Free New Amsterdam: Tess by Ashley Pullo

unpopular lemon square, her phone buzzes on the counter with an incoming text.
    Mason . She sighs, glancing at the vase of peonies that were delivered to her earlier.
    Mason: Dinner?
    Staring at the text while the tart juice of the lemon Starburst seeps from the corner of her mouth, Thessaly makes a bold decision.
    Tess: I can’t tonight.
    She opens the dreaded orange square next, always saving the red and pink for last. Popping it into her mouth, Thessaly’s phone dings.
    Mason: I’ll come to you.
    Knowing that he usually does whatever he wants anyway, Thessaly agrees.
    Tess: My apartment in an hour?
    Mason: I’ll bring wine.
    Thessaly doesn’t respond to the last text, wondering why the man she spent seven years with would bring wine to a girl that hates grapes. Cupcakes, pie, even Sno-cones would have been a more natural gift for Thessaly Sinclair.
    Shutting off the lights to the kitchen, but distracted by the wilting sunflowers on the island, Thessaly presses the record button on her phone. “Switch the flowers.”
    She powers off the speakers, latches the screen door, shuts off the tiny chandelier in the vestibule, sets the security alarm, and then locks the outer steel door behind her. Seth’s bike is still leaning against the window, so she checks the U-lock attached to a pipe, and then makes her way up Fulton.
    The last time Mason came to her Pearl Street apartment, they had unemotional, senseless sex. Less than a year ago, Thessaly was dining with a family friend at a Downtown restaurant when Mason staggered into the bar with a group of stockbrokers in custom suits. Mason noticed Thessaly immediately, always drawn to her light hair and fair skin – my naughty angel , he often called her.
    But he didn’t approach her. Instead, he sent a drink to her table – strawberry vodka lemonade rimmed with extra sugar.
    “From an admirer at the bar,” the waiter had said.
    Thessaly knew instantly who sent the drink, as this was the exact cocktail she ordered on their first night in Manhattan – the same fruity drink Mason teased her about for months. She thanked the waiter and continued the dinner with her friend. But as the evening progressed, and a few glances were exchanged between Thessaly and her admirer , the sexual tension became unbearable. Declining dessert and saying goodbye to her friend, Thessaly eventually made her way to the lounge. She quietly sat at the opposite end, ordered a cocktail of pineapple vodka, threw it back in two gulps, and then slapped a ten on the bar. Full of confidence, she went straight for what she wanted. But as she tapped Mason on the shoulder, her heart raced and her skin prickled with a fiery twinge. They were not a couple anymore, and most likely, never would be again.
    “Hiya,” he’d slurred.
    “Hey,” she’d replied.
    “Let’s get out of here,” he’d demanded.
    Taking her familiar hand, Mason led Thessaly through the group of colleagues, knowing the immature assholes would high-five each other in his wake. Once they were outside the restaurant, the two former lovers kissed – Thessaly’s breath sweet and fruity, and Mason’s lips burning from the expensive brandy. Their arms groped each other tightly while their hands teased and fondled their favorite spots. Walking the two blocks to Thessaly’s apartment was painfully intolerable, so as soon as they entered the elevator in her building, clothes were ripped and removed.
    And then they fucked.
    Against the door. On the couch. And hunkered over the steps leading to her elevated bed.
    It had been a night of carnal pleasure shared between two strangers that sort of loved each other. There was a level of trust that allowed them to cross every conceivable boundary yet still remain comfortable.
    Lying in bed, sated yet confused, Thessaly quietly asked Mason the important question. “What exactly happened?” she’d probed.
    “You didn’t touch that stupid drink. I saw you differently – you weren’t Tess