I tip my cup toward her. Wouldn't be my first time. "Not a bad idea."
"So it's a deal?" she asks, and I don’t miss the eager tone in her voice.
"Do I have a choice?"
"No."
I lick my lips and look out the window toward the hustle and bustle of the busy street. I glance back at her. "Only if I can wear those heels from last night. Then I'm game."
Her eyes light up. "Deal. You can have them if you want."
A laugh escapes me, and I look out the window again.
"What do you think she does for a living?" I ask, pointing to a bystander on her phone. She’s dressed in a business skirt past her knees with a matching blazer.
This is a game we came up with. We people-watch and try to guess what they do for a living.
"She's new to the city or else she wouldn’t be looking up at the sign like she's reading a language she doesn't understand. She probably tells people she's in marketing, but she's really a temp, like a receptionist for a small business that's going to crumble next month and she doesn't know it."
I nod, and she says, "Your turn. What about him?" She points to a guy in line for coffee.
He looks like every other suit in the city. "He works on Wall Street and actually has money. He doesn't fake it."
"How can you tell?"
"His watch is a dead giveaway," I say, looking at what looks to be a Cartier. I saw a blue one in a magazine once that I fell instantly in love with. I never forgot it, or the seven-thousand-dollar price tag. "You and I both know that suit is not from a corner store or off the rack. It's tailor-made to fit his body and screams wealth. I bet he's terrible in bed."
She drags her gaze down the length of his body. "He has a nice ass, though."
I can always count on her to notice a man's body. I point to a runner.
"He's a P.E. teacher for underprivileged kids and loves his job."
"Come on. A tourist?" I ask, unimpressed after she points to someone taking random pictures of the concrete jungle. "What about that one?"
"He sleeps with his uncle."
"Natalie!" I laugh, and cover my mouth. I look around to see if anyone heard her. One person is staring at us.
"What?" She shrugs, and sips her java like she was only talking about the weather. "I bet he bones his cousins too."
"You're so bad," I say with a smile. "Okay. Last one, then I have to head to class."
Her eyes scan the throngs of people trying to find the best one. "That one."
"A struggling musician with a killer voice. Oh, and he has a muse who walks around naked."
Her eyes light up. "Nice! Okay. Text me later. I might have to work tonight, but I'll try to be quiet when I get home."
"You don't know if you have to work yet? Like you find out at the last minute? That's weird."
She doesn't look at me. "I think I'll buy you some noise-cancelling earphones, just in case."
"But then how will I hear my alarm?"
She pauses. "Good point. Okay, scratch that. I'll just try to be quiet."
We hug goodbye and I thank her for my coffee, then we go our separate ways. We might attend Fordham together, but we take completely different classes and our schedules don't usually line up. I'm majoring in Developmental Sociology, and she's still undecided, or so she says. I think that's just to piss her parents off, though. I think she secretly knows but doesn't want to tell anyone.
After a full day of new classes, all I want to do is go through my syllabi and prepare for the semester. Instead, I'm hurrying around my room looking for my uniform because duty calls and my bills need paying. Between crying babies, shitty diapers, and washing and folding strangers' clothes at the laundromat, this education better pay off.
Got to love New York City. It's the only city in the world that can make dreams come true while eating you alive at the same time.
Three
The first couple weeks of school are always so much more exhausting than the rest of the year for me. Adjusting to new classes, homework, and two jobs, I guess it would be tiring for anyone.
The stress of life and reality. Welcome to Adulthood 101.
As I sit on the bus watching the world pass me by, a feeling of nostalgia settles in my heart. Queens is where I was born and raised, and the only home I've ever known. I may have been all around New York City and Long Island, but that's the extent of my traveling. I've never left the state of New York.
I breathe in the familiar neighborhood and take in the exposed brick homes and black wrought iron fences. I don't get to see Grammy as often as I'd like because of my schedule, but when I do, I make the most of it. She's the only family I have left and I plan to spend all day with her. I know she'll have made my favorite chocolate kiss cookies and she'll insist on giving me cash for my birthday. She tries every year, and every year I turn around and deposit it right back into her account.
