“Park Avenue.”
The cab pulls out into the traffic, and I put my headphones in, hit Spotify, and listen to the song again.
“Bad Liar” . . . my new anthem.
I flick through the travel images on Google. I’m going to take a skiing trip.
Switzerland, I think.
I need to get away. New York is just too small . . . or suffocating . . . or life threatening . . . or something that I just can’t quite put my finger on. Either way, I’m getting the hell out of here.
She blocked me.
I might work from London for a while . . . yeah, I could do that. Would make sense.
And I would get to spend more time with Elliot and Christopher. My heart drops as I remember someone else who lives in London. I’d be closer to Claudia, and I broke her heart the other day again too.
She wanted me back, and I told her that I don’t think I ever loved her . . . she got angry, and basically, it’s a fucked-up situation all around.
No, I can’t work out of London . . . too complicated. Scratch that idea.
How long will I go to Switzerland for? I go over the dates. Maybe a month?
Hmm . . . I bring up my work diary and begin to go through it. I’m owed a lot of holidays, and I guess I may as well take some.
My security phone goes off, and I answer. “Hello.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Miles. Mrs. Miles is here in the foyer to see you.”
I close my eyes. Shit. “Yes, thank you. Please let her in.”
Moments later the elevator doors open, and my mother steps out. Her face lights up when she sees me. “Hello, darling.”
“Hi, Mom.”
She takes me into her arms and holds me close for a moment as if sensing something is off.
“What are you doing here?” I smile as I pull out of her arms.
“I should ask you the same thing,” she replies as she follows me and sits down on the couch.
“I just . . .” I pause as I try to articulate my lie. “I just need some time off after all that embezzlement shit.”
Her eyes hold mine. “Good, I’m glad.”
“Can I get you anything?” I stand, uncomfortable lying to her.
“Some tea, please, darling.”
I walk into the kitchen and begin to make her tea. I take out her fine china pink-and-gold teapot and cup, the one she always drinks from when she’s here. She follows me and sits at the kitchen counter.
“Did Tristan send you?” I ask with my back to her.
“He’s worried about you.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. What’s going on with Emily?”