Lilly
The subway ride home feels endless, even with Kate dropping me off at the nearest station so I can avoid changing trains. Mallory and I reside on a quiet street in deep Brooklyn, a neighborhood brimming with cultural diversity—a taco truck on one corner, bubble tea on the next. We adore our vibrant surroundings, and though our apartment is cozy, our building boasts charm.
Pushing open the apartment door, I find Mallory brewing coffee in her pajamas adorned with the slogan “Born to Paint. Forced to Work.” It was my gift to her last birthday. I drop my heavy photography bag and drone case with a sigh of relief. Stepping into our space always feels like coming home. Plants flourish in corners, soft throws drape over the furniture, a generous skylight pours light, and walls are adorned with myriad pieces of art.
Mallory greets me with a warm smile, and I inhale the comforting aroma of hazelnut coffee.
"Are you a popsicle?" she teases.
"I may never regain feeling in my hands," I groan dramatically.
"Here." She hands me a steaming mug. "I spiked it with extra hazelnut creamer."
"Perfect. Thank you," I say gratefully, smiling as Mallory shakes her head and settles at the counter, her braids tied up in the bun she wears to bed every night.
"Guess whose engagement photos I was shooting today?" I say, piquing her curiosity.
"Ooh, whose? I hope it's someone famous," she replies, her chair shimmying with anticipation.
"Well, kind of. Michael Bonell," I reveal, making a face.
"No way." Mallory's eyes widen in surprise. "I'm shocked he's getting married. He never struck me as the marrying type."
"My sentiments exactly. But there he was, in a suit. Although he didn't look thrilled," I explain.
"Levi didn't mention he was engaged?" she asks, puzzled.
I glance down at my coffee. "Levi and I don't really talk about Michael. I can't fathom why they're still friends, and he's tired of hearing me complain about it."
Mallory wrinkles her nose sympathetically. "Can't say I blame you. I've never liked Michael either. Sheesh. He and Jonathan always clashed—they're both so strong-willed. I tolerated Jaden, and Levi, well, I love him almost as much as you do. But his best friend? Not so much."
She grabs her phone. "I want to look up this woman though. I bet their engagement is plastered all over the society pages." She taps her screen and scrolls. "Wow, check this out. Or better yet, look it up yourself. There's an article in the New York Star from last week, complete with photos of them."
I nod, intrigued, and reach for my own phone to investigate.
I pull up the article. The headline reads, “Merciless Michael Brought to His Knees by Love?”
“What a corny title.”
“I know. I love it.” Mal grins, and we keep reading.
Michael has been engaged for a week. Or at least, publicly he has. His fiancée is Amora Waldorf, an heiress who grew up not far from him in Connecticut. A childhood friend. Something ugly twists in my stomach, and I set my phone down.
“I guess he’s in love. He must have been waiting for her.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Mal says dryly. “He was a player in college. And now all he does is work. I know you don’t follow the news, but I’ve seen my fair share of articles about Michael. He’s all over the gossip pages, but never for socializing, only for business.”
I’ve avoided all mention of Michael Bonell for years. Mal doesn’t know the whole story, though. I rarely bring him up.
“Was it weird, seeing him?”
“Weird doesn’t even begin to cover it.” I hunch over my mug. It wasn’t weird. It was awful.
She eyes me and sips her coffee. “When was the last time you talked?”
“Almost two years ago. Right before the accident. But for the year before that, things were tense.”
“Tense how?” She raises her brows.
“We had a bad fight about three years ago. We each said things we can’t take back. Michael isn’t the guy we went to college with. Not anymore.” What I don’t mention is all the years where Michael was practically family. All the years of holidays together and his quiet generosity. I miss those days, and I know Levi does too.
“You never told me about a fight.” She frowns. “What fight? I sorta assumed you just drifted apart.”
I sip my coffee. “It’s going to sound stupid, but he ruined a date I was on. He happened to be at the same bar. He joined us at the table and started making inappropriate comments. I don’t remember what he said, but he chased the guy off, and I just lost it.”
