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Amanda Kingston stood frozen on the crowded New York City street, unable to force herself to take another step. A flood of people rushed past her, bumping her shoulder and sending her annoyed glances to let her know she stood in their way. She backed up against the comforting solidness of a building and sagged against the rough red bricks. Her phone vibrated incessantly in her jacket pocket, each ding reminding her of the relentless demands on her time. A bone-deep tiredness settled over her. For a long moment, she simply stood against the wall, letting the city rush past her.
In that moment, surrounded by the city that never sleeps, she realized she was wide awake in a life that no longer felt like her own. Her life controlled her. She didn’t control it. The phone dinged again as if in agreement.
The last event she
planned had been a smashing success. Maybe too successful. It should have left her riding high on her accomplishments. Now people were begging her to become their event planner, inundating her with requests. Which was what she’d always wanted, wasn’t it? A thriving, successful event-planning business in the heart of the city?
And yet, it no longer fulfilled her. The shine had worn off her dream. It had all boiled down to an endless stream of phone calls, tedious planning, and appeasing demanding clients. As the hubbub of the city swirled around her, she felt utterly adrift, questioning every decision that had led to this point.
As she pushed off the wall and turned toward her apartment, a taxi blared its horn, piercing the already deafening sounds of the street. A couple walked past, their hands entwined, but both talking animatedly on their phones, oblivious to anything going on around them. People avoided eye contact as they passed her. The energy and noise of the city wrapped around her like a wet blanket, strangling her.
She trudged up the steps to her apartment, took the elevator, and slipped inside, locking the double-deadbolts behind her. She had thought she’d really made it when she was able to move from her third-floor walkup to this apartment with an actual doorman and an elevator. A sign of the success she was making for herself.
The minimalist aesthetic and stark furnishings that she’d been so proud of when she bought them no longer seemed the correct choice. Oh, they were on point with current trends and the paint on the walls was last year’s color of the year. But how had she ever thought this modern decor would suit her? The room was sterile and unwelcoming, not a beloved sanctuary to come home to. Her old apartment with its thrifted furniture, old, uneven wooden floors, and leaky windows had seemed more like a home to her.
She dropped her purse on the table by the door and kicked off her shoes, the noise echoing through the open-concept layout. She padded barefoot across the cool tile to the tall window overlooking the busy street, still feeling disconnected from her surroundings, from her life. Below, the street was packed with cars and throngs of people hurried down the sidewalk.
She had to make up her mind about which event to take on next. She’d been known to juggle two or three at a time as long as they weren’t in the same week, her reputation for always getting the job done instilling trust in her clients. But recently, none of the requests had sparked one bit of joy for her. The thrill of coordinating the perfect
occasion had faded with each new event blurring into the next in a haze of checklists and phone calls.
She crossed over to her small kitchen. The sleek stainless-steel appliances and glossy white cabinets felt cold and impersonal. She poured herself a crisp glass of sauvignon blanc and sank onto a chair, debating ordering in from the Italian place down the street or maybe just making a bowl of popcorn and calling it a night. Even boiling water for a simple pasta dish seemed like too much work after the sixteen-hour days she’d been putting in. A night of mindless TV on the couch sounded quite appealing.
The faded postcard on her fridge caught her eye and she smiled for probably the first time today. Magnolia Key. That postcard got stuck on every fridge in every apartment she had. A poignant reminder of going there with her family as a young girl. Before… well, before everything fell apart. When her perfect life had fractured into tiny pieces and been swept away by an unstoppable tide.
But still, those cherished memories of the two-week vacation lingered. The endless sunny days lazing on the sugar-white sandy beach. The evening walks along the old wooden boardwalk, her parents strolling hand in hand. The twangy scent of the salt air. The slower-paced, relaxed atmosphere. All those memories were something that no one could take away. It had been a magical time. Those small, simple moments could never be taken from her. She closed her eyes as images of the pristine beaches and turquoise waters filled her mind. She could almost smell the sea breeze and the heady fragrance of the tropical blooms.
She opened her eyes, got up, and walked over to the fridge, sliding the postcard out from under the magnet. Her interior designer had insisted that nothing be hung on the front of the refrigerator, but she hadn’t listened to the woman. She ran her fingers over the faded photo on it. Her parents hadn’t known, any more than she had, that their vacation to Magnolia Key would be their last one together. She swallowed back the pain, the wound still tender after all these years, and put the card back on the fridge.
Exhaustion swept over her as she collapsed onto the couch with her wine, the relentless pace of her life in the city leaving her utterly drained. If only she could get back that carefree feeling of that time on Magnolia Key. The feeling of endless enchanted days stretching before her, ...
