Capture

“I’ll pick you up from the station.”

“No need. Janet and I are riding over together, then we’re dropping our stuff off in Brooklyn. I’ll take the subway to the MET and meet you there for food.”

“The offer still stands.” I could tell he was grinning. “Feel free to stay with me anytime.”

I realized I was grinning too, like a love-sick goof.

And I also realized that this, a friendship with Martin, was either going to help me get over him and be my best idea of all time, or I was going to fall even harder and it was the worst mistake I would ever make.

CHAPTER 5

Phase Changes and Heating Curves

Turns out my worst idea ever of all time was deciding to stay with Janet and her twin, aspiring actor friends.

As soon as we walked in the door I knew something was amiss, mostly because of all the drug paraphernalia scattered around stinking up the studio—including, but not limited to bongs, bags of weed, bent and burnt spoons, lighters, syringes, and what I was fairly certain was the hydrochloride salt form of heroin.

One of the twins was passed out on the couch. The other was on the floor, shooting up.

I paused in the doorway just long enough to absorb the general splendor of these idiots ruining their lives before turning around and marching back down the last flight of stairs we’d just hiked up.

“Katy, wait. Where are you going?” Janet called after me, but did not follow.

“I’m leaving.”

“But—wait, wait a minute.” Now she was following me. I’d made it to the second landing before I felt her hand on my arm making me stop. “What do you mean you’re leaving?”

I faced her, my eyes darting back to the open door, her bags still in the entry. “Just that. I’m leaving. I’m not staying with druggies.”

Her lip curled as her eyes moved up and down, as though she were seeing me for the first time. “Is this because your mother is a politician? Are you afraid of ruining her rep? Or are you just being stuck up?”

“I guess I’m just being stuck up. This has nothing to do with my mother. Even if my mother were a singing barista, I wouldn’t spend one second more in that apartment. I don’t like drugs. I don’t want to have anything to do with them.”

“Come on, they’re not bad guys.” Her expression softened and she smiled warmly. “Come back—we’ll order a pizza and ignore them.”

I shook my head before she finished speaking. “No. It’s one of my life rules. I have no tolerance for drugs or for people who do drugs.”

“Does that mean you have no tolerance for me?” Janet stood straighter, her chin lifted in challenge.

“Do you do drugs?”

“Hell yes.”

I shrugged. “Then I guess you have your answer.”

Her mouth opened in shock and I took advantage of her momentary stunned surprise to walk down another two flights of stairs.

I heard her call after me just before I exited the building, “Good luck finding a place to stay the week before Christmas, every place is booked. And don’t come back here with your judgmental bullshit!”

The door slammed behind me, cutting off any additional tirade she might be flinging in my direction. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with icy air, and reminded myself, just because I don’t feel calm, doesn’t mean I can’t be calm.

I walked toward the subway station, holding my sleeping bag to my chest and shifting the weight of my backpack. Even though I’d packed relatively light, the bag was still heavy. Janet was right. Finding a place to stay for the night was going to be nearly impossible, especially a place I could afford.

I basically had two options.

I could call my parents and ask them if I could borrow money for a hotel room. I really, really didn’t want to do that.

I wasn’t going to live my life having my mother and father support my little hobby. It wasn’t a hobby to me. I wanted to be treated like an adult. I was making my own decisions about my future, I should be able to make my own way. I would accept their help with tuition, but then I promised myself I would be on my own in all other facets of my life.

The second option was catching a train back home tonight, then catching another train back to the city early in the morning. This wasn’t a great option either since it was going to be incredibly expensive to take the train back and forth every day, not to mention exhausting.

Debating my options, and knowing ultimately I really only had one option if I wanted to be truly self-sufficient, I took the subway back to Grand Central Station.

Once I was no longer underground, I texted Martin.

Kaitlyn: Sorry. I have to cancel our MET meet up. I’m not staying in the city and need to try to catch a train back home before they’re all sold out. Maybe next time.

I was standing in front of the departures board when I felt my phone vibrate, alerting me to his response.

