Toughest Story Yet

Chapter 2

It was later that morning and I was sitting at the local coffee shop, madly typing the last few lines of the story I was assigned. I had graduated top of my class at the University of Albany with a bachelor's degree in journalism, although that was never my passion. I had gotten a full scholarship and felt I had to take advantage, taking classes in whatever I felt fit me best. I was really an author- a romance writer, to be exact. Words used to flow out of me faster than I could even type sometimes. I glanced at the icon on my laptop screen 'Untitled work.' I had barely gotten the first chapter written. It was choppy and generic, nothing like the hot scenes my readers were used to. My publisher called me at least one hundred times that weekend- the weekend my book was due. Holden had taken off for some trip with his buddies, "to help you clear your head," he had told me. I hadn't told him how much I was struggling- with my book or with our relationship. He had left without saying goodbye then, too, leaving me with that dull ache for the first time.

"Gabi!" The barista yelled, pulling me out of my thoughts. I quickly gathered my things, threw a few dollars in the tip jar and grabbed my drink.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, New York bustled around me. I didn't have a chance to take it in, as I was swept away by the crowd. I had to get my story to the newspaper editor before he turned everything in to print for the next morning. I slowly sipped on my skinny caramel macchiato, my laptop bag already straining my shoulder. I had another dozen or so blocks to go with my thoughts from earlier buzzing around in my head, the emptiness growing. Here I was, in a committed relationship, with a great job and in one of the busiest, populated cities in the world, feeling completely empty and alone.

I sighed and stepped into the mid-century brick building. The owner of the paper had updated the inside of the building to be modern and sleek. There were panels of glass separating the people in the bull pen instead of old, tired cubicle walls. While it was almost like peering into a fishbowl, or an exhibit at the zoo, it had really brightened up the place.

I had my own office, but I had opted to mostly work "in the field," which, for me, was mostly code for, "wherever the hell I feel like working today." The paper was pretty small, nothing like The New York Times, but the owner, Max Keiffer, was loaded with more money than he knew what to do with. The Keiffer Times was more about putting his name on something else, rather than getting real stories out. I paused at my office door, 'Gabriella Hoyt,' glistened in black and silver letters. I had been sure that, by now, I would have been married to Holden and gotten to change the letters on my door. Now, they were just an icy reminder that Holden didn't love me in the same way I loved him. I instinctively pressed my pinkie finger to my right ring finger, where Holden had placed a small band two years ago. I had cried tears of joy, thinking it was an engagement ring, assuming he had just accidentally put it on the wrong finger out of nervousness. He had been shaking and stumbling over his words. I had beamed up at him, an enthusiastic, "Yes!" Ready to fall out as soon as he asked.

"It's a promise ring," he had nervously explained, "just as a little place holder until I can get you a real one."

His words had stung, but I never let it show. I had been waiting for a little over a year for a proposal, wondering if every little change in him was foreshadowing something. Later, he had unintentionally let it slip that the ring was just a ploy to, "get you to stop talking about marriage." Those words had been shoved bluntly into my chest, making every inch of me ache with sadness. Holden, oblivious to how his words had affected me, just continued shooting his opponents on whatever video game had consumed him.

I leaned on the doorframe of William's office, waiting for him to finish up a call. He was screaming at some poor soul about not giving him a heads up about some big story. He held up a finger, as if I had no idea he would be a minute. I rolled my eyes. William was a few years older than me with curly brown hair and a wiry frame. He wore glasses and was always in a suit and tie. Today, his blue dress shirt sleeves were rolled up and his tie hung loose. Tough day already, I thought.