Two more stops and the breaks squeak as the bus pulls to a hard stop just a block away from Grammy’s. I can already smell the sweets as I walk up to her little unit, and I smile to myself. Her barred windows are open and jazz music fills the air. One of her many cats is perched on her stoop and I bend down to pet the fur ball. She purrs and raises her ass in the air like a little hussy.
"Grammy!"
I step over the threshold with ease. This isn't the greatest part of Queens and the door needs to be locked at all times, yet it never is. Grammy says she grew up never worrying about that and she isn't going to start now. She's a stubborn woman.
"My Aubrey." She pulls me into a tight hug. The woman is just over five feet and as strong as an ox. I look over her shoulder and see a new creature, one that wasn't here a month ago.
I pull back. "Gram, did you get another cat?"
"I don't find the cats, they find me." She smiles, and I give her a warning look. "What? They need food and a warm home. I give it to them."
"Someone is going to report you."
She waves her hand away. "They can go bend over."
I giggle. My grammy isn’t one to ever curse.
Placing my purse on the table, I look around, and my brows furrow. "How many do you have?"
"I stopped counting."
I draw in a deep breath and frown. "How does it not smell like kitty litter in here?"
"I have nothing better to do with my life at my age, so I keep my house clean and change litter boxes often. Then I go to bingo. Enough about me. How has school been? How's Natalie doing?"
I take a seat at the little dinette table and watch as she bustles around the kitchen wanting to feed me. The cushions are covered in plastic and the Formica counter is peeling at all the corners. For a woman in her late seventies, she's light on her feet. She attributes it to the cheap red wine and the fact she doesn't have a man in her life. She pays three dollars for the bottle and only allows one glass a night. She says it’s because her cats need her.
I wasn't going to argue with that. Heaven forbid one of them coughs up a fur ball while she’s on a bender.
I tell her all about the classes I'm taking, the professors, and of course Natalie, who she loves.
"Seems like you have your work cut out for you this semester. Think you can handle it?"
"Oh, yeah. It's nothing new, really. The classes are a little harder and I took on an extra one, but I think I'll be fine."
Her eyes soften and I catch a little water in them. "Your parents would've been so proud. I know I am."
I look down. I miss them more and more every day.
Grammy fills me in on all the neighborhood gossip—who she can't stand, which of their dogs are always shitting on her lawn, who's sleeping with who, and how she's got one person down the street trying to convert her to veganism, and another always preaching about God. She refers to the last two as a Jesus freak and a plant-eating hippie. Her New York accent is so strong that it makes her storytelling animated. She might not have much to do, but she sure has an interesting group of people surrounding her.
> She places a plate of fresh-baked cookies in front of me. The little thumbprints with a chocolate kiss right in the center smell divine and are my favorite. I pick one up and pop it into my mouth, and sigh over the sugary softness. I watch as she reaches under the kitchen sink for a large bottle, then places it on the counter. She retrieves two tumblers and pours us each a drink of the clear liquid. I lean over to sniff it when she sets the drink down in front of me. The scent singes my nostrils and burns.
"I didn't take you for a day drinker," I say.
"Aubrey, I have waited for this day for years."
I chuckle and eye her. "To have a drink with me?"
"Yes, you're twenty-one now."
She must've assumed I've never tasted alcohol in my life, which is cute and naive of her. I'm in college, of course I have, but I'll let her believe I haven’t.
I lean over to smell the contents again, and my face pinches up. "What is this?"
"Sambuca."
"Do you just sip this?" I ask. I've never had it before.
She sits down in front of me and raises her glass and levels a stare at me. "You're going to shoot it."
My brows raise up. "A shot?"
"Yes," she says, like it's obvious.
I glance at the glass. "That's more than a shot. That's like two big shots."
She ignores me and wishes me a happy birthday. "Cheers, my sweet granddaughter!" She taps her glass to mine.
