The Bucket List by Georgia Clark

Author:Georgia Clark
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria/Emily Bestler Books

26.

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April

New York is a town of many unspoken rules, and most of them revolve around the subway. Never get on an empty subway car: it’s empty for a reason. Always have your MetroCard in hand when approaching the turnstile. Never eat on the subway, or worse yet, make eye contact with anyone eating on the subway. When it comes to fashion, things are less rigid, but for one rule: don’t try too hard. When I moved to the city, I figured everyone stepped out in fashion-blogger-worthy outfits every single day, perfect down to the last statement pinkie ring. But in reality, New York is less about over-the-top splash and more about low-key style.

Except for one day of the year.

And that day is the first real day of spring. On that day, when it’s above seventy before 9:00 a.m. and your weather app assures you it’s only going to get better: embrace it.

That day is today. The city is a palette of pretty dresses the color of Easter eggs. Strappy sandals show off brand-new pedicures and just-shaved legs. Dudes wear T-shirts. Babies emerge from their strollers’ miniature sleeping bags. Strangers smile at one another. We made it.

My friend from the BRCA forums, Bee, sends me a picture captioned Good morning, New York! She’s on the Staten Island Ferry, flashing lower Manhattan. I laugh out loud. Without overthinking it, I ask her out for a drink: the first rosé of spring? A rooftop with water views? She texts me back two words.

FUCK. YES.

It’s official: my first meet-up with a fellow BRCA babe.

I arrive early at work, determined to allow the new season’s energy to jettison me out of my lazy winter rut. There are conferences to attend, travel to book. I’m excited to dive back into what New York has to offer now that the spring sunshine is finally warming the cold concrete. No sooner have I slipped into my chair, first iced coffee of the year in hand, than my phone lights up with texts. Vivian. I didn’t work the weekend like I’d promised. Our approval rating has fallen. From a four to a 3.2. The lowest it’s ever been.

My early-morning enthusiasm nose-dives. I didn’t work the weekend because I was fucking and fighting, and even the latter sounded better than putting together outfits. My weekend felt like real life, like things that matter, and the app . . . does it matter? Is it what I want to do? I care about Vivian, and I don’t want to walk away from all the work I’ve already put in, but I can’t deny the fact that creating outfits for teenagers who don’t even buy them has become very low on my list of priorities.

My fingers hover over the keyboard. I try to think of a response that isn’t an excuse, a promise, or a lie.

I can’t.

Patricia pings me. Gratefully, I leave my phone behind as I head to her office.

* * * *

“Can you believe it’s already April?” Patricia

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