Changing the subject, I excitedly tell Alina about my new internship at Bridgeway magazine that started almost two months ago, just before the end of my junior year. She peppers in a suitableoohandaahand it feels incredible to tell her about my new passion for journalism and storytelling.
I spend the rest of the evening with Alina talking about everything buthimand my family.We’re able to repair our friendship from all those years ago as we share more and more. We also squeal and giggle like the schoolgirls we were years ago. Everything feels comfortable, like something that I’ve missed all this time. It might be my third mojito, or maybe I am getting to where I should be in life.
My new job and more money don’t hurt either.
* * *
After my successful reunion with Alina, I return home with a massive smile on my face. It only took me around five minutes to get from the bar to our house.The elegant brownstone that we call our home is in the middle of a lively neighborhood. There are two subway stations, many parks, restaurants, bars, coffee shops, and other small businesses within short walking distance from us. I have lived in the city for close to seven years now, and it feels like home. More than any other place I've ever lived. There’s no way I would leave this place and move somewhere else. Even thinking about it makes me shudder. New York is my refuge and the place I’ll always love.
Once I get inside, I notice how dark and quiet it is. Nobody else is home—what a shame. I wanted to unwind with my roommates after the weekend I had with the failed date and then reuniting with Alina. Two out of three of my roommates have partners, which often means they stay at their places.
I check if anyone has fed Timmy’s cat Pickles. It looks like he’ll be fine until tomorrow. Opening his eyes while stretching on our massive light brown leather sofa, Pickles notices me in the kitchen and walks right up to where I stand. He starts to purr while running his body along my legs. I drop to my knees and pet him. He’s my cutest roommate. My cuddly little buddy. Pickles somehow senses my moods and cuddles next to me whenever I have a terrible day. It probably means he wants attention or food, but I like to think he’s my support animal.
I talk to Pickles using the voice I save for small children and animals. For a moment, it works, and I forget how I am all alone in our house. Then that same weird feeling from the moment I arrived at the empty house hits me. It’s hard to describe how I feel.
I want to have conversations where the other participant can answer me in words instead of looks, purrs, and meows.Sorry, Pickles. It’s nothing personal, I promise. You just don’t communicate like us humans, aka your servers, do. I wish you sometimes, like tonight, did.
Walking upstairs to my bedroom, I get ready for bed. Seeing Alina earlier brought all these memories back to the surface, and now I can’t stop thinking about my past. Vivid images parade across my mind while I wash my face free of makeup.I think about our school lunches, long rides surrounded by the cornfields, ice cream dates, and days spent at the pool. I realize that I miss my hometown for the first time in seven years. For such a long time, I only considered Belchester a place where nothing changes, and people keep gossiping, no matter what happens.
Brushing my long curls while adding rose oil to the dry ends, I wonder if this is the moment I’ve been waiting for—when I finally start to feel more like my old self. This feeling that made its presence known earlier today is new and strange. Yet, comforting.
I have had enough of feeling broken, hopeless, and worthless. Yes, I know I’m a good friend, daughter, intern, and student—still, I can’t stop finding all the imperfections about myself. At least I like my body. It’s what got me here and makes me stand out. There is something positive about every situation, Ruth likes to remind me.
Feeling tired after an eventful weekend, I snuggle under my covers and close my eyes. The last thing I think about before falling asleep ishimagain. The only person who I’m not ready to see again anytime soon.
Eli Parker.
The boy who played a massive part in my life story and then left me all alone.
He’s a part of my past that I can do without.
Or can I really? I have always been abad liar.
ELI
THE DAY BEFORE THE INTERVIEW
“Let me introduce you to our opening keynote speaker of the year. He’s here today to share how his company changed the way businesses understand their data and find trends that others missed. Please join me in welcoming him on the stage. From Dalton Enterprises, here’s Elijah Dalton!”
The cheerful announcer of the annual technology event here in New York City knows how to catch the audience’s attention—the room gives me a standing ovation. They show their support that way. It makes me feel better for a moment. Everyone in the room knows how much shit has happened in my life lately. Luckily, most of them have followed my business longer than the past year. They are smart enough not to trust my ex-fiancée’s claims about my company and me. I wish the world at large were like them.
Filling my lungs with air and closing my eyes for three seconds, I get ready to be the Elijah Dalton they all expect to see and hear today. If someone asked the audience what they think of me, the following adjectives describing me would be tossed around: ruthless, hardworking, secretive, innovative, captivating. They call me the new golden boy of the technology industry. They don’t even really know me.
For starters, I hate the termgolden boywith passion. It’s the same nickname my foster parent Michael called me in high school. That isn’t me. Nowhere close. I wish more people knew the truth behind my public persona—how there’s nothing golden about me or my past. Still, the board of directors of my company wants me to be more open and share my personal life since I’ve kept most things private until now.
They keep telling me that the public and investors need to see therealEli Dalton, whatever that means. Hopefully, I don’t end up regretting my decision to do an all-inclusive interview with Bridgeway magazine. Otherwise, the entire thing could turn into the perfect cherry on top of a shit show sundae called my life.
People don’t realize that there’s a reason for not sharing behind-the-scenes details. I don’t want to air my dirty laundry in front of millions of people. It’s not my style and never will be. I only trust a handful of people, and half of the country isn’t on that list. They don’t get the fact that I wasn’t always Elijah Dalton, the tech multimillionaire who owns one of the fastest-growing companies in the country.
A big part of my current life was given to me after I lost people I genuinely cared about. People I loved with every fiber of my being. If there were a way to go back in time, my pick would be people over possession. Money doesn’t erase my past and all the hurt.
I wave to the audience as I walk onto the stage and exchange pleasantries with two announcers standing there waiting for me. The beautiful blonde in a well-fitted outfit highlighting her impressive breasts openly flirted with me just last night. I told her I wasn’t interested because I’m currently dating someone new after my public breakup last year. She looked shocked that I said no, even after my fake excuse about being off the market. Everyone assumes I’m a playboy like every other young, single, successful male in attendance. For others, a ring doesn’t matter either.
The truth is, I’m a fabulous party of one—at least 95% of the time. Sometimes I feel lonely and miserable if I’m being honest. I’m not against the idea of seeing someone. But the drama and extra hassle that dating brings aren’t what I want right now. I don’t need that on top of everything else. It would be different if there were a way to find a partner without dating.
The blonde announcer’s husband was also in the room next door. There was no way I would be that reckless. How I reacted to her obvious suggestion was a no-brainer. It could have been career suicide to say yes, as the previously mentioned husband is one of the largest investors of Dalton Enterprises.
Like I said, a career suicide.
