by Ruby Lang
They’d reached the subway station by then. Magda was striding toward it. Anger made her taller, straighter—more right, or at least, less wrong.
He couldn’t afford to think that way.
She was wrong. Nothing about this was easy. But he kept walking with her until they reached the stairs. She thanked him woodenly for escorting her, and they shared one last glance, too short, too loaded with hurt. Then she descended into the station and he stood waiting, listening to the click-click of her heels until he couldn’t hear them anymore.
Chapter Five
A Friday, Mid-July
“We’re not like those other developers,” the young white woman said, only half-jokingly. “We’re cool developers.”
Cool was maybe pushing it.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Magda said, afraid to let that statement hang there for too long. “Anyway, let me tell you a little bit more about the property before we go see it.”
Summer was always a slow season for home buying, lot buying, any kind of buying in New York City. Magda had spent the weeks sweating and worrying. The townhouse had gotten one half-hearted offer, quickly rejected, and even the rental market seemed to be stalled. Magda should have counted herself lucky to get this meeting with the rep of a potential buyer for the 136th Street lot.
She didn’t feel so lucky.
It was a hot and bright Friday afternoon. She’d decided to ask Amanda Nott, from Eliot and Chase, to meet at the townhouse. Her uncle had, this very morning, called her and told her he was having the small patch of backyard re-landscaped. He wanted new trees, so new trees he was getting. Along with an entire island’s worth of soil, which was currently sitting in the front vestibule because the driver claimed that the back lane was blocked.
Magda and Cool Amanda sat at the townhouse’s kitchen counter going through the details on zoning for the land, the dimensions. Occasionally, workers trooped through the back doors.
“We understand there’s an existing community garden there,” Amanda said. “And that they’re a pretty well-liked and vocal bunch. Like I said, we’re also in the business of building neighborhoods and not disturbing the balance too much. So we do have some concerns.”
“That’s perfectly understandable,” Magda said.
Understandable, but frustrating. Wouldn’t it be nice to find someone without concerns and with lots of cash who’d come in with bulldozers and level the garden the way she’d be able to level her debt?
No, that wasn’t true.
More than a week had passed since her argument with Ty at the subway station. She’d seen him from afar when she stopped by the garden, but she had not stayed to talk—or, more likely, argue. Judging by the way he seemed to prefer the compost pile to her company, he wasn’t eager to see her either.
Besides, she didn’t need to talk to him for his words to keep stinging. He thought she didn’t care for anything except profit. Well, she did need money. She’d barely made her rent last month. She wasn’t living so much hand-to-mouth as she was hand-to-gaping maw of debt, a life Magda was sure that Mr. CPA had never experienced. He might dress in dirt-smeared shorts, but she doubted he relied on the community garden for the servings of organic vegetables that kept his body lean and fit.
She had to stop yelling at him in her head. But although he might not believe it, she did like the garden. And she did want to find a buyer who would be good for the community. She’d sell her heart out to make it work.
Maybe Cool Amanda would save them all.
Magda glanced over to the young woman, who was scrolling through Twitter, and sighed.
On the walk over to the garden, Amanda talked about how they worked with planners to assess the viability of a development and if it fit the needs of a neighborhood. “Of course, we’ve done Harlem before. But every micro-neighborhood is a little different.”
As they neared the garden, however, Amanda stopped talking.
Magda tried not to be hit with how, well, how pretty it was.
It was charming and not the least bit subtle about it, not this summer. That was the problem. It was in full bloom and the thick, wet scent of flowers and plants grew stronger with every step closer they took. All the various smells of New York—the garbage, cat pee, fried food, and asphalt—dissipated against the tang of fresh garden and green.
Straw hats bobbed up from between flower beds as Magda and Amanda approached. “Ah, Magda. Who have you brought for us today?” Mrs. Espinosa sang.
She looked at both of them like they were tasty sacrifices. Magda was starting to dread these meetings.
“Amanda Nott. I’m from Eliot and Chase,” Cool Amanda said, sticking out her hand.
“Eliot and Chase. Of course. You did that project on 152nd and Amsterdam,” Mrs. E said.
Mrs. E had been doing her homework in the last couple of months.
“Yes, we did. The Marisol. Mixed income housing.”
“But how many people from the neighborhood ended up living in this housing compared to how many were driven out?”
“It’s hard to keep statistics on that.”
Mrs. E raised one eyebrow.
Amanda started, “The city’s Housing and Development department sets income limits—”
Magda intervened. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mrs. E. But we have to walk around a bit more before Ms. Nott leaves. She has another appointment.”
Magda tugged on Amanda’s arm. The woman wanted to argue and Mrs. E seemed pleased either way.
“It’s mixed income,” Amanda insisted on telling Magda as they moved away.
“I’m sure it is.”
“We worked with HPD and consulted a lot with the community.”
“I’m sure you did.”
They stopped in front of the shed.
“We came up with a great solution. We can come up with one here.”
