After being publicly humiliated in the worst possible way, New York socialite and Magnolia Hotel heiress, Madison Clark, pours out her woes to a psychic. She’s given a “to-go” bag of calming tea that promises rest and relaxation, but instead Madison wakes up in an unfamiliar crappy apartment with a wallet full of maxed-out credit cards and a bank account with a zero balance.

Convinced she’s the victim of identity theft, Madison returns to the psychic’s shop, only to learn the universe – and that freaking cosmic tea – is responsible for the change. She is now living the (poor) life, and the only way to get her (rich) life back is by righting some wrongs, starting with a reconciliation with her estranged father, who is inconveniently about to get married in Montana.

Cue up the good times, because even though she’s got nothing to wear and a pathetically small amount of bills in her wallet, she has to be at the wedding because there’s no time to waste.

But things get even more upside-down when she lands in Montana and is picked up from the airport by the annoyingly attractive Jax, who seems to loathe her at first sight. He’s expecting the party girl he’s seen all over social media, and is taken aback when Madison bounces out of the airport sporting neon overalls and fishing boots. In addition to the many roadblocks of her new life, Madison suddenly finds herself outrunning cows, and competing in beer-chugging competitions while attempting parental bonding.

The more time she spends in Montana, and the more time she spends with Jax, the more she questions her “good life”. Just when things are starting to become clear someone shows up unexpectedly, and all bets are off.

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Release Date: September 17, 2024
Genre: Contemporary

A Pink Satin Romance

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Excerpt

And it was go time! Bartender in the corner shining cocktail glasses: check. Hired wait staff filling trays with delectable appetizers: check. Dolce & Gabbana sleeveless sheer ruched dress (Steve’s favorite): check.

Just off of the kitchen was a long table with shiny silver platters displaying Wagyu Beef, Iberico Ham, Matsutake Mushrooms, Oysters, White Truffles, and balls.

Yes, balls. Everything was catered, but I’d invested in a fruit baller, and, well, I was addicted. On the bright side, I wasn’t addicted to cocaine, just beautifully balled fruit. Did I go overboard? Probably. But people love fruit balls.

“Excuse me.” 

I spun around to see a waiter with Steve’s decadent two-tier birthday cake in his hands. It was a stunning blue marble design; The Cake Gallery in Rockbrook Village never failed me.

“Where should I put this?”

I felt hearts shooting from my eyes as I waved him towards a circular table near the other food, where he carefully placed the magical cake creation. 

“This is just wonderful. Steve is going to flip.”

The waiter nodded and disappeared back into the kitchen. 

I straightened Steve’s law school diploma on the wall as my gaze danced around his apartment. Stunning, of course; it looked and smelled like money with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the magnificent Manhattan skyline and the perfect cigar smoking or sex having balcony. Technically, we’d never had sex out there, but we kissed, so maybe the sex part would happen someday.

It’d been in his family for twenty or fifty years or something like that. Old money. Thank God he had the place gutted last year, and it’s now contemporary and sleek with an Architectural Digest flare, thanks to my fabulous selections and connections. After all, we’d be engaged before I knew it, I was certain, so I wanted to make sure it was perfect for the day I would move in. 

The front door flew open, and Zoey shot in, looking like Chanel, which I could always spot a mile away. My sister was like Beth Dutton from Yellowstone minus the murders and all—a badass. 

Her dress was perfect, with a plunging neckline and sleek silk hugging all the right places. Her auburn hair was a trendy, asymmetrical, chic bob, with her dangly diamond earrings topping off her perfect look. Her friends and some of her hook-ups were up-and-coming designers, so she was always getting amazing clothing and jewelry, making it appear as if she just hopped off a Paris runway. 

 Her eyes darted around the room as she shook her head. “He forgets your birthday two fucking years in a row and gets this?” She walked over and hugged me. “Lucky bastard.” 

