minute?” Her big, blue eyes rolled to the back of her head as her hand clutched her chest.
I squinted my eyes and tried not to smile. “He was attractive, yes.”
“Where’d you find him?”
“He lives on my street. He was out walking when I fell. He helped me back to my place. He’s just a kind stranger. That’s all.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Jamison.”
“Does he know yours?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re not strangers,” Mia said. “You get his number?”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with my dating life.”
I didn’t date. I hadn’t dated since I’d arrived in the city. I lived and breathed my work. Besides, not loving someone meant not worrying about losing them. The two people I’d loved the most in my life had slipped through my fingers like sand.
“Because you’re twenty-four years old,” Mia said, squaring her shoulders with mine. “You’re freaking beautiful. You’re kind and funny and smart. You’re living in the greatest city in the entire world. And you sit at home every night with your easel. You need to be living your life, Sophie. You’re not getting any younger.”
I smiled as I walked off. Mia was the big sister I never had and a surrogate, big-city mother all wrapped into one opinionated little package.
“Ask him out.” She followed me to the front of the store.
I balked. “You want me to knock on every door of his apartment building until I find him?”
“Whatever works.”
Both my head and my ankle throbbed, despite the generous 800mg of ibuprofen I’d washed down with my coffee that morning. I’d forgotten to take the meds Dr. Bledsoe had given me. I’d never had to take prescriptions for anything before, and it was hard getting in the habit. I raised my hands to my head, massaging the tension from my scalp and working my way to the back of my neck.
“Headache again?” Mia asked with concerned eyes. I hadn’t told her everything yet.
“I told you I went to the doctor, right?”
Mia clicked on the “open” sign and headed behind the cash register, cleaning off counter with a bottle of Windex and a roll of paper towels. “I think so.”
I took a deep breath. She had to know. I might have to miss work, and she’d wonder what was wrong. “I have an unruptured brain aneurysm.”
“What?” Mia stopped wiping off the counter, frozen in position. “Say that again?”
“It’s there,” I said, rubbing the base of my skull. “Just waiting for the right time to rupture.”
“They can fix that, right?” she asked, staring at me like I was a dead woman walking. “Surgeries and treatment and stuff?”
I nodded, eyes concentrating on the scuffed, vintage tile beneath my feet. “We’re going to try.”
“So what does your doctor say?” she asked.
“I have a neurologist, Dr. Bledsoe, but he wants me to meet with some fancy neurosurgeon,” I said. “Dr. Garner. Supposedly, brain aneurysms are his specialty and he’s really hard to get into. I have to wait until January.”
“No,” Mia said, slapping her hand against the counter. “Demand to be seen sooner.”
I laughed. “It doesn’t work that way.”
Mia’s lips began to tremble.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I said.
She lifted a single finger to the corner of her eye, dabbing away a tear that’d begun to form as her eyes misted. “I don’t want to hear this, Sophie. Not before Christmas. Not with our big plans about to take shape.”
Our big plans.
She was renovating her shop, turning the front half into a posh art gallery to exhibit both of our works. We had the same vision, she and I, and we were going to make it in the cutthroat world of art peddling. She just happened to have a hefty trust fund to help fund our little endeavor, getting us space in a prime Tribeca location.
“I’m going to be fine,” I assured her. “Whatever’s meant to happen will happen.”
“You tell me if you need anything, okay?” she said, her
I squinted my eyes and tried not to smile. “He was attractive, yes.”
“Where’d you find him?”
“He lives on my street. He was out walking when I fell. He helped me back to my place. He’s just a kind stranger. That’s all.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Jamison.”
“Does he know yours?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re not strangers,” Mia said. “You get his number?”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with my dating life.”
I didn’t date. I hadn’t dated since I’d arrived in the city. I lived and breathed my work. Besides, not loving someone meant not worrying about losing them. The two people I’d loved the most in my life had slipped through my fingers like sand.
“Because you’re twenty-four years old,” Mia said, squaring her shoulders with mine. “You’re freaking beautiful. You’re kind and funny and smart. You’re living in the greatest city in the entire world. And you sit at home every night with your easel. You need to be living your life, Sophie. You’re not getting any younger.”
I smiled as I walked off. Mia was the big sister I never had and a surrogate, big-city mother all wrapped into one opinionated little package.
“Ask him out.” She followed me to the front of the store.
I balked. “You want me to knock on every door of his apartment building until I find him?”
“Whatever works.”
Both my head and my ankle throbbed, despite the generous 800mg of ibuprofen I’d washed down with my coffee that morning. I’d forgotten to take the meds Dr. Bledsoe had given me. I’d never had to take prescriptions for anything before, and it was hard getting in the habit. I raised my hands to my head, massaging the tension from my scalp and working my way to the back of my neck.
“Headache again?” Mia asked with concerned eyes. I hadn’t told her everything yet.
“I told you I went to the doctor, right?”
Mia clicked on the “open” sign and headed behind the cash register, cleaning off counter with a bottle of Windex and a roll of paper towels. “I think so.”
I took a deep breath. She had to know. I might have to miss work, and she’d wonder what was wrong. “I have an unruptured brain aneurysm.”
“What?” Mia stopped wiping off the counter, frozen in position. “Say that again?”
“It’s there,” I said, rubbing the base of my skull. “Just waiting for the right time to rupture.”
“They can fix that, right?” she asked, staring at me like I was a dead woman walking. “Surgeries and treatment and stuff?”
I nodded, eyes concentrating on the scuffed, vintage tile beneath my feet. “We’re going to try.”
“So what does your doctor say?” she asked.
“I have a neurologist, Dr. Bledsoe, but he wants me to meet with some fancy neurosurgeon,” I said. “Dr. Garner. Supposedly, brain aneurysms are his specialty and he’s really hard to get into. I have to wait until January.”
“No,” Mia said, slapping her hand against the counter. “Demand to be seen sooner.”
I laughed. “It doesn’t work that way.”
Mia’s lips began to tremble.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I said.
She lifted a single finger to the corner of her eye, dabbing away a tear that’d begun to form as her eyes misted. “I don’t want to hear this, Sophie. Not before Christmas. Not with our big plans about to take shape.”
Our big plans.
She was renovating her shop, turning the front half into a posh art gallery to exhibit both of our works. We had the same vision, she and I, and we were going to make it in the cutthroat world of art peddling. She just happened to have a hefty trust fund to help fund our little endeavor, getting us space in a prime Tribeca location.
“I’m going to be fine,” I assured her. “Whatever’s meant to happen will happen.”
“You tell me if you need anything, okay?” she said, her
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