoppy circle, then pressed the phone number, blanching when a brisk French-accented voice answered on the first ring. “Oui, hello. You are calling about the room?”

“Yes,” Reese breathed. “Am I the first?”

The woman hummed an affirmation. “I’ll text the address to this number. When you get to the vestibule, ring the bell listed as LaRue. Sixth floor.”

Reese was already fumbling her duffel bag onto her shoulder. “I’m on my way.”

The line went dead. She paced until her screen lit up with a text.

560 11th Avenue.

Wheels were in motion. This was really happening.

Okay, Reese definitely wasn’t the only one who was calling about this room for rent. Most rooms in the city went for double that per night or more, especially in this part of town. Now that the decision to stay in New York had been made, she couldn’t leave anything up to chance. So she ran. All the way up Forty-fourth, hooking left on Eleventh—and it wasn’t lost on Reese that she’d done more cardio trying to make appointments and escaping Leo than she’d done in a month.