Yes, Zoey had a problem with “my-mind-only-thinks-of-my-career” Steve, so the fact that she was there helping me was the equivalent of her shouting, “I love you, Madison” from a mountain top. 

She pulled back and eyed me up and down. “OMG, look at you! You got highlights and swoopy bangs today?” She fluffed my lightened brown hair, tucking a few stray strands in my up-do. “Absolutely stunning.” She pointed to my dress. “Is that Dolce & Gabbana?”

I nodded.

“That’s this season, some serious coin. Can I borrow that for the Dua Lipa party?”

“When is that?” 

“Miami, two weeks.” Zoey made her way over to the bar. “Mom is going to flip when she hears I blew the budget out of the water.” Zoey pointed to the bottle of whiskey, and the bartender poured her a glass.

“The hotel has a huge budget. How’d you do that?” 

She flashed a smile at the bartender and slurped a drink. “Hellooo? It’s Dua Lipa’s big birthday. Her people said they were deciding between Vegas or our hotel in Miami, so I pulled out all the stops. To keep the Magnolia Hotels relevant on social media, we need to keep hosting the big boys.”

My mom’s side of the family had known this long before there was a social media. I thought of the Grammy after parties and all the events even when I was a kid, and I knew Zoey was right, and so would my mother. 

“How’s everything going for Justin Timberlake’s movie premiere party?” Zoey slammed the rest of her drink. 

“Everything is locked down. I’m just thrilled to have over a week before I head to L.A. I need a little down time.” I’d literally been zipping between our New York and L.A. hotels over the past month, and I was mentally and emotionally exhausted. I would add physically, but I could still move my pinky toe, so not quite there yet. 

Zoey gave me a side-eyed look. “You could come to Dad’s wedding with me.”

“Uh, that’s a hard no, thank you.” 

“Come on; you have to get over this. Listen, I leave tomorrow morning for an event, and I’m just flying to Montana a few days before the wedding. What could a few days hurt? This could be an opportunity for you to get a step closer to rebuilding something with Dad.” 

I didn’t want to be stubborn, but I hadn’t had success fighting myself on that front. “I don’t know how you got over him leaving when we were kids. He just left us for Montana...and cows.” Yes, he left his only daughters for freaking cows. 

“Last year, I decided I was being pissy and let it all go. Now, will you put on your mother truckin’ big girl panties and grow up? You know Mom was impossible. How they ever thought a marriage between a hotel heiress and a struggling artist practically living out of his Chevy truck would turn out to be anything more than a shit show is beyond me, but it wasn’t entirely his fault.

“Still, he chose to leave—”

Zoey’s hand shot up. “She divorced him and was remarried within a year. Yes, it sucks that he moved so far away, but Lord knows New York wasn’t him, so he went back to the only place he knew and felt like himself.” She put her glass down. “He tried to persuade us to visit as teens. We were the ones who didn’t want to.”

“But he just stopped trying. I know it’s stupid, but I’m not ready.” Why couldn’t I let this go? I felt a fury in my gut when I thought about him and his new life.

Zoey walked over and yanked me in for a hug. “I know I can’t rush you.” She pulled back and brushed another piece of hair from my face, something she had done my entire life. “A part of me wants to gag you and drag you with me, but I know you’ll get to this place when you’re ready.” 

Wow, Zoey sounded like she had her shit together.

A sly grin made its way across her lips. “But if you don’t get to that place soon, I’ll have to kick your ass all the way to Montana myself.” 

There she was. Zoey’s a baller, and that evil grin reminded me that she’s capable of scaring anyone when she turns it on. She says if you don’t terrify people a little, what’s the point? I’ve seen her tear businessmen and contractors apart if they’re trying to pull a fast one just because she’s a woman or when it comes to cost. You don’t mess with Zoey or the Magnolia Hotel’s money. 

