flathead chapter 19
Springtime was just beginning to peak through in New York. To Sloane, this was the best season. New Yorkers were waking up to better weather, all the outdoor seatings at restaurants and bars were jammed, people were outfitted in pure color. Sloane had spent her day at her favorite coffee shop, alternating between reading a new book she’d picked up and reading manuscript submissions.
Her job as an editorial assistant was easy enough to land - after she’d completed her thesis on [do i reveal the topic?], Sloane had graduated from her university and found a new apartment with four girls in Chelsea. Her room was tiny, but the group of them spent so much time hanging around in their living room and kitchen that Sloane almost forgot about all of that. She was more than happy to crawl into her twin bed every night, listening to her roommate’s playing music in the kitchen, or trying to sneak a guy in, or on the phone with their parents.
So here, at this coffee shop, reading what she wanted, tucked into her small corner table with a latte, plans on the calendar for that night, Sloane felt no guilt that she hadn’t spoken to her mother in a year. Everything in her life she paid for herself now. Everyone in her life she’d chosen for herself. Not out of circumstance or desperation, but because she’d picked.
Her roommates were texting dinner options for that night - Virginia’s in the East Village? A hole-in-the-wall in Chinatown? Caliente Cab for the massive margherita? Sloane smiled and turned her phone over - it was almost 2pm. Any minute now.
“Sloane!” Annalise called from across the cafe, waving wildly, a huge smile plastered on her face.
The women hugged.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Sloane told her, pulling her stuff over to her side of the table so Annalise had room. “When did your flight get in?”
Annalise told her about her flight, and how she was so happy that her second year of college was starting, and that her parents were doing well.
“I have something for you,” Annalie said after she’d ordered and gotten her own coffee.
Sloane admired her - she looked well: dressed in New York appropriate attire (the learning curve for that was always rough for transplants from the Midwest), her hair shorter now, her matching permeant bracelet standing out against her tanned summer skin.
Annalise produced a picture in a simple white frame.
“Michael’s sister took it when she saw you two on a date at [first date restaurant]. She forgot she took it and she was going through her pictures a few weeks ago.”
Sloane took the frame. It was her and Jackson, sitting at that table against the window, leaning towards each other with big smiles, legs tangled together under the table. Tears sprung to her eyes. The crying, truly, never stopped. Grief flooded back.
“We look so happy,” Sloane said. “Thank you for giving me this.”
Annalise had tears in her eyes as well, which she blinked through.
“I wish you had more time together,” Annalise told Sloane.
“I’m just happy we had any time at all.”