What's Next
Till Summer Do Us Part
PROLOGUE
SCOTTIE
“Fuck off, asshole!”
“No, you fuck off.”
“Eat shit and rot!”
God, I love New York City.
There’s nothing better than waiting for your breakfast burrito at the corner bodega and witnessing a fight almost break out between a taxi driver and a Postmates runner on a motorbike. Truly chef’s kiss.
And it’s not just the kerfuffle on the roads that has me tingling with joy. I love the palpable high blood pressure of the collective whole during the morning commute.
The summer humidity, an added obstacle that you slice through during a brisk power walk to your destination.
And the pungent smell of the human race sharing the overworked streets of Midtown.
Spectacular.
Honk.
“Watch it, you dick!”
A smile passes over my face as I take a sip of my coffee.
I’m home.
Can’t beat New York in the summer.
“Scottie, your order,” Vincent calls out as he places my order on the take-out corner.
“Thank you,” I say and then point at him with a finger gun as if we’re long-lost friends. “Same time tomorrow, my man?”
Completely ignoring me, he goes back to work, scrambling eggs and cooking bacon. It’s fine. He’ll get to know me soon enough. I plan on stopping by every morning and establishing a rapport, one where I walk up to his storefront, which is decked out in pictures of bagel sandwiches, and he says, “Morning, Scottie. The usual?”
And I’d say, “That would be great, Vincent. How are the kids?”
And he would say something silly, like, “Eating me out of my own house.”
We’d chuckle. I’d pay and then stand off to the side, patiently waiting for my burrito while I popped my earbuds in and a classic song like “Dreams” by the Cranberries would start playing.
It would be the perfect opening scene to any New York City–based Nora Ephron romantic comedy, where love is waiting in the wings.
But instead of formulating the well-executed meet-cute where I run into a man in front of an office building, spilling my coffee all over myself only to have him dab at my bosom with his solid-blue tie, I’m going to change the story. This isn’t a story about me falling in love with another human.
This is a story about me falling in love with myself.
Yup, being a twenty-nine-year-old divorcée will do that to you.
The only person I want to be in love with right now is me and me alone.
And being here in New York City, the place where I always wanted to live out my early twenties after college, walking the concrete streets, cup of coffee in hand, on my way to my—
“Watch it, bitch.” An elbow slams into my cup of coffee, sending the Americano temporarily into the air, only to land smack-dab in the middle of my cream-colored silk blouse.
“Oh my God,” I say, pulling my searing-hot blouse off my skin while early morning commuters spare me a wince before continuing on to their occupations.
I glance around, checking for any oncoming men ready to dab my breasts clean, but when not a single person stops to help, I realize I’m shit out of luck.
What was I saying about New York?
Oh right… I love it.
I’m going to keep repeating that to myself over and over again as I carry my burrito in one hand and fan out my shirt with the other. I’ll change when I get to work. My company has more than enough polos to spare. I should know; everyone I work with wears one almost every single day.
The only sad thing about getting coffee on my shirt is that I won’t be able to drink it now. But hey, it’s all part of the experience, right? The New York City experience. Consider this my initiation. My rite of passage. Being a girl from upstate New York, I’ve always dreamed of living in the city. Not just in my dorm room but on the Upper East Side, so now that I’m here again, nothing is going to stop me from enjoying it.
Not a single thing.
Because this is my new start.
I moved to the city to be closer to my friends, got a job with Butter Putter editing their ad copy and editorials, and now I’m living the single life, trying to regain the confidence I lost when I was married to Matt.
And sure, coffee down the blouse is not the way to start building up confidence, but it’s not the worst thing that could happen. It’s a conversation starter. Common ground.
Something I can talk about to my new coworkers that I share nothing in common with.
Like I said, nothing, and I mean nothing, is going to stop me from enjoying this new chapter in my life.
Scottie Price is thriving.
She is single.
She’s smart, she’s charismatic, she’s charming.
And she’s living out her best Nora Ephron life, falling in love with herself.
Yup, nothing is going to take that away.
Nothing.
