She laughs. "Get him back. Tell him to break a leg. Actually—" She grabs my phone. "How about I tell him then I hide this from you for the rest of the day?"
"That seems wise."
She taps a few buttons on my phone. "This will show him. The bastard, wishing you a happy birthday."
"You're the worst."
"I know."
The matcha green tea pancakes are fucking fantastic. After breakfast, we take the subway to midtown and wander up from Times Square to Central Park. It's a beautiful day. The sun is bright, the sky is blue, the air is chilly but not cold. My coat is enough to keep me warm, even wearing only my low-cut corset top under it.
It's not a crime wanting to look hot. It doesn't ease heartbreak but it doesn't hurt.
Guys give me plenty of attention on our walk and during our late lunch at a mediocre chain Mexican restaurant. But none of them look at me the way Ethan does, like I fix some broken part of them, like I'm the only thing they've ever wanted.
I try to push thoughts of him aside on our subway ride back to somewhere (Athena is in charge and she isn't giving me any details), but it only works so well. My mind keeps going back to his smile, his eyes, the locked heart tattooed on his chest.
There's life on the subway. A woman is coming home from the park with her daughter. Two nannies with babies in strollers are trading gossip. A few businessmen and women are heading back to the office post lunch break.
Even in the sleepiest part of town, late in the afternoon, New York City is alive with energy.
Even at its best and most beautiful, New York City doesn't feel like home.
I miss the beach, I miss the temperate afternoons, I even miss the deep purple walls in my bedroom.
And my parents.
And everyplace I ever went with Ethan.
Athena squeezes me. "Guys are the worst, huh?"
"After you."
She nods. "Well, after me then you."
I laugh but it doesn't break up the tension in my shoulders. Athena is a great friend but friendship isn't going to soothe my broken heart.
We joke about a mutual professor (turns out marketing majors take tons of math classes) for the rest of the ride. When we get off the subway downtown, I focus on the spectacular skyscrapers, the yellow taxicabs, the crisp smell of the air, the deep blue of the Hudson River.
It's beautiful here too, but it will never feel like home.
Despite everything I hate about Orange County—the superficiality, the commercialism, the strip malls on every corner—it feels like home.
Maybe even without Ethan.
My thoughts fall aside as Athena grabs my wrist. "Careful, that cab almost mowed you down"
Sure enough, there's a honking horn echoing through the air. I take a better look at my surroundings. It's too early for rush hour.
Still, I pay attention to my steps as Athena leads me. After a few more blocks, we enter a totally nondescript bar.
It's just as average inside. The walls and furnishings are all wood. There's a small stage set up with cheap-looking instruments for a four- or five-piece band.
"Please tell me we aren't watching a live show," I say. "I'm not in the mood for a concert."
"There may be music, yes." She points me to a seat in front of the stage. "There may be men taking off their clothes. There may be revelations. There may be secrets."
I throw her some serious side eye as I take my seat.