Month of Sundays Read Online Free Page A

wasn’t sure. Seeing Jane and Colleen together made her remember how much she enjoyed being part of a couple. Being half of a whole. Would she ever experience that feeling again?
    She unlocked her apartment door and stepped inside. “Honey, I’m home.” Her voice echoed dully off the Spartan interior.
    She lived in Long Island City in a building across the river from Manhattan. Most didn’t know the building by name, but by sight. It was the tall orange edifice next to the red neon Pepsi-Cola sign. Many TV shows and films featuring New York locales normally used the area for scene-setting exterior shots.
    Isabel kept their old place, a duplex on the West Side. They were supposed to get a brownstone in Brooklyn, but they could never find one that suited both their tastes. Rachel’s new digs were a good thirty minutes away from the city—twice that when the Midtown Tunnel was clogged. Most days she took the train. It was cheaper and less of a hassle.
    In need of comfort—the kind that came in a cardboard carton with Ben and Jerry’s emblazoned on the side—she kicked off her shoes and padded to the kitchen. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out the cocktail napkin Griffin had given her. She ran her fingers over the unfamiliar script. The words slashed across the paper like knife cuts. Griffin’s invitation piqued Rachel’s curiosity. She was tempted to attend the party if only to see how many A-listers she could spot before she lost count. If she did decide to go, would she walk into the fray alone or drag a friend along for moral support? A decision for another day.
    She used a Betty Boop magnet to affix the napkin to the front of the refrigerator. Then she pulled a pint of Cherry Garcia out of the freezer, grabbed a spoon from the cutlery drawer, and prepared to dig in. The first bite was exhilarating, but as the sugary frozen treat slid down her throat, it didn’t taste—or feel—as good as it normally did. The second bite was just as unrewarding. She was so far gone nothing could reach her.
    She finished the ice cream not because she wanted it but because it was there. When she swallowed the last treacly spoonful, she felt full but unfulfilled.
    If I want answers, I’m going to have to look somewhere other than inside my refrigerator.
    She tossed the empty container in the trash and rubbed her bloated belly. “That’s it,” she said after unleashing a very unladylike belch. “Enough’s enough. On Monday, I start spending lunch at the gym instead of my desk.”
    She said the same thing at least once a week, but this time she told herself she meant it.
    Needing to decompress, she headed to the living room, turned on a twenty-four hour sports channel, and watched the scores scroll by. When that didn’t work, she headed over to the window and stared out at the city. In the distance, the iconic metal exterior of the Chrysler Building was bathed in bright white light and the top floors of the Empire State Building were lit up in red and green. The clouds around them were an odd battleship gray, threatening to bring snow but not yet living up to their promises.
    Her apartment building was quiet. Almost unnaturally so. She felt like the only tenant in residence.
    She turned off the TV and sat in the dark, listening to the silence.
    The next thing she knew, the sun was coming up and she hadn’t been to bed yet. The ringing telephone tore her away from her ruminations—thoughts of her old flame and questions about the sexy chef with a firm grip and a taste for tequila.
    Assuming the caller was Jane wanting to know why she didn’t stick around last night, she took her time answering. She picked up the phone on the fourth ring just before the answering machine would have kicked in.
    “Hey,” Jane said. “How was your Rocky Road?”
    “It was Cherry Garcia and it was awesome, thanks,” Rachel said, stubbornly refusing to admit her evening had been less than satisfactory.
    “If you say so. Be