pause as a few brief thoughts of inadequacy run through my mind. Can I really put myself through all of this again? Allow myself to have hope? Is Anderson worth it?
When his voice fills the room as he shares our love story, I have my answer.
He will always be worth it.
“I love you girls,” I say quickly, then whirl around, ignoring the demands from the nursing staff to slow down.
But I can’t.
I race out of the building as quickly as I can. Luckily, there’s always a line of cabs nearby, and I dart into one.
“Rockefeller Plaza,” I say breathlessly. “As fast as you can.”
The driver nods, starting his meter. He merges into traffic, then steals a glance at me in the rearview mirror. “Do you know who you look like?”
“Grace Kelly?” I mutter under my breath, having gotten that most of my life.
“No. The American girl who was supposed to marry that European prince but her mother sabotaged it. Probably out of jealousy.”
I pull my hair out of the bun, allowing it to fall to my shoulders. “I am that American. And that prince is being interviewed by Carly Hart right now. So I really need to get to Rockefeller Plaza as soon as possible.”
His eyes widen in surprise. Then he turns into the New York cab driver I know he is in his soul. “Of course, ma’am.” He presses his foot on the gas, not paying much attention to the rules of the road.
I pull my phone out of my purse and bring up a browser so I can keep watching the interview. For all I know, it may already be over.
But when I tune into the live feed, I blow out a relieved breath to see Anderson’s still there. I turn up the volume, keeping my hand on the door handle to prevent myself from sliding all over the back seat as the car’s tires squeal around a corner.
I listen as Anderson shares how he was unaware he’d caused the crash until a year ago. How he’d experienced temporary blindness, what he now knows was a flareup of his MS, which was undiagnosed until last year. Then he shares how we met, something that’s been kept under wraps from the beginning. How he was on the brink of taking his own life after receiving his MS diagnosis, but saw me sitting in that Chicago diner. As he discloses how he felt when he realized who I was, a text pops up.
Chloe: #TeamNora is the top trending hashtag right now. This interview is going viral, more so than your mother’s. Nora, people LOVE your story. So go get your man! And don’t give up until you have him!
I beam, typing out a quick reply.
Nora: I don’t plan on it. No more obstacles.
I look up from my phone to see how close we are. There are still a few blocks to go, but with Midtown traffic what it is, it’ll probably be quicker if I just run.
“I’ll get out here.” I reach into my purse and toss a $20 his way, then hastily push open the door, skirting through three lanes of traffic. People fill the sidewalk like ants, Rockefeller Plaza feeling so close but still so out of reach. Like it gets farther away with every step I take.
Now I know how Terry McKay felt in An Affair to Remember when she was on her way to the Empire State Building to see Nicki Ferrante after their agreed upon six-month separation. Nothing else mattered except getting to Nicki. Just like right now. Nothing matters except getting to Anderson.
When I’m two blocks away, I break into a jog, looking down at my phone every few seconds to see the interview still going. A few people look my way, seeming to recognize me. Some whisper and point, others begin chanting my name as I run past.
By the time I reach the Plaza and can see the open windows of the studio on 49th Street, more and more people have joined in the chant. But I tune out most of them, all my attention focused on the large screens outside broadcasting the interview. Anderson’s voice fills the area as he confesses how he didn’t fight hard enough for me. How the reason wasn’t because of my mother’s interview but because he thought he was saving me from a lifetime of living with a cripple.
I stop dead in my tracks, his words hitting me hard, knocking the air from my lungs.
“My god, you