The Marriage Rival
“I haven’t been back for almost two years,” I say, watching outside the window. “It just feels so…”
“Surreal?” Sandy beams, resting her hand on mine. “Like a void you couldn’t quite fill, but now it’s like… oh.”
I nod, resting my head against the seat with a relaxed smile.
“It’s hard to pinpoint sometimes, what it is exactly about this place that makes it so incredible.”
“To quote Tom Wolf, ‘one belongs to New York instantly,’” Sandy says, wistfully.
“I can’t believe we were here at the same time.”
“I can.” Sandy grabs my hand, and I ignore Haden’s voice rattling inside my head. He is known for exaggerating, and Sandy only has good intentions when it comes to our friendship. “Remember how much we talked about it? How we would lay in bed and list all the things we were going to do.”
I chuckle, softly. “We were going to perform on Broadway, but I can’t sing.”
“And I can’t dance.”
“We were going to go to a deli and order the largest pastrami sub sandwich ever.”
Sandy’s laughter joins my own. “Ironic because I turned vegetarian.”
I sigh, turning out to the window again. “We were young, you know. So full of dreams. It would have been different, life, if you were in it.”
“We can’t change the past, believe me,” she notes, with dark amusement. “But we can definitely change the future.”
Although it is night here on the East Coast, it is early evening back home. My body, surprisingly, is far from tired as excitement runs through my veins. For the first time in a long time, I begin to feel like my old self again, ignoring the memories of back home.
New York had a way of making you trade-in stargazing for soul-searching, no matter what age. My journey as a woman is still on the forefront of my mind. And it becomes clearer as we drive over the bridge, where I had become Mrs. Cooper, Haden’s wife and Masen’s mother.
I don’t know who the hell Presley is anymore.
The cab driver slams his foot on the brakes, cussing something to a car ahead.
The sounds of cars honking are nostalgic, the steam rising from the sewer grates as people walk past. The city’s littered with lights and people. It’s impossible to feel alone even at this time of the night.
I take it all in—the sights, the people, the noise—everything takes me back to a time when life was easy.
The cab driver pulls in front of The Plaza Hotel, stopping his meter with a friendly smile. After paying the fare and overpriced tip which I had forgotten about since I never take cabs in LA, we step inside the grand entrance, taking in the luxurious ambiance of the main lobby.
“I don’t think I’ve ever stayed in this hotel,” I mumble, admiring the large chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
“This would have been one month’s rent for me back in the day,” Sandy points out. “Your husband certainly knows how to spoil you.”
“My husband?” I look at Sandy, shaking my head to correct her. “This was me. And why not? We work hard, right? Haden won’t be happy, but who cares.”
Her lips curve upward into a smile, and with a small squeal, we move toward the reception desk and check ourselves in.
The staff is lovely, accommodating our requests and gives us keys to our rooms.
“I guess I’m going to call it a night.” Sandy lets out a yawn. “Early morning run in Central Park?”
“When you say run, did you mean walk?”
“Yes.” She laughs, hugging me to say goodnight. “Sleep well, beautiful.”
I check into the room, my jaw dropping when I walk in. The room has a king-size bed with a view of Central Park. There’s a minibar stocked with overpriced items.