A voice came from inside the shed. “I wasn’t aware there was a problem.”
Of course. Of all the Friday afternoons and of all the sheds in all the community gardens in the world, it had to be Ty.
He pulled open the door and Magda blinked at his familiar, lean form. He was carrying a shovel. If she was lucky, he’d bury her and go away.
* * *
It was hard to make a dignified exit from a toolshed, particularly when he’d been caught eavesdropping. But Ty was too angry to care what he looked like in front of Magda Ferrer.
Still, he couldn’t help drinking up the sight of her, the way her skin glistened lightly in the summer heat. She was in a fussy suit again, the one she usually wore when she came to the garden. It was funny how she never seemed to give up on that formality. He hadn’t had the chance to gaze at her up close in a while and maybe it had been for the best. They made each other tense, even when they had good intentions.
Right now was no exception.
Magda gave him a tight smile. “Ty, this is Amanda Nott from Eliot and Chase.”
Her expression said, Don’t fucking mess this up for me. He had never been a messer-upper. Maybe at some time in the past, her silent warning would have been enough to make Ty subside. But he was thirty-two years old and he was sick and tired of the news, of the terrible anxiety of the last months, the last five years of his life, really, of watching his mother die slowly, of watching his father move away because he was unable to cope, of watching his world fold up in small important ways. He’d lost too much over the last few years. He’d only begun to rebuild himself again, and Magda and this person had come into his garden and were walking around like they already planned to slam five stories of concrete over the heirloom tomatoes that Mrs. Freeman had coaxed and cajoled into existence, and he wasn’t about to let those hard-earned fruits go down without a fight.
He gave Magda a hard stare before turning his attention to the other woman. “Well, Amanda Nott from Eliot and Chase,
I’m sure you already know that the lot was a problem before and the community came up with a good solution.”
“It is really charming.”
“It’s more than charming.”
Magda wedged herself right in front of him, her head right in the way of his line of sight. Unfortunately, she was also so close that her cloud of hair brushed his face, right across his cheek, like a whisper, and it was so unexpected and soft that it was more effective in shutting him up than the intrusion of her sharp shoulder.
He drew in a breath and stepped back.
“Amanda,” Magda was saying, “I think we’ve seen most of what we need to see here. Maybe we could go to the townhouse and talk details.”
“I’d like to say something to Mr. Ty,” Amanda said.
“Just Ty—”
“You don’t have to say anything to him. You don’t have to justify what you do. And you—” Magda said, whirling around, “you’ve spoken your piece. You’re getting plenty of opportunities to talk about it everywhere. Don’t think I don’t know about the presentations at the community board meetings, and the letter you guys have sent to the city councilors.”
“What did you suppose would happen? How do you think people are going to react when you want to sell a neighborhood treasure out from under us?”
“I expected us to talk.”
They were standing very close. Ty could feel every angry puff of Magda’s breath on his skin, he could see her eyelashes, the droplet of sweat curving its way slowly down her graceful neck. “We talked. And as I recall, you accused me of waltzing in here on a cloud of money and presuming everything in the neighborhood would fall according to my plans.”
“I did not say that—”
“Listen, I’ve thought about this a lot over the past couple of weeks. I’ve replayed this conversation. Every time I open my stainless steel fridge or stare up at the ugly track lights that I thought were a good idea, I think about all the things I’ve done wrong.”
Her face softened.
Too bad for her. “But it’s not all about me. This garden isn’t all about me. But it’s about people and the ways we connect over it. You claim you want to talk. We’ve talked. But you’re on your side and we’re on ours. And at a certain point, there is nothing more to say.”
He had a much better speech prepared in his head. But when he was faced with her big brown eyes, it came out disjointed.
“You two seem to have a history.”
Amanda, Ty finally noticed, was looking back and forth between the two of them, lips quirked in a smile.
They both took a step back. This seemed to amuse Amanda even more.
“Definitely not,” Magda said.
She didn’t have to be so dismissive about it. Then again, it was true. “The first time I met her was when she came to announce the garden was up for sale,” Ty said. “Not exactly a solid basis for a wonderful future together when she starts it out trying to sell the ground from under you.”
“You say it like you thought of that future, though,” Amanda chirped.
Even if his words were relatively innocuous, the blush that burned his ears and cheeks would be easy enough to read. And both women seemed to know it. “Maybe for a hot second,” he said, then cringed when that came out meaner than he’d meant it.
But Magda was pulling at Amanda’s arm. She wasn’t looking at him. Well, maybe he didn’t deserve looking at.
“We are not talking about this,” she said.
But except for one swift, searing glance at him she avoided his eyes. It took him a second to realize maybe she had thought about the two of them, too. Maybe she had considered him, in those off moments, when they were not arguing.
But she was walking away—without her client, without looking back. It was probably for the best.
Chapter Six
“Men, amirite?” Amanda said, catching up to Magda. She put her hand up.
