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“What are we cheers-ing to?”
I jerk my head around to the left and notice, for the first time, another woman leaning out of the window, right next door to my fire escape access. She offers me a crooked smile, spreading the freckles sprayed across her cheeks, and pushes a shock of auburn hair back from her eyes, looking at me expectantly.
This is my neighbor, I realize. I haven’t met anyone else in the building yet, really—just quick greetings coming in or out of the building.
“I’m so sorry, I’ve been in my own little world,” I say quickly. “Have you been out here this whole time?”
“Oh, no.” She scrunches up her face a little, waving her hand. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I heard the window open and someone out on the fire escape. And then when I saw how the light is coming through right now, I was a little jealous and had to check it out for myself. It smells delicious, by the way. Whatever you’re having.”
“Salmon,” I say. “It’s a celebration. First day of work.”
“That’s awesome! Cheers!” She leans way out with a can of soda, and I laugh and knock my cup against hers. “Congratulations!”
“You know, I have a whole bottle where this came from,” I say after I’ve taken a sip from my wine. “Feel like having a drink with me? I’m Sophie, by the way.”
“I’m Reagan. It’s nice to meet you, and it’s really nice of you to offer me a drink. I don’t want to spoil your celebration.”
I laugh. “You’re not. I’m celebrating by myself. I just moved to the city.”
“Welcome to New York!” Reagan exclaims. “It really is a celebration, then. New city, new job.”
“Stay right there,” I say, dipping back into my apartment to grab the wine and another cup. When I return, I pour some for her as I ask, “How long have you lived here?”
Reagan accepts the cup and taps it against mine before she takes a drink. “Uh-uh. No way. Your special day, remember? Your celebration. I want to hear all about it.”
I finish up the last few bites of my dinner before putting my plate aside. “I don’t want to bore you with the details.”
“You know, can I make an observation?” Reagan wrinkles her nose at me, considering. “I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything.”
“You can say whatever you want, neighbor,” I say, leaning back and getting more comfortable on the fire escape.
“You seemed kind of sad when you said ‘cheers’ right now,” she says. “When you thought you were alone out here. On your first day of work celebration.”
“Oh. That.” I grimace. “It’s kind of complicated. I don’t want to bore you.”
“First of all, I doubt it will be boring,” she points out. “And I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know. What’s complicated about your job?”
I hesitate, biting my lip. My first instinct is to brush it off or just make up some vague answer about how the work will be difficult. But the truth is, I don’t have any other friends in the city, and after struggling to pull my life back together after my breakup with Brad, I could really use one. New York is my fresh start, and that means making new connections. And that means being a bit vulnerable.
So I opt for honesty.
“Well, it’s my dream job,” I admit, swirling my wine around in my cup. “But the nightmare is that I fucked my boss.”
Reagan gapes at me for a long moment before she shrieks and whoops with laughter. “Oh, damn. And you thought that was going to bore me? God, now you have to tell me everything!”
And I do. All of it. Every sordid detail. And honestly, it’s a relief. I’ve been holding all of this inside of myself, with no one to tell. Jacquelyn was my roommate and one of my closest friends in college, but my visit to San Francisco a year ago made me realize how much we’d grown apart, and we haven’t been in touch much since. We’ve grown in completely different directions—not just geographically, but in other ways too.
But Reagan holds on to every word, gasping at some of the more lurid moments. And when I’m finished with my story, she raises her cup to me.
“I don’t know why you think it’s a nightmare,” she says. “But cheers to your sexy new job!”
I laugh, even though I don’t think “sexy new job” is a good classification of what’s going on.
“There isn’t a single sexy thing about it anymore,” I say. “Is Declan sexy? Of course he is, on the outside. He knows he is. And I …”
“You know he is,” Reagan finishes for me, egging me on with a cheeky little giggle.
“Sure I do,” I reason. “But he’s a jerk.”
