Chapter 4

• SOCIAL MEDIA was the bane of her everything. On the one hand, she hated it, but on the other, she couldn’t stay away. There was something really damning about looking at the Facebook and Instagram accounts of friends and former lovers and seeing how much they were enjoying the pieces of their lives that didn’t include her.
• She couldn’t think of the last time someone had tagged her in a picture or paused to take selfies with her during an outing only to upload them and brag about it moments later. Then again, she refused to take selfies and rarely went on outings.
• She had no reason to feel sorry for herself, but she did anyway.
• The compulsive decision to check the previous night’s uploads had begun in the cab ride to the Financial District. The journey was only ten minutes, but by the time they rolled up in front of the rounded corner of the massive silver tower she lived in on Spruce Street, her ego had shrunk to the size of a shriveled, dried-out pea.
• She stuffed money in the cabbie’s hand, tipping too large, and bypassed the concierge in a daze. He said something to her, maybe a greeting or a message or a warning that the building was on fire, but she didn’t hear. She was still flicking through Emily's pictures and cringing.
• So many pictures of couples.
• Karen dancing with her new boyfriend. Nunzio trying to make Michael wear a silly hat. Emily and his boyfriend, Landon, in a series of makeup-smeared selfies. And, of course, Susan and David. Hugging, kissing. Susan on David's lap. David pointing at Susan's face while wearing an expression of mock outrage. Susan deadpan in nearly every image. It was charming, and she didn’t want it to be.
• She wanted to hate Susan, but she was so young that it seemed unfair. It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t hold on to David. She’d lost her cherub-faced teacher before Susan had entered the picture. Two years of passive-aggressive behavior and refusal to work on her failings as a girlfriend had led up to David seeking affection elsewhere.
• There were days when she didn’t even blame him.
• It was tempting to go through Susan's and David’s profiles and feed the masochistic demon that lived in her heart, but she didn’t. Instead she kept looking for proof that she’d actually been at the party. She switched to her own profile, skimmed the tagged photos, and saw one that was shockingly flattering.
• Through a black-and-white filter, someone had captured her leaning against the wall of Emily's apartment with a drink in her hand. She was staring out the window, her body looking lean and strong from the angle of the camera while her head tilted against the wall. She remembered that moment. A moment of shame and humiliation that she’d had no one to talk to and nothing to do while everyone roared with laughter and joy behind her. But her inner turmoil came across as brooding in the image. Maybe even sexy.
• She found the name of the uploader and blinked. Oliver
• Well, well.
• Megan's body grew warm, and she felt herself smiling. Without thinking about it, she typed, "Nice picture. Are you sure last night wasn’t planned?"
• As soon as she hit enter, she was hideously embarrassed. But Oliver replied a second later.
• < Oliver: I wish I could take that much credit. ;)
• Emily: ^^^^ Wtf is happening? >
• Megan's phone exploded with activity. Emily sent her a direct message, which she followed with several texts. She skimmed the litany of nosy demands, ignored the inquisition, and didn’t feel much more than vague regret and amusement until she asked her if David knew.
• Shit.
• Intellectually Megan knew David had no reason to care. He’d cheated on her more than once, and now he was living with a beautiful Puerto Rican goddess, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t care. There was something sacred about friendships and exes and love interests, and Megan happened to know that Oliver wasn’t one to pay much heed to those rules.
• But David did. And so did she. Usually.
• She’d recently deleted his number, but she easily punched the string of digits into her phone since she knew it by heart. It rang several times before someone picked up. She’s not sure who. There was a lot of rustling, mumbling, and then a voice said, “It’s your ex.”
• Fucking Susan.
• “Mmm.” David’s sleepy sounds were just as adorable now that they were officially finished with each other. “Hey?”
• “I can call back,” Megan said quickly. “I didn’t mean to disturb.”
• “No, no. ’S fine. What time is it?”
• “I don’t know. One?”
• “Oh shit.” David swore, gasped, and then Megan heard creaking, a muttered protest, and David suddenly sounded more aware. “Fuck. I have so much to do before tomorrow. Damn it. Err. Sorry, Emily. What’s up?”
• Megan felt ridiculous for calling. David was in bed with his lover, and she planned to apologize for... what, exactly? Banging his friend while too drunk to properly remember? He'd probably spent the night on Susan. He wouldn't care. Megan was starting to doubt her reasoning for calling. Had it been a genuine need to inform out of a bizarre sense of duty, or did she just want to know how he would react?
• “Emily?”
• Damn it all.
• “I just wanted to wish you and Susan a happy New Year.”
• “Umm. Okay. Thanks?”
• Irritation replaced any desire to continue the conversation. Megan knew he wasn't trying to annoy her, but somehow his response really did. A lot of little things he did annoyed her. Even the things that had once been charming.
• “Have a good day, David. Good luck with your planning.”
• “Are you—”
• Megan hung up. The phone trilled before she had the chance to set it down. Text message notification. She hoped it wasn't David, but it would be just like him to follow up a phone call with a text. He always did it. Always texted as if he'd forgotten what phones had been made for. But it wasn't David. It was Meredith, her sister.
• Meredith: Did you forget? New Year's brunch? You better be here in five minutes.
• Megan stared at her phone for several seconds before it dawned on her—the tradition her mother had decided they should start. They rarely saw each other on holidays, but a few weeks ago, her mother had ordered Meredith and her to keep their New Year's Day open for a family brunch. Megan couldn't figure out why. Her mother didn't particularly like either of them, and she sure as hell hoped her father wouldn't be there. She hadn't seen him in months, and their last conversation had left something to be desired. Affection, maybe. Or mutual respect.
• She changed out of Oliver's pants, put them aside to be laundered, and nearly took another shower. Bathing in Oliver's apartment had been an almost sexual experience, and she had an impulse to wash it away before seeing her family. She didn't have time, but she kept thinking about the feel of six jets spraying along her body before her mind wandered to uncharted territory.
• What did Oliver look like when he showered? Did he relish the sensation and take his time or dive in and out like other too-busy New Yorkers? Always on the go and never having time to simply sit and enjoy something as simple as a shower, or a cup of tea, or a conversation about everything and nothing without the presence of a phone.
• Oliver didn't strike her as that type, but she didn't know much about him. She wasn't even sure of his age. She'd assumed he was in David's graduate year, but the morning had left her doubting that assumption.
• He had the confidence of someone older, someone who'd experienced enough to know what they liked and had mapped all the pathways to get it. Not that age was a great indicator of experience. Megan was twenty eight and she'd never admitted to wanting hook up until the night before. Just the thought caused heat to sweep through her body.