2011: It's been ten years since the sky literally came crashing down around Yael Malkah and upended her world. Now she's returned to New York to visit her ailing grandmother. With no other family, it's up to her to take care of the family business...
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Heavy raindrops plopped onto her cheek as Yael stepped out from under the awning with a steaming mocha in between her hands. A colorful mosaic of umbrellas swarmed on the sidewalk, bumping and pushing into her without a care. The traffic light changed while an impatient steel knot of gridlock traffic was still stuck in the middle of the intersection. Horns blared. Someone shouted something lewd. She could hardly register it, though. Her mind was numb.
She wished for something stronger than coffee. With its tall buildings glinting in the early summer rain, New York City felt like a completely different place. She had tried to imagine her return a hundred-thousand times by now, but no matter how many times she'd replay the loop and change the details, the outcome was always the same. As she hailed a cab and mumbled directions to the driver, she thought back to her imaginative recaps. None of them came close to what brought her back now.
Memories plagued her, and no matter how hard she tried to avoid looking at it, her eyes kept drifting back toward the interrupting space in the skyline. She shook her head to ward off the images that came unbidden of people drifting aimlessly, numb and lifeless, through ash-covered streets and the endless cries of sirens.
Now here she was, the exact place she'd wanted to escape, looking at the real reminder of why she left. Her phone buzzed from deep inside her purse, and Yael dug for it in the depths of Narnia betwixt stray tic-tacs and lipstick. She unlocked the screen and pulled up Wendy's name, firing off a text that she'd call her later.
Dropping the phone back into her bag, Yael leaned her head against the seat and repeated her mantra, "I am stronger than my addiction."
It'd been eight months since she finished rehab. The prospect of showing up unannounced at her grandmother's doorstep threatened her sobriety more than she cared to admit. She should have gone straight to a meeting from the airport. The last thing she wanted or needed was to risk another relapse. Just four months and she'd clear a milestone she'd strived for years. Yet here she was, risking her sobriety by coming back to the city.
The cabbie rolled to a stop in front of her grandmother's townhome on E 69th Street. He eyed her through the rearview as if she didn't belong in an affluent neighborhood. He wasn't wrong. The community reeked of old money. "Thanks," she offered as she slid out of the car with her bags onto unsteady feet. He whizzed off before she remembered to retrieve her lukewarm drink.
It was only June, but she rubbed the goosebumps on her arms to ward off the chill creeping up her spine. Raising her gaze, she studied the building.
Just as she remembered-opulent to the point of gaudy, in her opinion. Lingering on the sidewalk, Yael looked up and down the path, hoping a biker or a ferocious Karen would put her out of her misery. Anxiety loomed over her like a storm cloud. She didn't know how her grandmother would react to seeing her after all these years. She'd consider this endeavor a success if she wasn't immediately tossed out on the street like riff-raff. After a couple of cleansing breaths, her legs stopped shaking. Her fingers tightened on the suitcase until her hand throbbed. She swallowed the bile threatening to rise and pressed the doorbell. The booming echo mirrored her heartbeat.
