want anything from you. You’re a liar, Griff. A fucking liar, a cheater, and a terrible human being.”
The futility of her words washed over her and she ran to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She waited until she heard the closing of the front door before she let the sobs wash over her.
Two days later, Griff texted Rose to say Connie would be heading over that evening. Rose left work early and packed her clothes into four suitcases, along with her toiletries and shoes, while Bird watched from his perch on the bed. If she had to pick a word for the expression on the dog’s face, it would be bemused. As if he knew all along it wasn’t going to work out with Griff, and perhaps if Rose didn’t expect so much out of life, she wouldn’t be in this situation. All Bird needed was some food and water and three good walks a day. Why did Rose ask so much?
Before Griff came into her life, she’d been independent and strong, and she refused to let him bring her down now. She’d crash at Maddy’s until she could find an affordable place, ask Tyler for a raise to cover the additional expenses, and take care of herself. Too bad the door had closed firmly behind her when she’d left the network, with its high salaries and generous benefits. Otherwise she might have considered going back.
She sat cross-legged on the floor and stroked Bird. Instead of lying down like most dogs and exposing his stomach, Bird remained on his haunches, his front legs pressed primly together. “Don’t worry, you’ll be back home before you know it.” Bird sniffed the air and sneezed.
Rose became exhausted just thinking about relocating to Maddy’s apartment, which was as chaotic as Griff’s was minimal, with crayons and Barbies scattered everywhere. Never mind the strain of putting on a brave face in front of Maddy and her family each day. And, of course, she had to worry about Bird’s behavior, too. Hopefully, he wouldn’t nip at the kids.
She wished she had a real home to go to. A place in Connecticut maybe, on a tree-lined street where her parents would greet her with a hug and a homemade meal; then she’d go up to her room, which was just as it was when she’d left. Maybe she’d meet their handsome landscaper and fall in love, and realize that small-town life was for her. After several wacky misunderstandings, they’d fall into each other’s arms and marry in the backyard.
Instead, her mother had left their Upper West Side brownstone one day while Rose was in first grade, never to return home again. Her father said that she’d gone on a long trip. By the time Rose knew to ask for details, she’d gotten used to their quiet existence together, cooking a simple dinner, reading before lights-out. Later, in high school, he informed her that her mother had passed away in Arizona somewhere, from a drug overdose. By then she was an apparition anyway, more theoretical than real, and Rose tucked the information away in the dark recesses of her mind.
Life with her father was filled with routine and order. She read Austen and the Brontës over and over, and although she never admitted it to anyone, she used to wish she’d been a lady’s maid in the 1800s. Rose enjoyed Saturday mornings when she gave their apartment a good cleaning, knowing that she had full control over the five small rooms, while the rest of the world loomed so large and noisy outside. If she were a maid, she’d know what was going to happen in five years, or ten, the same thing, day after day. Lighting coal fires, cleaning gowns, going to bed exhausted and then doing it over again. All oddly comforting. Funny how far that was from the life she would have had with Griff, one half of a power couple taking Manhattan by storm.
On Saturday nights, Rose and her father went out for dinner at the local diner, where she ordered the open-faced turkey sandwich, which came with mashed potatoes and gravy and a big helping of cranberry sauce, and her father would get a Reuben. On a napkin, he tested her in algebra, making silly faces out of the symbols. And when she moved out, off to college and then to a shared apartment with friends in Chelsea, they still met for dinner at least once a week. Until the day