Grammy finishes her drink before I even sip mine, and I gawk. Bringing the glass to my lips, I cringe from the smell and shut my mind off, and take the shot—or shots. I'm not sure what she poured me.
Goose bumps coat my arms and I shudder tasting the nasty liquor. It reminds me of black licorice and tastes hot—disgusting—but I smile anyway like I like it.
"I don't know how you drink this," I say as she refills my glass.
"That's a good girl," she says, then shoves more cookies in front of me.
It doesn’t take long for the alcohol to stream through my veins and make me smile a lot. I turn into a giggly happy drinker every time. I’m not a huge drinker due to school and work, but I can hold my own. I tell her how Natalie wants to take me out, and Grammy thinks that’s generous of her.
"I'm glad I got to be the first to get you drunk on your twenty-first. Now, be careful tonight and don’t do anything I wouldn't do," she says. Before my parents died, I'd heard colorful stories about her that I couldn't make up even if I wanted to.
Grammy walks into her bedroom and is back in a handful of seconds holding an envelope and a box. She hands them both to me.
I groan. "Grammy, I told you not to get me anything."
"Oh, quiet your mouth," she says. Her eyes glisten, and it makes me feel good to see her so happy. "And I didn't really get you anything. It was your mom’s."
I stare at her for a moment as tears well in my eyes. I don't have much to remind me of my parents since I’d been so young when they passed away. Exhaling a breath, I open the box to reveal a rose gold necklace with a charm inside. My finger strums the thin chain and my heart breaks a little bit at seeing it.
Grammy leans over and places her chin on her hand. "I remember seeing her wear it and I asked why in the world she would wear a horseshoe when she’d never even ridden a horse in her life. Actually, she was never in a ten-foot radius of one, now that I think about it. Anyway, she said she didn't know why, just that she loved it at first sight. Your dad bought it for her and she never took it off." She pauses. "After the car accident, that was one of the few items recovered. Her diamond earrings were missing, as well as her watch. They were probably stolen at the scene, but that was still there. I've held onto it ever since."
My chin quivers. Grammy takes the necklace and stands up to place it around my neck.
"I read years ago that a horseshoe is supposed to protect from evil and negative energy, if you believe in that sort of thing." Her voice softens. "She'd want you to have it."
"Thank you," I say, my voice just above a whisper. Tears blur my vision and I quickly wipe the fat drop that slips down my cheek. "It's beautiful."
"Open the card when you get home," she says, and I nod. Her phone rings and she shuffles across the kitchen to pick up the receiver to answer it.
I know what's inside the envelope. It's a heartfelt message that will probably make me tear up more, and fifty bucks. I've saved every card she's given me, and this one will go in my sentimental box too. A quick glance at the clock on her stove makes me realize it's been hours since I got here. Time always flies when I'm with Grammy.
"Yes, Francis, I said I was coming to bingo, so cool your cucumber." She winks at me. I hear the eagerness in her voice as she talks to her friend while she picks at cookies. Her sweet tooth is just as bad as mine. "I'll be there to pick you up. I haven't forgotten. I'm not the one with Alzheimer's—you know that's Annabel—but maybe you need to have your head examined because we just had this conversation this morning."
She hangs up and I stand. It's going to take me about an hour to get home, and I still need to eat before I go out. The last thing I want to do is drink on an empty stomach.
"I love you, Grammy. Thank you for today."
"Thank you, honey. I loved today and I hope you have fun tonight. Be safe. Let's do this again now that you're legal, and bring Natalie with you too. Here, take these," she says, and shoves a tin toward me that I know is packed with sweets.
We say our goodbyes and I walk the block to the bus station. Inhaling the fresh air, I take my cell phone out and call my best friend.
"Nat?" I say, and hiccup.
"Yeah, girl."
"I think my grandmother was trying to get me drunk. She gave me two double shots. I think I'm tipsy."
She laughs. "Gotta love Grammy. Let's do this!"
