Moonstruck at Midnight, the first of 5 books in the Moonstruck Series, was published independently on May 2021. It was later picked up by a major publisher (Grupo Planeta) and is currently being translated to Spanish. My books are available for purc...
Even though Aaron and Caleb did an excellent job keeping me safe and comfortable, I would've thought progress meant having less security and not an additional agent following me around. But when did my opinion matter?
The last months in Paris felt more careless, free. But a glacial sensation still gnawed at my chest and stomach as I tried to block out the memories and trauma of my mother's death.
Four years had passed since she died, but there were days when it felt like yesterday. The worst part of all was not knowing why it happened. My father insisted they were still looking into it, and I bought that for a while. But it was evident that he was keeping something from me. Was it best to stop asking questions? To give up on the truth? I didn't know what was best anymore.
But how does one simply stop thinking about it?
I refused to talk about this matter with anyone, which wasn't very useful in helping me process everything that happened. I thought I was strong enough to deal with this myself. Sometimes I'd walk a few steps back but only to keep thrusting myself forward.
The car approached the sidewalk. A green canvas sunshade with golden poles sheltered the Midtown East's pre-war building entrance.
"Four eighty-five Park, Mr. Murphy," Caleb announced with his thick sexy accent, cutting the engine.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
We were greeted by a couple of doormen: Senad, a tall, slender man, and Bruce, who was shorter and rocked a shaved head and frameless glasses. They were friendly and asked if we needed help with my things. But Aaron and Caleb had everything under control.
Mrs. Sullivan, the real estate agent who supervised the apartment on my father's behalf, approached us with keys and a manila folder. My father introduced us and talked to her while I wandered around the lobby, secretly anxious and excited about the whole thing.
"Come on, kiddo. Ninth floor." As we walked to the elevator, my father wrapped his arm around my shoulders.
The first thing that came to mind as I stepped into my apartment was: It's too big, considering I'd be living by myself. It was too big even if I had a roommate, but it was still cozy compared to the Residence in Paris.
Mrs. Sullivan gave me a brief tour of the tastefully decorated place. Across the foyer, an empty gallery tempted me to hang a few of my photographs, followed by a living room with the coziest grey lounging sofa and large windows overlooking Park Avenue. We continued into a modern six-person dining room beside the living room. The kitchen was at the far end, just beside a small bedroom and a pair of closets.
"Mimi will use this room as needed. You can expect her to arrive tomorrow afternoon. She'll help you unpack and fix a few meals," my father explained.
"David's coming tomorrow to meet you. He'll be working his first shift with Caleb. I'll ask them to send you their shift schedules each week. That way, you'll know who will be following you around." He raised a brow and smiled at me.
But his smile quickly evaporated. "And sweetheart, let's make this easy. This transition is new to all of us. I expect you to cooperate with the guys if they advise on anything. They know what's best." He sighed with a defeated air to it. I knew it would be hard for him to let go of the control he'd been used to having over me. And it's not that he was letting go completely, but this was a big change. For all of us.
I nodded and stepped forward to hug him. He was feeling anxious, I could tell.
"Come on, let's go see the rest of the place," I suggested, pulling his arm. There was still the other side of the apartment awaiting inspection.
After dropping my backpack and camera bag on the loveseat of the master bedroom, I jumped back on the king-sized bed with my arms open and the biggest smile on my face. It was getting harder to hide my excitement.
"Could you at least pretend to be sad about leaving me?" My father groaned playfully. But he was right. I was thrilled.
The doorbell rang.
It was Aaron and Caleb with my things. They placed the suitcases and boxes in the foyer. I glanced at Caleb, who was eyeing the place around with curiosity and amusement. "Nice view, Miss Murphy," he said proudly. You could tell how excited Caleb was about moving to New York. I was too.
We both knew things were going to be different compared to how we lived in Paris. Less protocol, more ... freedom? I hoped. Perhaps he did too, and that's where his excitement was coming from.
"We'll see you tomorrow. Let us know if there is anything you need." Both Aaron and Caleb excused themselves and left.
They were living in a smaller apartment on the second floor of the same building. My father wanted them to be available 24/7, just in case.
I took out the Eiffel Tower keychain with the symbolic key my father gave me on my birthday and added the new keys.
"I'm keeping the fake key," I told him, "as a good luck charm." His lips went into a pursed, warm smile, and I thanked him again for the hundredth time. I walked him out. We hugged each other and said our goodbyes.
The large window in the living room invited me to step closer and enjoy the view, to stare at how the night came upon the city, lighting it up in a million tiny, bright lights. And without notice, that gut-wrenching feeling that hadn't overpowered me in a while kicked in.
Would I ever stop missing my mom? Unlikely.
The unyielding grief remained challenging to conquer at the most unexpected moments. And after sobbing for an undetermined amount of time, I finally dragged myself to bed and fell into a dreamless sleep. It was as if I'd unplugged myself from existence.
