"Five Days in the City"

Prompt: Chapter 16: New York Joel’s POV The morning was soft with pale sunlight, dew still clinging to the grass in Henry’s yard. Maxime and Jane were buzzing with energy, Esme moving a little slower—sipping coffee, triple-checking her bag, still in her hoodie and no makeup. Sarah hugged her tightly at the door, making a show of pretending not to cry. “You’re gone five days,” Sarah muttered into Esme’s shoulder. “Five days,” Esme said. “You’ll blink and I’ll be back.” Henry grumbled something about traffic and grabbed his keys to drive Sarah to school, giving Joel a meaningful look as he passed. Joel loaded the last suitcase into the trunk. Esme slid into the passenger seat, still quiet, tapping her fingers against her thigh. Maxime and Jane were chatterboxes in the backseat the whole ride, but Joel didn’t mind. It gave him a chance to watch Esme out of the corner of his eye—how she stared out the window, how her lips twitched at their jokes, how she leaned just slightly in his direction every time he shifted gears. At the airport, Maxime and Jane grabbed their bags and drifted ahead, giving them a moment. “Five days,” Esme said again, trying to make it sound like nothing. “I’ll text you when we land.” Joel gave a small nod, then stepped closer. He pressed a hand to her waist. “Don’t forget sunscreen.” “Always such a dad.” “You like that,” he said quietly, and kissed her. The kind of kiss that made her hands curl against his chest. The kind that paused time. She pulled back with a shaky breath. “I really do.” And then she was gone, jogging after her friends, tossing a grin over her shoulder as the doors slid shut behind her. Joel stood there a moment longer than necessary. ⸻ Esme’s POV The airport was alive with the hum of rolling suitcases, distant announcements, and the smell of fresh pretzels mingling with espresso. Maxime’s sandals clicked confidently against the polished floor while Jane made a beeline for the nearest place with a robust espresso machine. “You okay?” Max asked once they got through customs. “Yeah. Just weird. Like… I’m not used to leaving.” “Guilt?” “No,” Esme said. “Joel’s not the guilt type. He told me to go. But it’s been years since I’ve done something like this.” Jane returned with coffee and croissants. “You’ll be fine. Worst case? You hate it and we turn around and rent a boat instead.” The flight itself was a messy symphony: crying toddlers, clattering trays, and Jane somehow managing to charm a flight attendant into giving her a free glass of wine. Maxime dozed off watching bad TV. Esme half-laughed, half-suffered through turbulence. ⸻ Third Person — Arrival in New York They landed Wednesday afternoon. The air was thick with the city’s heat, heavy but dry, carrying the faint scent of street food and concrete. Outside the airport, yellow cabs honked in familiar bursts, and the sharp, rhythmic clack of heels echoed down the sidewalk. Their rental was a sleek black SUV, the driver weaving smoothly through midtown’s chaotic rush hour as skyscrapers loomed overhead, glass catching the sun like giant mirrors. Their first day was a blur of energy and noise: smoothies from a corner vendor, wandering through the maze of Central Park’s shaded paths, spontaneous detours into tiny bookstores tucked between skyscrapers, and a late dinner of steaming dumplings and cocktails with names they couldn’t quite pronounce at a lively East Village bar. That night, the city pulsed around them—traffic lights blinking, a distant siren, laughter spilling out of open windows, and the low thrum of subway trains beneath their feet. Thursday morning was a rush of subway rides and street vendors selling bagels with every kind of schmear. Jane dragged them through bustling markets, snapping photos of colorful murals and outdoor flower stalls, while Maxime eyed the towering skyline like it was a living, breathing thing. As evening settled, they picked up their second rental—a shiny white SUV—and headed north out of the city, chasing the quiet. By late evening, they arrived at a cozy brownstone in Brooklyn, its exposed brick and warm lights giving it a welcoming glow. The narrow staircase smelled faintly of wood polish and fresh paint, with fairy lights strung along the banister, twinkling like stars. Jane tossed her suitcase into the biggest room. “This weekend’s gonna be legendary.” ⸻ Friday Morning By 8 a.m., Jane was already blasting music that spilled through the apartment’s tall windows. The kitchen smelled of fresh coffee and something floral—Maxime’s essential oils, Esme guessed. Outfits were laid out like armor—flowy skirts, lace bralettes, vintage boots, sparkly chokers. Jane had a plan and an entire Pinterest board backing it up. “First set starts at 2,” Jane announced, turning up the volume. “We pregame here.” By mid-morning, Jane dropped the real surprise: “By the way, I invited some people over—they’re staying nearby. To get the party started.” Maxime raised an eyebrow. “How many people?” “Chill. A few guys, a couple girls. They’re cool. And,” Jane leaned in like it was a sacred secret, “one of them has X. Good stuff.” Silence. Esme froze with a mascara wand in hand. “Wait—like, X as in ecstasy?” Jane blinked. “Yes, Nana. I figured we’d do half. Loosen up. It’s not 2007 anymore but we’re still fun.” Maxime shifted uncomfortably. “I haven’t touched that stuff in years.” “Same,” Esme said quietly. Jane rolled her eyes. “You’re both acting like I offered you heroin.” “I’m not judging,” Esme said, though she felt the weight in her chest tighten. “It’s just… I never talked to Joel about this. I don’t know if he’d be okay with it.” Jane scoffed. “Joel’s not here. You’re not sixteen. And it’s just a damn pill.” She grabbed her vape and stormed onto the fire escape, muttering something about “festival buzzkills.” ⸻ The apartment pulsed softly with music from a Bluetooth speaker. Outside, Jane and her festival crew were already drinking by the window, shouting over some debate about set times. It was all laughter, glitter, and