Carolyn opens the door, takes one look at me, and screeches, “Q! Why didn’t you call for a ride?”
I burst out laughing—I can’t help it. This entire traveling experience has been so goddamn ridiculous that it’s the only one way to respond. Carolyn ushers me into the entryway of her apartment—now my apartment, too—and looks from me to my pantyhose-tied suitcase with her mouth hanging open.
“What the hell happened to you?” she says after my laughter has died out.
“Oh, Care,” I say, putting my hands to my forehead. “I landed at LaGuardia and got a cab, but the driver turned out to be a total psycho, so I made him let me out early. And then the fucking suitcase got stuck in the street—”
“How?”
“That’s not even the worst thing! Some idiot in an SUV ran over it with his car!”
“And you didn’t call the police?” she interjects, her voice getting even louder.
“No!” I shout back at her, a tinge of hysteria in my voice. “I didn’t call anybody! I didn’t even get the cab driver’s name!”
“Oh, my God,” Carolyn says, before springing into action. “You can’t stand there in wet clothes. Come here. No, don’t worry about the carpet, just follow me.”
I stop only to peel off my shoes and socks, tucking the soaked pieces of fabric into the palm of one of my hands.
Carolyn leads me through the entry hallway and across the living room, then down another hallway, speaking as we go. “This is where the bedrooms are. Mine is down on the right, and yours is right here.” She opens a door, and I step into a second bedroom that’s easily twice as large as the master bedroom in my house in Colorado.
Yeah, Carolyn is loaded. It’s not like I’m a slouch in the money-making department, but I can’t touch the kind of trust fund that Care and the majority of her rich friends have.
I follow her across the plush carpeting of the bedroom that’s now mine. It smells freshly cleaned and the bed is already made up with a tasteful comforter and throw pillows. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” I say, taking it all in.
“It was absolutely no trouble at all,” says Carolyn, a little formally, as if we didn’t live together for two years back when experimenting with frat boys was all the rage.
“No, really, Car,” I say as she precedes me into a large bathroom. The shower is glass-enclosed and fancy as hell with one of those rainwater shower heads. “It means a lot. Thank you.”
She smiles at me, and her whole face lights up. Carolyn is one of those people who comes off as sweet even when she’s acting tough. The heart can hardly handle it when she’s just being her regular nice self. Then she gets another glimpse of my soaking clothes and gestures to the towels that hang from brass hooks on the wall near the shower.
“Towels are here,” she says. “My cleaning service keeps the bathrooms stocked with shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, but if you don’t like any of it, let me know and I’ll have them replace it with your brand. There’s a robe hanging on the back of the door. I’ll get you some of my things to wear once you’re out.”
I can already feel the tension of the day leaving my shoulders, and I haven’t even stepped into the shower yet.
Carolyn bustles toward the door, then turns back. “Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you having other clothes sent? Or was everything in your suitcase?”
I let out a little sigh. “I wasn’t going to send anything else.”
She nods once. “If you don’t mind—while you’re in here, I’ll separate the clothes and set them aside for the cleaner. We can shop tomorrow, if you want—there’s plenty of my stuff to borrow from in the meantime.”
“Fine by me. I always wanted to go on a New York City shopping spree.” This isn’t exactly true. I’ve never thought about going on a New York City shopping spree until this moment, but Carolyn brightens at the idea.
“Enjoy,” she says, then pulls the bathroom door shut behind her.
Thirty minutes later, I emerge clean and fresh, my hair dried and brushed out into shining dark waves. It feels great to not have it pulled into a bun, weighted down with water.
Carolyn has stocked the closet in my bedroom with several outfits. On the bed, she laid out a plain pink tank with matching lounge pants.
She gets me.
I wander out into the living room to find her curled up on the couch, a mug of tea in her hand.
“You look nice,” she says when she sees me, then holds up the mug. “Want some?”
“I’m all right,” I say, then flop down across from her. Her air conditioning is running full-blast against the July heat, but there are soft blankets placed strategically on the arms of the couch and across the back. I pull one over my legs as Carolyn considers me.
“You’ve had a day,” she says finally, and I hear the invitation to talk in her voice.
“I’ve had a month.”