A male friend in college was gaga over sexy Zoey. I’d always thought pretty and sexy were the same thing, but it turns out that was a “no.” He shared with me that pretty women were attractive or endearing, while sexy women oozed an exciting sexual energy that made men almost able to see what their eyes and lips would look like while they were in the throes of passion. (Okay, I said throes of passion. He said going to pound town.) As his friend, he claimed I didn’t fall into either category. Yeah, hearing that felt as good as a wax strip being ripped off during a Brazilian. 

Sexy or pretty, I looked at my sis, knowing she always had my back, in addition to having a huge problem with Steve. “So, what did you tell Mr. Wonderful in order to pull off this shindig?” She scooted over to the food table and straightened a platter.

“That I wouldn’t be back from L.A. until tomorrow. I’m so glad this has all come together.” 

She rolled her eyes, and I enthusiastically flipped her the bird.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, my eyes traveled around the room at the forty guests who’d taken time out of their lives to be there. I felt grateful. Kim and Sonja were standing by Steve’s private elevator, waiting for the ping.  Sonja waved her hands in the air at the same time she and her large bouncing breasts started jumping up and down, causing quite a spectacle.  “He’s on his way up!”

I stood in front of everyone as Zoey walked up beside me, hit the light switch, and the room faded to black.

 “Hey, bitches in the back, shut up!” Zoey had a magical way with words. 

It was Steve’s birthday, and I suddenly wondered if he’d gone out drinking or something crazy. Steve was an ass when he drank. Mouthing off to the wrong person would result in him getting his ass handed back to him and a sprint home from the embarrassment of it.

After a moment, the elevator doors opened, and the bright light streamed in behind him like the spotlight of a great play. I heard a gasp escape my mouth, and my eyes twitched uncontrollably, while my heart pounded loudly in my ears.

There before the room was Steve, who was chest to chest with a woman, his hands holding her ass while he kissed her passionately before pushing her against the wall. My knees started to tremble, and in a split second, my hands joined in as well. 

I wanted to shoot past him and disappear from the forty party guests behind me, witnessing the most humiliating thing I’d ever experienced. But my body weighed one thousand pounds, and time stood still as I watched Steve nearly suck the face off of the woman in front of him. 

I saw Zoey move out of the corner of my eye. She flipped on the lights and grabbed an umbrella from the stand close to the door.

“I’m going to kill you! I’m not afraid of prison, you son of a bitch!” Zoey lunged, and Steve’s friends Andy and Cole held her back. 

Steve spun around, stunned, while the red-cheeked woman next to him hung onto the wall for dear life, her mouth wide open in such a way she could probably catch all the flies in the city. 

“I’m coming for you, bitch!” Zoey struggled mightily to get free from the men’s grasp as the woman turned and disappeared back into the elevator, frantically pressing the buttons.

 Steve’s eyes were the size of saucers as he looked at his closest friends staring back at him before turning to me. A bead of sweat rolled down my back as my stomach churned. I was pretty sure I might puke right there in the living room. In front of forty party guests. I wanted to disappear, praying, please, for the love of God, let the floor beneath me drop so I can plunge into hell.

“This isn’t what it looks like.” Stupid Steve was kind of talking to the whole room while he walked in slow motion toward me. 

The stabbing in my chest was turning to rage because, with every step he took toward me, the bright pink lipstick that peppered his face became clearer.

 “I think I was drugged.” He rubbed his forehead, looking at me hopefully.

“You lying sack of shit!” Zoey’s voice was strong and scary.

Steve stopped in front of me. “Shut up, Zoey!”

He suddenly looked different. I mean, not only because of the lipstick all over his face in a shade that only a whore would wear, but because I knew this was it. I hadn’t realized how much I’d tied him to my future until that moment. Maybe it was how desperate I’d been to not be single anymore, to forget all of the relationships of the past that sucked. The ache in my heart was excruciating, every bit of my energy drained.

His green eyes met mine. “This isn’t what you think.” 