loud opinions. But inside, Esme and Maxime sat quietly on the edge of the couch, propped against the exposed brick wall glowing golden in the late afternoon sun filtering through gauzy curtains. Esme held the phone in her lap, biting her bottom lip. “You sure you wanna do this now?” Maxime asked. “I don’t want it on my chest all weekend,” Esme said. “It’s already pressing.” Maxime nodded. “Then let’s get it out.” Esme tapped the screen. Joel answered on the second ring—still in his backyard, the orange trees behind him glowing in the last bit of light. He was wearing that old gray Henley and had a cold beer in hand. “Well, don’t you two look like trouble,” he said, raising an eyebrow at the screen. “Everything okay?” Maxime leaned in. “Define ‘okay.’” Joel chuckled. “That’s not ominous at all.” Esme sighed. “So… Jane invited some people over. People staying nearby for the weekend.” Joel nodded. “Okay.” “And one of them brought… ecstasy,” she said quickly. “Like, actual pills.” Joel blinked, expression unreadable for a moment. “We haven’t done it yet,” Esme added. “But we’ve done it before. Years ago. College and a few times after. Nothing recent.” “It’s not a big deal,” Maxime jumped in, reassuring but honest. “But we had a weird moment with Jane. She didn’t love that we hesitated.” Joel sat quietly for a second. You could hear the birds in the trees behind him. “I appreciate you telling me,” he said finally. “You’re not mad?” Esme asked, voice smaller than she intended. “No,” he said. “I mean—am I psyched about you doing drugs in Brooklyn? Not especially. But… I get it. You’re not some reckless kid. And I’m not your babysitter.” Esme exhaled, her body folding just a little. Joel continued, softer now, “I trust you. And yeah, it catches me off guard a bit—but it’s not a dealbreaker, Esme. You told me the truth. That matters more.” Maxime smiled, bumping her shoulder against Esme’s. “Told you.” Joel added, “Don’t feel like you have to hide stuff from me. Especially not things from your life before me. Or even now. I want in, not out.” Esme nodded, swallowing down the wave of emotion climbing up her throat. “I love you,” she said. “I love you too,” he replied, steady. Maxime smirked. “Okay, I’m leaving before I third-wheel myself into therapy.” Esme laughed and turned the camera around, showing off the apartment, the outfits, the group outside. Joel grinned. “Looks like a scene.” “It is. But… I’m glad I called.” “Me too.” “Tell Sarah I love her?” “She already knows.” ⸻ Saturday Night — Brooklyn Rooftop Party The city stretched beneath them, a glittering grid of lights and restless movement. Music pulsed through the rooftop speakers as the breeze carried the distant sounds of honking cars, street musicians, and late-night chatter. Esme was neither drunk nor high—just a couple of drinks deep—but the world buzzed around her, vibrant and surreal. Maxime and Jane glowed—not just from the string lights and glitter on their cheeks, but with the unfiltered joy of old friends reunited. Jane was barefoot, laughing as she danced in the warm summer air. Maxime swayed next to Esme, eyes closed, one hand pressed to her heart. “I feel this song,” Maxime said, breathless. “Like, in my soul. Do you feel it?” Esme laughed, brushing damp hair off her neck. “Not in my soul, but it’s good.” Maxime opened her eyes and turned toward her. “God, I missed this. I missed you.” Esme hesitated—just a beat. The music shifted softer, synths swelling like the sky itself. “I’m right here,” she said quietly. “I know, but—” Maxime’s words tangled together. She clutched Esme’s hands. “I mean us. The us that danced in muddy fields and told secrets in bathroom stalls and cried over boys and said we’d never settle for less than magic.” Esme looked at her—really looked. Her best friend’s eyes were glassy, pupils blown, but beneath the serotonin haze, there was something real. And it hit her—not the FOMO, not the worry about Joel or Sarah or what she looked like under neon lights—but the quiet truth: She had missed this too. Missed them. Esme smiled. “You’re a sappy little lovebug when you’re high.” Maxime beamed. “You love it.” “I kind of do.” Maxime threw her arms around her, clinging like they were eighteen again, sweaty and alive and bulletproof. Esme held on, letting it wash over her. The music. The chaos. The them-ness of it all. Jane stumbled over a moment later, wrapping both of them in a glittery, giggling group hug. “I love us,” she declared into Esme’s hair. Esme laughed again—loud, full-bellied, unguarded. “I love us too,” she said, honest and clear. For the first time since arriving, she didn’t feel like an outsider. She felt home. ⸻ Monday Morning — JFK Airport The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like a swarm of gnats, and the terminal smelled like old coffee, duty-free perfume, and someone’s regrettable breakfast burrito. Maxime and Jane were draped over the terminal chairs like casualties of a beautiful war. Jane had her sunglasses on indoors and a scarf wrapped around her head like a hungover movie star in hiding. Maxime had her boots off and feet propped on her suitcase, snoring faintly beneath a hoodie that read: I love NYC. Their flight had been delayed. Twice. The announcement came just after security, and neither of them had moved since. Esme, on the other hand, felt… fine. Surprisingly so. She hadn’t taken anything stronger than Advil all weekend, and now she was clean, hydrated, and—unlike her companions—still functional. Also: extremely bored. She stood up and stretched. “I’m gonna walk around.” “Buy me gum,” Maxime mumbled into her neck pillow. “Or a new face,” Jane added without lifting her head. Esme grinned, tossed her hoodie over her arm, and wandered off toward the long row of overpriced shops and cafes. A bookstore caught her eye. Then a boutique with travel pillows shaped like cartoon cats. She walked slowly, sipping a too-sweet iced tea and pretending to debate whether she needed another pair of sunglasses. REWRITE THIS CHAPTER