“Ms. Nott, forgive me. That was not something that should have come up, and I’m not—no, I’m not high-fiving you!”
“Why not?”
“First of all, nothing happened with Mr. Yang. And you’re my client.” Not my BFF sorority sister whose bachelorette party I’m attending.
Magda put on her suit jacket despite the sweltering heat and tried her best to seem armored. “I’m sorry that this whole visit was—well, as I noted, there is resistance to this project. I guess I’m going to have to get used to having them go that way.”
“It was actually pretty entertaining.”
Magda stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. She slanted Amanda a look.
Amanda twiddled her glossy hair between her fingertips. She’d probably paid more than Magda’s rent to achieve those perfect, straight strands. “I’m going to be frank with you. I’m not going to be able to recommend that we take on this project. My boss isn’t going to feel like doing anything too controversial right now, not after the 152nd Street thing, which for the record, I think we did a beautiful job. The building is gorgeous and it rented quickly, and we really helped some people get low-cost units, but there was a leetle bad PR—”
Magda waited.
“My point is, it’s always going to be a little tricky up here.” Amanda said hurriedly, “I’m actually pretty sure you’ll attract a lot of interest, community buy-in or not. The location is getting really hot and the garden looks great. Well, it will until someone razes it. But we’re not the people for you.”
“Pardon, did you say it was a little tricky up here?”
“Well, you know.”
Magda really didn’t want to know, because if she listened too hard and thought too much about it, she was going yell at that skinny white girl, and then Magda would really get in trouble at the brokerage. Worse, knowing how the Amandas of the world usually fared, Magda could not afford to burn any bridges. At the same time, she wouldn’t let it go completely.
“There are good reasons for people here to be wary,” Magda said, trying to strike a balance. “No matter how helpful or cool you or your firm want to be, some of the changes in this neighborhood aren’t fair and are really upsetting to longtime residents.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it. You know, the usual frustrations. You have to develop a thick skin in this business,” Amanda was saying.
Magda wondered how tough Amanda’s skin was and if she’d feel it if Magda thumped her on the head. Then again, in Amanda’s case, it was probably thickest around her skull.
“Of course,” Magda said through gritted teeth.
Well, it wasn’t Cool Amanda’s fault that the visit had gone like this, either. Surveying the land and getting photos had been one thing; Magda showing it to buyers, that was shit getting real.
She was going to have to start walking people around at midnight to avoid gardeners.
Then again, maybe she and her prospective buyers would come across people “cavorting,” as Ty had put it and flinging those condoms and shoes and undergarments throughout the garden. Or they’d meet Ty running through the streets of Hamilton Heights. He’d probably deliver a stinging lecture about greed and development, all while standing there shirtless as Magda tried not to yell at him—or be distracted.
That left maybe safe one hour between 3:00 and 4:00 a.m. for showings?
She made a note to herself to get one of those powerful X-Files-style flashlights.
Magda quickly got a cab for Amanda, made her goodbyes, and went back to the townhouse.
She was going to have to tell Keith how it had gone. He’d been excited about Eliot and Chase.
The tree guys had left the townhouse and although the bags of dirt were gone, there were still traces of mud on the floor. There were contractors upstairs working on one of the upstairs bathrooms and she could hear them hammering and drilling. She put in her earbuds and started sweeping the floor. She real
ly needed to talk to someone; her sister wasn’t the best person to unload her feelings to, but Magda decided to call Flora.
Flora’s kids were apparently loving their STEM summer camp. Her husband’s recent spate of business trips had slowed down, thank goodness. Flora had started planning her organization’s fall gala and she promised Magda a pair of tickets. “I’ll only need one,” Magda said, sitting heavily at the staged dining room table of her uncle’s house. “I can afford to pay for myself.”
At least, she hoped she could swing it. The tickets were usually at least a hundred dollars a pop, and she’d have to buy a new dress for this year’s event.
“No, no. And if you can’t find someone to come with you, I’ll think of someone nice. You’re still getting your real estate career off the ground. Mamí says you haven’t sold Uncle Byron’s place yet.”
“I’m working on it. And really, I can pay. I only need one ticket.”
Liar.
“But Magda, it’s more fun with a date. And maybe afterward, who knows? Didn’t you dance last year with that nice doctor Mamí found for you at the hospital?”
“I think he liked Mamí more than he liked me.”
Who could blame the guy? Watching the poor man hang on to her oblivious mother’s every word had been funny, although a little humiliating when he commented, “From what your mom said, I expected you to be really young. Not that that’s what I wanted. I thought I was doing Lina a favor for her kid. I definitely like mature women.” And his puppyish gaze had swung right around to Lina Ferrer.
Yeah, that had been a little awkward.
Magda rested her forehead on the dining table for another moment.
“Or maybe you could bring someone you know from work,” Flora suggested brightly. “Your co-broker from the deal you’re trying to do.”
“Keith. No. Plus, it’s not really going so well today. The gardeners scared off a potential buyer.”
“It’s not your fault.”