I could feel the eighty eyeballs in the room boring into the back of my head as he reached out and took my hand in his. The feel of his touch made something explode inside of me. The hand he’d just been using to feel up a questionable woman he may have found on the street was on my arm, and before I knew what was happening, I’d punched him in the kisser—his dirty, dirty kisser. As he stumbled back, I kicked him in the balls, and he fell to the floor with a thunderous thud.

Zoey broke free of the men holding her and threw her arms in the air. “Yes!”

She snatched my hand while I looked down at Steve, rocking from side to side on the floor. Zoey grabbed the birthday cake from the table, handed it to me before she grabbed a bowl of melon balls, and we walked towards the door. She screeched to a halt and looked down at Steve.

“Looks like you’ve got some blood on your teeth, Steve. Stay away from my sister, or you will be the strange smell coming from my attic.”

Ten minutes later, I sat on the curb, ruining my new gown, watching Zoey smear the cake on Steve’s windshield. Around the corner was Cahill Avenue, a picturesque street lined with adorable shops and restaurants, the sound of laughter ringing out in the distance. Everyone down the street seemed to be having a great night while I sat on the curb with a wedgy and the fleeting thought that I almost chose not to wear panties under this dress. Seems I made the wrong choice.

Zoey skipped over and pulled me up with her cakey hands. “Your turn.” She grabbed the bowl of melon balls and threw one at the car.

 “Zoey, this is stupid.”

She set the bowl on the curb before passionately grabbing a handful of the balls and placing them in my hand. 

“Go.”

My eyes did a quick scan of the street before throwing one languidly at the car. It did feel kind of amazing. I threw one and then another, the strength in each pitch growing, and before I knew it, Zoey and I were cheering each other on as we melon-balled the car. It was exactly what I needed. Well, until we saw the cop car heading in our direction with its siren blaring. 

“Shit!” Zoey grabbed my hand, and we started hauling ass until we reached a large group of people standing on the busy sidewalk outside of The Bierstube bar. We tried to blend in, laughing with them as if we were part of their group, and then pushed our way inside, no one the wiser. 

Two dirty martinis later, my phone was buzzing. My forehead throbbed as I looked at some of the messages. 

Several friends who’d been at the party messaged, wanting to make sure I was okay. Are you fucking kidding me? Was I okay? I sighed and tried to push down my ill-tempered thoughts. They were just being good friends, after all. Good friends I’d never be able to face again.

I imagined the tale of tonight being told at every surprise party for decades to come. The poor socialite who was blind-sided in front of everyone she knew when her boyfriend was caught red-handed sucking the face off of some woman in front of everyone. Shit. 

I felt a kick in my chest when I read a message from Steve’s mom saying she did, in fact, think he was drugged and that he loved me very much. Poor, delusional lady.

Next, I saw the messages from Steve. I guess it was what you’d expect after the shit hit the fan. He wanted to talk and meet, blah, blah, blah. I messaged back that I didn’t want to see him and if he showed up at my apartment, I’d call the cops.

 

Steve:

Can I please just talk to you tomorrow?

Me:

Go to hell. This is so done.

 

“You know, it’s really not horrible how things went down tonight.” Zoey took a long drink of her whiskey.

“Please don’t try to make me feel better.” 

“Now you don’t have to have that awkward moment when you see a friend and they ask how you and Steve are. They already know. It’ll save you lots of time.” 

I cut my eyes at her with my you’re not funny warning. “I just want to go home.”

“Do you want to stay at my place? We could have a sleep-over, get totally wasted, and order Godfather’s Pizza. I know you love their cheesy bread.” She nudged my shoulder with hers. “I won’t tell anyone you ate like a plebeian.”

That got a smile from me.

A slick looking fella with an old school mafia flare sporting jeans and a button-down shirt stopped by the table with his eyes locked on Zoey. 

“Well, if it isn’t Dan Kirchner.”