Four
"Damn, Gina, you look fine as hell," Natalie says in her best Martin Lawrence voice.
I grin at her Martin reference because it's too hard not to when she's being funny like that. Natalie and I are '90s sitcom junkies.
"Oh my God! You are so embarrassing," I say, exaggerating a little. We fuck with each other all the time.
"Seriously, girl, you look good. Give me those shoes back," she jokes.
I laugh and look at myself in the mirror. Lush, dark curls surround my face and drop past my breasts. My rich chocolate eyes flicker against the light. Spellbinding, an old boyfriend once called them, like I could read the darkest secrets in his soul. I line my plump, Cupid’s bow lips in red, then fill them in with a matching shade. I turn to the side and run my hands down the gold minidress Natalie insisted I wear. The dress is sleeveless with a deep slope between my breasts, accentuating my full size Cs. It hits a little higher than mid-thigh and has a revealing open back. With the gorgeous black high heels that sealed our deal to go out, my legs look even longer and I stand at about six feet tall now. I could be every man’s wet dream.
"I clean up well, don't I?" I say, feeling so sexy.
"You sure do."
I look over at Natalie, who’s adding a few last-minute curls to her platinum hair. Her bright red, lacy strapless dress is sexy and even smaller than mine. Being a shot girl, she’s used to wearing dresses like that. She has the seductive temptress style down and wears it well.
"Aren’t you worried your boobs are going to pop out?" I ask.
Stunning navy blue eyes that clearly know too much stare at me through the mirror. Her mouth pulls to one side, and she says, "They’re supposed to look that way." She pauses and flashes me a wink. "I used double-sided tape. Trust me. They're not going anywhere."
Natalie is confident and outgoing. She embraces her sexuality and gives no fucks. I love that. She lives to make men crawl on their knees for her, and I do too.
"Wing my eyes like yours when you're done?" I ask. She always has the perfect Adele wing and I want it too.
Once we have our faces on and our hair styled to perfection, we take a ton of selfies, then she reaches into a dra
wer and pulls out a little baggie.
"It's time to pregame," she says, dropping a pill into my hand. "We're celebrating this birthday in true New York City fashion—with a few shots and some Molly.”
I've only done Molly a handful of times, and every time I did, all I wanted to do was dance all night and have insanely hot sex.
"I'm gonna need to find a hot rando tonight if this is what we’re doing."
Natalie takes out the bottle of tequila and pours two shots. She eyes my body. "That won't be an issue for you. And if you don't see a rando you want, I got your back. I have a couple of friends who are dying to bang you."
Natalie is a wilder version of me and makes for hysterical memories. She likes to party hard at the clubs. Her nights usually end with one shoe missing and her earrings long gone while she sits on a dirty curb eating pizza in the city. Or with a few guys in her bed. Whatever she's in the mood for.
"Cheers, bitch," she says, and raises a shot to me. "This is going to be the best birthday ever!"
I'm glad I had a huge dinner so I won't get drunk too quickly. I want to remember as much as I can of this night. We both take a pill and wash it down with a shot. I place the back of my hand to my mouth and grimace over the shock of the first taste of tequila and shiver all over. She waves her fingers at me and takes my mini red Solo shot cup and fills it again.
"You're fucking crazy," I say, and take another shot. "Holy shit, my fucking throat is burning."
"You love it," she counters, and I shrug. I do love it.
I'm a little anxious and my chest flutters with eagerness as I anticipate the effects of the Molly. This is why I rarely experiment with drugs while I party—I'd want this high all the time. Everything will be tingly, and I know that constant rush will arrive soon that I'll never want to end. We take one last shot, then walk downstairs to a town car waiting to take us to the Meatpacking District.
"Natalie, there's no way we're getting into this club," I say as we pull up to a dark building about twenty minutes later. It's a little after midnight, and I can feel the bass pounding through the closed doors. The tequila is streaming through my veins, warming my body. I’m feeling really good. Too good.
Hush, Hush Page 2
