PS Love, Brooklyn

1 //

"I do not understand why we are even here." The cherry brunette mumbles from the back room tossing another old pair of shoes into a box.

"Those are Chanel!" The raven-haired socialite barked back.

I sip on my coffee sitting in the living room surrounded by half-filled boxes and newspaper.

The raven-haired socialite rushes into the room, "I hate all of this! This is all so stupid!"

The cherry brunette leans out into the hallway glaring at me.

I put my hand up to silence Amelia at the end of the hallway.

The socialite turns frustrated grabbing another box, "I was not the one who cheated! So why do I need to leave my townhouse!"

Amelia walks over to me taking my coffee from me, "I need tequila."

I nudge the coffee to her watching our breaking down friend panic in the middle of the hallway.

Amelia chokes back a little then looks shocked back at me, "What the hell?"

"I prepared for this." I mumble back at her hearing the front door swing open.

We both lean a little seeing the last of our group standing with several men around her.

"Oh of course she brings movers." Amelia snorts at me.

"Be nice." I snort back.

Camilla Belmore.

Her parents never wanted her to go without like they did.

She was bright eyed with flowing blonde hair. Most of it was fake but Camilla still smiled through it all.

Amelia walked out to her watching the movers get to work, "You are like two hours late."

"Oh, sorry! I had to take the dog for a walk and then I had another call." Camilla grinned at us both.

Camilla went to some random Connecticut private college with horses and finger sandwiches.

Amelia Laurens.

First generation from Greece.

Second generation female to leave her family without help.

The only person I knew that told a NYC police officer to get on his knees.

And to not end up in jail.

Amelia and Camilla have always been friendly but they have seen this situation differently.

Amelia believes that things could have been different if Eleanor had been home.

Camilla thinks that since Owen went against his wife, that he should be shoved into the Hudson River.

Me.

I cannot say that I would either side with anyone.

Both are right.

Both are wrong.

But right now I see four different people from four different parts of the city standing in the same room for the same reason.

"Hey? Brooklyn?" Camilla glances back at me.

"Sorry," I turn back to them, "what?"

"We are leaving to let the movers do their thing." Camilla watches me.

I nod following them out of the townhome.

Eleanor, Elle as we call her, looks back at the townhouse. "Five years. Five years of nothing."