Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Trisha’s dropping off my boxes at the post office today and with those last three shipped, everything I own will be delivered to 55 Thompson Street, apartment 617 in gorgeous SoHo. I owe her more than a few drinks when she finally comes to visit me. I hope she comes sooner rather than later.
I’ll be alone in the city, and my one friend is all the way across the country now.
Trish’s brother, Brett, is technically a friend as well, and he’s always been kind to me. He’s also technically in New York but friends with Madox, so there’s no fucking way I’ll be contacting him. None of those guys will be getting a message from me to let them know I’m back. No. Fucking. Way.
They were a tight crew back then and I know Brett, or any of the guys for that matter, would tell Madox I’ve returned. So that shit’s not happening. No matter how much I miss everyone. I left our entire group of friends – basically my family — and I up and left without a word, tagging along with Trish.
A heavy exhale leaves me slowly as I watch the clouds surround us.
I don’t even want to think about them. So yeah, I won’t be reaching out to any of them, but if worse comes to worst, I know Brett would be there for me. He’s a last resort.
At the thought of what I left years ago – and why – the knots in my stomach tighten and I have to readjust in my seat, pulling out the magazine I bought during my two-hour wait at the terminal.
I’d rather think about Madox and all the dirty shit he did to me than what his group of friends – my former friends – will think of me coming back.
The plane dips and so does my stomach, as if it’s some sign to stop thinking about him, but in true fashion, it only causes a blush to rise to my cheeks. When all’s said and done, I’m left feeling like I’m hiding a secret from however many people are on this plane, holding a wrinkled issue of the most recent edition of Elle Décor in my hands.
Oops.
I take a minute to smooth it out, trying to pull myself together. Soon I’ll be able to afford something in these glossy pages.
The clouds stream past on the other side of the cool window and I watch until they’re beneath us and we’re riding in nothing but a vibrant hue of blue.
It’s better for me that I take this position, even if it is in New York. I don’t know how many times I’ve told myself that. It’s best that I work for a company with an established background and steady clients lined up. I’m damn good at what I do, and things are finally going my way.
I know how to turn failing businesses around and I can spot an error in marketing faster than a new bakery can post to Instagram with a rookie mistake – perfectly decorated cupcakes, plus a sink full of dirty dishes in the background. Love is in the details, and I know every damn detail that matters.
But I’m young for the industry, in my mid-twenties. San Francisco was … expensive. Bills added up and I’m ashamed that I couldn’t afford it all myself. I took a risk investing everything that I had into myself, my brand, my company.
I have to swallow hard after the next breath. Pride is a lumpy fucker. I was going to let Trish keep bailing me out and covering my half of the rent. But this is a stable job with no risk. It’s where I could hope to be ten years from now on my own. This job is a blessing, even if it’s coming after falling a little short on my own.
I’d do it all over again if I could. I’ll always invest in myself and my passions. Even if I had to work for free just to fill out a résumé. That’s where I went wrong, I think. I felt bad for people I knew could succeed if only their branding were more to market, if only they invested in advertising, if only they managed their social media better… if only, if only, if only. If only I’d charged them what I should have, instead of going above and beyond, all while working pro bono.
At least word got around that I’m good at what I do. It was worth it. For a position as a branding advisor in Candor Designs, the most sought-after marketing firm in the country.
It was worth it, and everything happens for a reason. I may not have made money, but I made a damn good name for myself.
As I’m toeing my satchel back under the seat in front of me, I barely look up and catch the flight attendant telling me about the drink cart and how only cards are accepted. The smile on my face is a genuine response. I open the magazine pretending I’m not still thinking about my first love and how every minute that passes, I’m getting that much closer to him.