Martin: Are you already in the city?

Kaitlyn: Yes, but my arrangements fell through, so I’m going back home.

Martin: Don’t go. Stay with me.

I stared at this message for a full minute, my heart accelerating then dipping then twisting as I thought about this potential solution I hadn’t considered. Earlier, from the comfort of my living room in New Haven, this suggestion had seemed ludicrous. Now, faced with the reality of a train ride back home and another in the morning, this idea felt a lot more plausible. We were friends after all.

Maybe I was staring for longer than a minute because Martin texted again.

Martin: I’m hardly ever at my place. You’d basically have the apartment to yourself.

I felt like this last message was an unbreakable code…

If he was hardly ever there, did this mean he had a girlfriend? Emma the business partner wasn’t his girlfriend, but he didn’t deny having a girlfriend. What about the brunette at the gig last week? Maybe she was his girlfriend.

Did he spend the night at this theoretical woman’s place all the time?

Could I be any more psycho and weird about Martin Sandeke?

Feeling like I needed to know for certain whether he had a girlfriend before I agreed to spend a night in his apartment, I debated how to respond to his latest text.

If he had a girlfriend then I was leaving for home tonight and the answer was a firm no. I didn’t want to see him with anyone else…ever. As well, how fair would it be to this hypothetical girlfriend if I was lusting after her boyfriend for a week while in his apartment? It wouldn’t be fair at all, and it was against the cool-girl code.

But I felt strange about texting him and asking him, so I tried to cleverly extract the information instead.

Kaitlyn: Does this mean you’re a workaholic or is your social calendar just impressively full of hot dates?

Martin: A workaholic. My social calendar is mostly work stuff.

Kaitlyn: So, you’re out late only because of work?

Martin: Usually.

Kaitlyn: Any other reason?

There was a significant pause in his text messages. I waited, watching the clock on my phone. I was about to do a google search for “Martin Sandeke girlfriend” just to put myself out of my misery when he finally responded.

Martin: Are you more or less likely to stay the week if I have a girlfriend? Because I can get one if I need to.

Once again I was staring at my phone, surprised by his text. But I shouldn’t have been surprised. Martin had nerves of steel and balls of titanium. Before I could text him back, he sent another message.

Martin: There is no one. Stay with me. It’ll be the most exciting thing that’s happened since I bought a PS4.

He didn’t have a girlfriend…!

I couldn’t help myself, I did a jig, right there in front of the departures board at Grand Central Station. It was an instinctual, involuntary jig.

After the fact, I recognized I did a jig for no reason because nothing was ever going to happen between us again. He’d had his revenge on his father. He existed in his universe of one. He’d moved on. And I wasn’t likely to trust him enough to let anything happen. Regardless, the fact he was single felt like a victory, so I did my jig.

I read his message again and my attention caught on the very last part.

Kaitlyn: Wait, you have a PS4?

Martin: Yes.

Kaitlyn: Do you have any Lord of the Rings games?

Martin: Yes. Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor.

Kaitlyn: What’s your address? I’m on my way.

***

Martin lived in the Upper West Side. Finding his building was no big deal and was basically a relatively short subway ride with one transfer. When I arrived, the doorman seemed to be expecting me because he greeted me as Ms. Parker and ushered me into the lobby to the desk of a friendly concierge. Her name was Mae and she was extremely cheerful.

“Aren’t you lovely, dear? Mr. Sandeke called ahead and said we should be expecting you. I’ll show you up to his apartment.”

“Oh, I don’t mind waiting until he gets home.”

“Nonsense, dear. He was particular about you going up right away. Besides, who knows when he’ll be home?” She leaned close to me as we boarded the elevator and whispered, “He keeps odd hours, so you might be waiting until midnight.”

Martin lived on the sixth floor and his place was at the very, very end of a long hallway. Mae made chitchat the entire time and, to be honest, I had no idea what she was talking about. Staying with Martin when I was tired, hungry, and stranded seemed like a reasonable alternative to catching trains daily back and forth between New York and New Haven.