“Asshole,” Mal mutters.
“Yeah. And it wasn’t the first time either. He’s made a hobby out of criticizing me. Nothing about me has ever been good enough for him. I got sick of it. So I confronted him. It didn’t go well.”
The memory has played on a loop in my head so many times that it’s easy to bring it up again.
“What kind of man should I be with, Michael? A guy like you?” As soon as I’d uttered the words, I wished I could take them back. His expression had told me he’d rather eat dirt or walk into oncoming traffic than date me. I’d forced a laugh, even as my heart cracked a little. “You’re a player. And you like to take chances. You’d break my heart and then you’d stomp on it.”
He’d responded in a low, vicious voice. “You can do better.”
“Don’t tell me what I want. You might be my friend, but you don’t control me.”
“You don’t know what you want.”
“I know I don’t want you.” A lie. My feelings for Michael hadn’t been clear, but want had not been an issue.
“Well, good thing I wasn’t offering then.”
“Fuck you, Michael.”
“You wish, baby.”
Mal is watching me when I look back at her.
“He’s a hypocrite,” I say. “Like you said, he’s a player. Not to mention dangerous and totally ruthless. He dragged Levi into all manner of dumb shit for years. Not sure where he gets off criticizing my life choices.” I roll my eyes. “And then there was the accident. Levi could have died. As far as I can tell, Michael didn’t care.”
“He’s always been a golden boy,” Mal says.
“Totally. Always comes out on top, even if he caused the problem to begin with. Everything he touches turns out okay. For him at least.” Michael could never understand what Levi and I went through after our parents died. We’ve never had the luxury of a family to fall back on.
And now, there’s no Michael to make sure we stay out too late, no speeding tickets and cops conveniently looking the other way, no stolen wine and bonfires, no surfing trips, no broken bones. And I like it that way.
Mallory and I finish our coffee, and I put the drone away in the top of my closet. I should start uploading and editing the photos from the shoot, especially since Mallory is heading to her studio and I’ll have the whole day alone. Usually, I enjoy it. But sitting here alone, with photos of Michael and his beautiful fiancée? The air feels thin.
“Lilly.”
I turn. Mallory is at my bedroom door in her painting clothes. Faded jeans and sneakers so covered in paint that their original color is unidentifiable.
She’s looking down at her phone, her lips parted.
“What’s wrong? Mal?”
Her head jerks up, her eyes wide. “They’re tearing the building down.”
“What? This building?” In two steps, I’m by her side, looking over her shoulder.
She nods, reading. “We have to be out by the end of the year. Shit.” She meets my eyes, and her expression is bleak. Mal and I are responsible, but we’re still artists. This little apartment in Brooklyn is a lifeline for us. It’s $1000 a month under market, and that was three years ago when we rented it.
“It’s not even that old. What the hell?” I read the email over her shoulder. The eviction date is there in bold letters.
“We knew this was coming,” she responds.
My shoulders slump. Our building is probably being torn down to make way for a new development with apartments that will rent for twice as much, or more, than we pay now. It’s been happening all over the neighborhood, and each new building going up is like the doomsday clock ticking forward.
"I just hoped we’d have more time. I guess we’re lucky to have even to the end of the year. Shit.”
“Shit is right,” Mal agrees. “I looked at some listings with Brianna last month when she moved. It’s at least another $1000 to get a two-bedroom.”
Even with Mal’s parents’ assistance, even with her bartending and my coffee shop job, we can’t afford a $500 increase in rent, much less double. My heart speeds up. I can’t be unstable again. I can’t. Not when it’s taken me years of scraping to get this small slice of independence.
“We just have to start looking.” I blow out a breath. “I’ll pick up some coffee shop shifts in the meantime and try to do more family photoshoots. We’ll save, and we’ll find something else, even if it means moving further out.”
Mal squeezes my shoulder. “We’ll make it work. We have to.”
