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One
Lydia
Lydia McKenzie wasn’t usually a runner, but she sure as hell was this morning. She nabbed her jeans from the carpeted floor and shimmied into them, trying not to trip on the snaky straps of her bra that peeked out from beneath the bed. Tiptoeing around the room, she retraced last night’s lust-filled haze as she finished dressing, attempting not to wake the pillow-hugging figure beneath the sheets. The sex hadn’t been anything spectacular—she’d had to take care of things herself—and she really didn’t feel like living through an awkward morning after.
She got down on her hands and knees, looking for her purse.Please, don’t be in the cab, she thought miserably, scanning the underside of the bed. This had all started after a client meeting in the Financial District. Schmoozing the Wall Street types wasn’t her usual style, but she’d been up for some fun, and at least Ian—or was it Ethan?—had cared enough to make small talk before blatantly inviting her back to his place.
“Kitchen,” she whispered, jumping to her feet and hurrying out of the room.
Lydia stopped long enough in the kitchen to absorb the sleekness of it all. Chrome appliances. Granite countertops. It was all so sterile. There wasn’t even a picture or a magnet on the fridge. She wrinkled her nose at the monotony of high condo ceilings and eggshell-colored walls. How terribly boring.
She spotted her purse next to the toaster, grabbed it, and did a cursory check—phone, wallet, keys. Then she stuffed her shoes on, threw open the door and booked it into the elevator. Her phone buzzed as she walked through the lobby a few moments later. It was a text from Ashley. Like she usually did when the occasion called for it, she’d texted her sister the address of where she was spending the night.
I’m waiting downstairs. Let me know if you need a ding, dong, ditch.
Lydia replied with an emoji of a woman running.
They often met up in the mornings for coffee before Lydia made her way to work and Ashley made her way to the gym. Ashley somehow always managed to squeeze in a yoga class before work, which she considered a necessity since she spent most of her waking hours navigating the stresses of Big Law. Conveniently, Ian or Ethan lived among the luxury buildings in NoMad, so Ashley’s gym in the Flatiron District was a reasonably short walk.
As she exited the building, she was greeted by the stillness of the waking streets—nothing like the cacophony New York City would be later in the morning when cab horns chirped, sirens wailed and bikers rang their tiny bells, fighting cars for space.
“Hey,” Ashley called, walking over. She was already wearing her matching activewear set. “I come bearing gifts.” She handed Lydia a large raspberry chai latte topped with vanilla cold foam and sprinkles of cinnamon.
“You are a goddess,” Lydia said, taking a sip. Sugary caffeine drinks topped with fluffy cold foam were her biggest weakness. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“You know, I thought I’d stop having to pick you up after wild nights out when you finished college.”
Though she was only a couple years older, Ashley had crossed that threshold from late twenties to early thirties and now regarded things like one-night stands with amusement as she contemplated serious things like marriage with her equally serious fiancé, Kurt.
“Maybe I just like spending time with my favorite sister,” Lydia told her, taking another sip of teeth-rotting syrupy goodness.
“I’m your only sister.”
“And you secretly love it when I text you in the middle of the night with clandestine details of my love life. It keeps your week interesting.”
They turned onto 6th Avenue, where short, redbrick apartment buildings rose up around them in between businesses and restaurants. As they continued, towering condos and sleek office buildings loomed overhead, casting long shadows across the street. Lydia let herself soak in the history and the colors—harsh lines from old fire escapes, the muted tones of the clay once dug from the Hudson, even the way the buildings butted up against each other—while enjoying the stark differences that announced the ending of one neighborhood and the beginning of another. In a borough as bustling as Manhattan, everyone knew there was room for more development, and her hand was itching for a drawing pencil.
“I thought you were all hung up on that guy from your work?”
“Thatguy’sname is Jack. And I’m playing the long game.”
“The long game requires you to actuallystartthe game,” Ashley pointed out.
Lydia wrinkled her nose. Jack Carson was one of the project coordinators at Poletti Architectural Studios. But despite having worked at the firm for close to three years now, Lydia still hadn’t determined if Jack knew her name or if he constantly saidhey therewhen they bumped elbows in the copy room because he’d actually forgotten.
“You’re turning red.”
“I am not.” Lydia nudged her sister with her shoulder. “But I am leaving breadcrumbs for him to follow. A compliment here. A conversation there. Eventually he’ll catch on.”
“At least you’re having fun while you’re waiting for Jack to get a clue.” Ashley’s smile dropped from her face.
“You and Kurt still haven’t settled on a venue, huh?” Lydia might still be waiting for the man of her dreams to notice her, but the man of Ashley’s dreams was holding up their wedding planning. Lydia wasn’t sure which one was worse.
“No,” Ashley muttered darkly, crushing the empty coffee cup in her hand. “And until he does, I can’t secure a date. And until there is a date, there are no invitations. And if there are no invitations, there are no guests.”
Lydia almost regretted bringing it up. “Rein it in, Ash. Kurt is just trying to make you happy.”
“I don’t mean to be snappish. I just want to get the ball rolling. I waited years for him to propose. Is it really so inconceivable that I don’t want to wait any longer?”