“Hey there, Zoey. It’s been too long. What’re you drinking?”  Zoey sat back in her chair, her eyes traveling up and down the man with a grin on her face nearly as dirty as the martini in front of me. “Whisky straight.”

“Still a badass, I see.” He leaned in closer. “I tried calling you last week. I wanted to take you out. Wine and dine you, only the best for Zoey. Would you ladies like to join me for a birthday party at The House of Yes tonight?”

Dry air hit the back of my throat, and while I tried to breath, my lungs were paralyzed. “A birthday party? A birthday party? How can this even be happening?” Once I finally got oxygen into my body I realized that was it. That was the moment I was going to lose my shit. The train had left the station, and there was no turning back. I felt the tears streaming down my cheeks; it was beyond an ugly cry face. I was blubbering, had snot running out of my nose, and it was uncontrollable. The humiliation and blinding pain of the cheating prick took over.

Zoey walked around the table and wrapped her arm around me. I glanced up to see Dan cringing in horror, which made the tears flow faster. Then I felt it. When I started coughing, I stood up quickly, looking for the bathroom because, at that moment, I found out I could cry hard enough to start gagging and vomit melon balls and martinis all over myself and Dan’s shoes.

The restaurant patrons all stepped aside, watching my puke-covered-self approach the bathroom. Once inside, Zoey helped me clean up while I kind of pulled myself together. 

“Okay, Sis, let’s get you home.” Zoey’s eyes and rare non-sarcastic tone told me how completely sorry she felt for me. We were just about to leave the bathroom when two women entered, one stopping and pulling Zoey in for a hug.

“It’s great to see you, Tawnee and Ellen.” She nodded at each. “This is my sister Madison.”

“Nice to meet you,” I croaked out, hoping my breath didn’t smell like complete garbage.

Ellen shot Zoey a sweet smile. “Would you both like to join us for a drink?” 

Zoey smiled. “We’d love to, but it’s, uh, turned into kind of a girls’ night for us. But we’re having a party at the Magnolia here in New York on the thirteenth. Would you both like to come and catch up?”

“That sounds perfect.” Tawnee smiled and threw her arms around Zoey again as if she had just been handed the keys to the kingdom. “Can’t wait.”

* * *

Zoey and I shuffled down Jackson Street in Old Market arm and arm while I was feeling numb and smelling funky from the vomit and all. Zoey had gotten the chunks off my dress with a wet paper towel, but it was still bad. 

I looked on at all the people around me who hadn’t seized the wrong effing day. Who hadn’t put their hearts in the hands of a lying cheater. 

Two thoughts zipped through my mind at that moment. One, I wanted to go back in time and bitch slap myself for my many horrible, horrific, and awful choices. I put so much time into someone who I’d tried to squeeze into my “forever guy” mold. My second thought was that I wanted to punch myself in the throat for ever uttering the phrase “forever guy.” Stupid, stupid, and more stupid.

That’s when we saw it. In front of us was a couple walking hand in hand when suddenly the man turned and dropped to one knee, pulling a ring box from his pocket. I couldn’t help but wonder what level of hell I was actually in. Are you fucking kidding me?

Zoey let out a groan. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I guess sisters do think alike.

After chowing down a hot dog from a street vendor, which Zoey agreed was disgusting but delicious, I was hoping I wouldn’t hurl for the second time in one night. As we strolled along, I glanced to my left to see a small shop, the door propped open with a rock. In the window was a sign that read, “Psychic.” 

Zoey squeezed my hand. “We have to go in there.” 

I was intrigued, and my life was in the damn ditch, so what the hell. “Okay.”

Inside, the small shop was dimly lit with heavy draperies in the entry area. A short woman in her fifties walked in from a side door with dark hair piled on top of her head in a bun and a yellow skirt flowing in tandem with her movements. 

“Welcome.”

