What A Kiss Is

Chapter Fifteen

Fifteen

I’m in a cab. In New York. No Mom. Being here without her hurts like a weight that follows, digs and jabs at every opportunity. Oh, and no Dad. The crazy thing is that I don’t even feel like taking advantage of it.

Finn’s trouble. Gem’s trouble. David’s in California. And the more I think about it, the more I just don’t care enough to try and get together with anyone else.

Now I’m wishing I’d had the guts to ask Amber to come with me. I held her when the cab came to get me from the marina, and the thought of letting her go was torture, but I did it anyway. I’m not sure this is my home anymore. My place. The air is heavy with memories.

The cab slowly gets closer to my building. MY building. Not the one I share with Mom. Mine. The nagging in my gut starts penetrating my head, my heart. I don’t think I can do this. It’s late. My meeting with Mel Gladsman, Mom’s agent, is tomorrow. I imagine walking into the apartment alone, and my stomach tightens threatening to relieve me of the airplane food I had on my trip cross-country.

I open my mouth to tell him to take me to the plaza, but that’s where Mom’s services were. Now what?

Think, Antony, think. “I changed my mind,” I say.

The cabbie glances at me in his rearview mirror.

“Uh…Waldorf please.”

“No problem.”

I lean back in the seat and pull out my phone. I think about how fun it would be to have a group over to my room at the Waldorf, but I don’t think I could take the stress. The thing is that I care what Amber thinks, and something like that would piss her off. And neither of us have said,“Will you go out with me.” But at the same time, I feel like we’ve shared a lot, and I’m at least smart enough to know that counts for something.

The crazy thing is that I really want it to.

The cab drives up the familiar streets with the ever-changing billboards, and sea of cars and people, even on this late, rainy night. I climb out of the car at the hotel, grab my bag, and I know, outwardly (even with my lack of a haircut) I blend in. I’m wearing my nice shoes, my expensive pants, my Armani coat…But inside, do I still belong here? I have no idea.

I step up to the counter. A young woman, not much older than me, smiles wide. “You’re Mr. Preston, is that correct?” she asks.

I’m stunned into silence for a moment. “That’s me. Yes.”

“Do you have a reservation?”

Crap. “Uh…no. My trip to town was last minute, I…”

“It’s no problem.” Her fingers tap, tap, tap on the keyboard. “Preference for room size?”

“It’s just me.”

“Double or single suite?” she asks.

Shit. I have money, right? I’m only here for a night. “A double would be great, thank you.” Just because.

“No problem.” Her efficient smile, fingers, and mannerisms make me remember what it’s like to be in real civilization. “Can we help you with your bag?”

I chuckle. “Nah, I got it. Thank you, again.” We trade a credit card number for my key, and I head to my room. Alone in the Waldorf Astoria, feeling like an adult and like a kickass New Yorker. So, maybe part of me could belong here still.

As soon as I step inside, I pull out my phone and send Amber a text. MISS U. NOT STAYING IN NY. TOO WEIRD HERE.

I wish she was here with me because I want to share this with her, show her New York.