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in the spring and picnicked on the Brooklyn Bridge on warmer nights. But would this be it forever ? And while their little dumpy apartment was certainly romantic, was this all there would be for her?
    Eden loved Wes deeply. She loved his passion for his architecture, the way he’d hold her hand as he taught her about design. She loved his warmth and shy humor. She even loved his adoring family, especially his mom, Penelope, who occasionally came to visit, taking the couple to Broadway shows and on fun excursions. She loved watching Wes study and sketch his projects for school, the large vein that ran down his wrist as he earnestly drew blueprints for class. Eden loved everything about him. But after years of dreaming of a career of her own, she knew one fierce unwavering truth: She loved herself even more.
    After a month of Eden’s modeling for Otto, poor Wes Bennett’s exodus was written all over Otto’s brushed canvases.
    “I don’t know,” Eden confided in Allison. “When Otto’s painting me, I feel this . . . strange attraction to him. He says I’m his muse. I think he really likes me. He said he wants to do more canvases of me and that his gallery was obsessed with the paintings.” Eden exhaled guiltily. “I care about Wes, I do, but . . .”
    “ Buts aren’t good. Love is supposed to be unconditional, no buts—”
    “I’m young. I have a future. We didn’t come to New York so I could struggle my whole life. Look, I said before I think Otto likes me. But, Allison, I know Otto wants me. He ravages me with his eyes. And frankly, I kind of miss being worshipped like that. Wes is so gentle and sweet and loving but he’s a student; Otto is aggressive, a manly man. He’s bold and strong and—”
    “Are you out of your mind? Poor Wes practically has a shrine to you! He adores you. And not because you’re hot.”
    “I know,” Eden said, sadly. “You know, I almost feel like Wes is the perfect person for me but that I met him too early. Like I was supposed to meet him later in life or something. We’re too young now. I have, you know, dreams . Okay, that sounds so cheesy but it’s true.”
    “Why can’t you accomplish them together?” Allison asked, crushed.
    “That’s a long, long road. And I’m impatient. Otto is like that magic card in Candy Land that shoots you to the top. Wes is the long winding path.”
    “But it’s a colorful path! It’s fun with him,” said Allison, devastated for poor Wes, who she truly thought was the best thing to happen to her best friend. “E, you love him.”
    “Maybe he’s the right person, but it’s the wrong time.”
    “Bullshit,” said Allison, shaking her head. “If it’s the right person, then I believe there is no such thing as the wrong time! If you really and truly believe it’s the wrong time, than it means it’s the wrong person.”
    “Then I guess he’s the wrong person,” Eden said.
    “I really don’t think you’re right,” Allison protested. Eden sat in silence. “So . . . what are you gonna do?”
    “I know what I can’t do. I can’t sit and feel guilty and terrible about pursuing my own goals because of Wes.”
    “So is the hatchet falling on this relationship for real?” Allison asked, brokenhearted for sweet Wes.
    “I don’t know,” Eden lied. She knew damn well it was.

7
    The really frightening thing about middle age is that you know you’ll grow out of it.
    —Doris Day
     
     
     
    W hile the little diner on the Bowery was really all that Eden and Wes could hack wallet-wise, they also continued to go there because of the sentimental history. It was their place. There were so many nights when Wes, laden with books in his messenger bag, snow falling all around him, would see Eden through the window across the street and feel as if he were coming home.
    As he warmly kissed her hello after a freezing day apart, Eden felt a bolt of heat soothe her chest.
    “Let’s go get some sandwiches to go and sit in the park and