“Hi, we were just a little curious.” I turned away to quickly deal with the wedgy that wouldn’t quit.  “I haven’t noticed your shop before.” 

“Well, there are certain times in life when we end up exactly where we should be. Come in, sit for a moment.” Her grin was warm. 

She gave me a wink before grabbing our hands and pulling us to a small wooden table with three chairs. She leaned forward on the table, and her eyes examined me closely. “How are you?”

“Um, good. I’m good.” I felt a ping of guilt for lying to the psychic. Could she tell I was lying? Could she smell the noxious odor of vomit and hot dog onions emitting from my person? What was the quickest way to get out of there?

“You’re good?” She looked at me like my second-grade teacher did when she knew I was telling a big old fib. Again, what was the fastest way out of that joint?

Her voice was soft. “You’re hurting.”

Shit, had she been at the party? 

“I—"

“Just think of me as a listener.” Her eyes twinkled. “Sometimes just having the ear of a stranger who is outside of the situation can be good and make you feel a little lighter.” 

“That’s really nice and all, but I’m kind of a private person. But thanks, though.” 

Zoey shook her head. “Stop. This is Madison. Her life imploded tonight. Can you help her?” 

“Zoey!” Four eyes were judging me.

“What? The first step to fixing things is to deal with the truth, right? Maybe she can help.” 

I shrugged, realizing I didn’t even know what in the hell had happened to my life anymore. The psychic reminded me of my Grandma Fern. Who knew? Maybe she could help somehow. (The psychic, not Grandma Fern.) “She’s right. I don’t know what I’m doing. Sometimes I’m wrong, so wrong about things. Basically, my decision-making skills when it comes to men are as good as a squirrel crossing the street.” 

 “Truth. She doesn’t even need alcohol to make a bad decision.” Zoey passionately nodded. “Madison deserves great things like a fairy godmother who can help her. Don’t we all have fairy godmothers watching over us or some shit?”

 “Well, I’m pretty sure my fairy godmother is drunk in a corner somewhere. I’ve wasted so much time and energy on a man who clearly didn’t give a crap about me.” 

She looked at me thoughtfully. “I see.”

My voice cracked. “I’ve had many failed relationships, but I truly thought he was the one. You know? I just wanted to be right about that, but now I realize I’m just an idiot.”

“Pain can bring growth.”

Really? Is she really telling me this right now? “Well, I don’t want to sound bitchy or anything, but that advice sucks.” 

She let out a sigh. “I agree. It’s not easy to hear when it’s so fresh. But you will come to see when you look back, that this was a time that made you grow into a stronger woman.” 

Growth from a cheating bastard? WTF? “Okay, I don’t really like where this is going. I thought maybe you could help me out. That you had a voodoo doll or something in the back that could come in handy on a night like tonight.”

Her head dropped back as she laughed. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m a psychic, not a magician.” 

Why in the hell was I there to begin with? “Then tell me what to do. I make terrible decisions when it comes to men. I just hate everything about my life right now.”

“You hate your life?” She raised a brow.

“No, well, today I do. I hate it all today. I wish things were different.” She blurred in my vision as tears returned. “I wish I was different.”

She pulled a little package of tissues from her pocket and pushed it across to me.

“Things can be different.” She put her hand over mine. “You’re young; so much time for you to find your way.”

Zoey cleared her throat. “Can you just tell her what to do? What would help her?”

“I can tell you that you will get through this and come out the other side a stronger, wiser person.” 

I didn’t even try to conceal my eye roll. “Whatever.”

She took my hand in hers and leaned forward. “Do you want to be different? To get to a new place in life and be the best version of yourself?”

Her eyes zeroed in on my own. “Yes.”

She nodded her head. “I believe it’ll happen.” She patted my hand once more and let it go. “And you don’t have to fly off to Los Angeles next week to find it.”

Zoey slammed her hand on the table. “Shut the front door! How did you know she was going there next week?”

She stood up.

“We all have our talents.” She reached to a shelf behind her and grabbed something before turning back to me. She placed an adorable little teacup and tea bag in my hand. “I want you to have this.”

“Oh, I can’t. It’s just precious.” 

“I insist. Drink the tea before you go to bed. It’ll calm your mind and help you sleep. Tomorrow is a new day.”

“Well, thank you. What do I owe you?” 

“Nothing at all. Just take care of yourself.” 

* * *

Zoey and I shared a cab, and I felt the first bit of relief as I was dropped at my Fifth Avenue apartment in the Ascend building. My place had made my heart sing since the moment I bought it. But, until a few hours ago, I was certain I’d be selling soon and jumping into my new life as Mrs. Steve Hamburg. Sigh.

I was disappointed when I got off on the twenty-fifth floor and arrived at my door and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Steve hadn’t been there. How dare he, am I right? I mean, I told him to stay away, but nothing? I threatened the cops, but I wasn’t worth a possible arrest? Watching his tongue assault a woman wearing hot pink lipstick in front of every friend I had didn’t deserve a bouquet of flowers with a note that would NEVER win me back? 

My tummy dipped when I wondered if he’d gone to her. After the worst surprise party in the history of the world, had he gone to her? Yeah, he texted me with apologies, but did he go to finish eating her lipstick?

I was curious how long. Was it something that was going on when we slept together on Tuesday? Or did he meet her at a bar tonight? No, I wasn’t going to go down that rabbit hole. 

I couldn’t let myself think about how passionately he was kissing her. Did we ever have passion like that? Steve was normally a little vanilla in the bedroom, but it’d always been good enough. However, I didn’t think we ever looked like what was replaying in my mind on a loop.

No. I wasn’t going to go there either. I needed to move fast to escape from the thoughts that could put me into a funk for weeks. I needed to de-Steveify my apartment. 

I started by flinging everything off my balcony. Anything Steve had to go. I almost threw his shaving kit over the rail but realized it would likely knock someone on their ass after sailing down twenty-five stories, so I stuck to clothing. Who wouldn’t love to be on the sidewalk below when top of the line suits dropped down like gifts from heaven?

 I was providing a service to all New Yorkers as I tossed over an array of Giorgio Armani two-piece suits in the on-trend colors of the season as well as my favorite Aragona blue squared suit, which was 100% wool. I would know this because I was the dumbass who wasted countless hours with the wussy man who couldn’t decide on a damn suit by himself. 

Next were his beautiful, crisp dress shirts that were in just about every color under the sun. Some solid, some stripes, and I wouldn’t dare send over those lovely shirts without the stunning cufflinks that must be worn with them. Gold, silver, monogram, and diamond all took flight, and for a moment, I felt like fucking Santa Clause. YOU ARE WELCOME, NEW YORK.

Although I’d already thrown up once, I cracked open a bottle of wine and decided to focus on something else. There are some sounds I just love: the cork popping out of a bottle, the crackling of a toasty fire, and fall leaves crunching under my feet. But at that moment, I was also adding the snapping of the necks of anyone who did me wrong. 

I had a maid service who showed up religiously every Thursday, but when I was upset, my go-to was kitchen cleaning. While I pulled out my yellow rubber gloves from under the sink, I found an old pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Zoey and I would smoke on occasion if we had cocktails, and at that moment, it felt right. 

For the next hour, I sat on my kitchen floor, using a brush to clean the grout between the tiles. I cry-sang to my “Pissed Off” playlist of Olivia Rodrigo and Adele while I scrubbed the grout with one yellow-gloved hand, a cigarette dangling from the other. 

By the time one a.m. rolled around, I was mentally and physically done in, and my head was throbbing. I made the tea in the little cup that the psychic had given me and was happy when my eyelids got heavy. I snuggled into bed and made a drunken vow to myself that I was going to get my life on track starting tomorrow. It had to get better, right?

 

 

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