You'll Find Me in Manhattan Read online

  “Please do,” she said apprehensively, her eyes wide with attentiveness.

  “So after I got home from Brazil, I had to stay with my friend Cassandra until I found a new apartment. You see, the lease was up and there was no reason to renew it with both of my roommates moving out. I had to find a smaller, cheaper place to live.” I suddenly wished I had remembered to bring a bottle of water with me. “But back to Cassie. My best friend in the whole world. The girl who taught me how to apply eyeliner when we were thirteen years old and walk in high heels not long after. The girl who was always there for me, no matter what. Well, Autumn, the sad thing is, that girl is gone now. She has been replaced with some Manhattanite “glamazon” who treated me like a peasant for a year before I finally let her have it at my friend Olivia’s engagement party. I haven’t spoken to her since.

  “Haven’t spoken to Olivia since?” Autumn asked, her brows furrowed.

  “No”, I shook my head. “Cassandra. I ran into her a couple of time since then, but neither one of us made the first move.”

  “Who’s Olivia?” she asked, edging closer to the end of her chair.

  “She’s my current best friend, beating out Cassandra for defending champion. I’m her designated maid of honor,” I paused for a moment as I thought about how to describe Olivia. “She’s a really good person. She helped me get back on my feet and find the apartment I currently live in. Oh, and she also goes to school with me at NYU.”

  Autumn took a deep breath, writing as fast as she could. She stopped every couple of seconds to shake out her hand. Her pen had to be running out of ink at this point.

  I sat patiently while she caught up.

  She finally stopped writing, composed herself, and then asked, “Did you date anyone else after Michael?”

  This was the part of my story I was dreading the most. The part where I hurt Hayden.

  “I did,” I uttered, picking at the hem of my shirt. I was silent for a few moments. Memories that had been long tucked away came flooding back to me. How he kissed, how he smelled. How he loved me.

  “Hayden,” I said in a low, soft voice. “He’s a really great guy. But I ended things with him too.”

  “Okay, wait a minute. Then what happened?” she challenged. “If he was so great, why would you end things with him?”

  “Because I always kept coming back to Michael,” I answered plainly. “Hayden and I weren’t in a committed relationship either. Despite the fact that we were seeing each other for months.” I pressed my lips into a flat line as I felt the all-too-familiar sting of tears trying to push their way out of my eyes. “And it was my doing. I always kept him at a distance.”

  “Because of Michael?” she asked in a tone that was unusually gentle for her.

  I nodded as I quickly wiped my fingers underneath my eyes so she could tell I was tearing up.

  “And now you’re pretty much caught up,” I let out a throaty laugh. “Michael and I are seeing each other again now, but it’s not without its complications.”

  “Such as?” she put the legal paper aside, and for a moment I felt like I was talking to a friend.

  Still, this was not an easy conversation to have. Not with anybody. I glanced at the clock and felt a wave of relief as I realized we only had two more minutes of time left.

  “Well, the main issue is commitment. I told him I wanted us to take the next step, to be seeing each other exclusively,” I tapped my fingers on the arms of the plush chair. “I want him to treat our relationship with the respect it deserves and start working with me toward a future for us together.” I once again shrugged my shoulders, as if I was talking about someone else. As if it wasn’t painful for me to relive the feeling of him telling me he wasn’t in love with me.

  Or the feeling of remembering Hayden telling me he was.

  I anxiously twirled a strand of blonde hair through my fingers. “So I told him to take some time to think about what he wanted.”

  “And what is it that you want, Amalia?” she crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side.

  I paused for another moment. It was so quiet in the room, I could hear the sound of her watch ticking on her wrist. My eyes fell to the floor as the words fell out of my mouth.

  “I want him,” I muttered, forcing a small smile.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “What?” I started looking around the room.

  “Why do you want to be with someone so badly who doesn’t feel the same way about you?” she pressed on.

  I glanced back over to the clock. We had gone over by a minute. I breathed a sigh of relief and stood up.

  “Our time’s up,” I said flatly. I stood up and smoothed out my clothes. “And I have to go home and study for finals.”

  Autumn stood up and followed me to the door.

  “Amalia,” she started. “When we meet next week, I want an answer to my question. I want to know why you want to be with Michael.”

  “Sure,” I muttered. “I’ll have some charts made up for you.”

  I didn’t turn around to look at her. She’d heard enough about my private life for one day. Without another word, I turned on my heel and walked out of her office.

  A few weeks later I began my annual journey back to Staten Island to spend some quality time with my parents. And by quality time I meant me traveling for an hour to see them, and my parents probably not even noticing I was there. Or worse, my father would have a freshly printed test for me to give to Michael. I shuddered at the idea.

  The good part about this visit was that Aaron would be home from college. It had been months since we’d seen one another, and we had a lot of catching up to do. He reached out to me last night and we exchanged a few texts when he got back to my parent’s house from Syracuse. He was “home” for a week for his winter break. Technically, my parent’s house, not his dorm, was still his permanent residence. Classes ended yesterday morning for NYU with the collection of our final exams. I had reached an odd point with my feelings about school. Normally I would drive myself crazy about my work. I’d be worrying about my grades, staying up until all hours of the night studying, and subtly asking every other student how they did on their exams so I could compare grades. But I didn’t feel the usual anxiety this time. Instead, I studied as hard as I could for two weeks before the test, even getting together with Olivia a couple of times for a study session. When the night before the exams came, I went over my notes as much as I could before calling it an early night and going to sleep at ten o’clock.

  To get downtown to the ferry I took the subway down to Whitehall Street. When I exited I noticed Battery Park in the not-so-far distance. Despite how cold it was, and the fact that it was three o’clock in the afternoon, there were plenty of people swarming the area. I wondered why none of these people were at work.

  I glanced at my cell phone to make note of the date. December 23rd, the day before Christmas Eve. Dropping it back in my purse, I felt my face fall. My parents don’t celebrate any holidays, but Aaron and I decided that we would get each other both a little something, just to feel like we were a part of what everyone else in America was a part of. Or, at least, that’s how it seemed.

  I boarded the ferry to Staten Island and promptly walked to the outside area, knocking into no less than four people in the process. I leaned my arms over the railing, flinching at how cold the steel was. We began moving shortly after and the breeze gliding over the New York Bay blew my hair into my face, trapping loose strands of blonde in my lip-gloss. I reached into my purse again, this time retrieving a hair tie, and quickly threw my hair into a messy bun. The moment I did, I thought about how much my mother would hate to see my hair like this. I smiled.

  As I stared out into the water, passing the Statue of Liberty on the way, I let my mind wonder about Michael. I had seen him yesterday in class, but we had exchanged only brief pleasantries. He seemed downcast, but I chalked it up to him just being tired. We were giving each other space while he thought about whether or
not he was ready to commit to me exclusively and start treating this thing we had as a legitimate relationship. Yet still, as absorbed as I was by my thoughts of Michael, it didn’t stop me from wondering about Hayden. I knew I’d reach out to him on Christmas some way. Either by text or phone call, I wanted to wish him a happy holiday.

  Would I always be this way? Would I always spend my time wondering about what could have been with either one of these guys? Or could I get to a point where all of my energy and thoughts were focused on just one of them?

  Michael was spending Christmas with his family. I didn’t expect to hear too much from him while he was there, and I didn’t want to be the one to contact him during his “thinking” time. Every moment of my life was fettered by Michael’s decisions.

  Through the speaker someone announced that we were docking. I made my way to the front of the boat, eager to get back onto dry land. As usual, Aaron had volunteered to pick me up from the terminal. I walked with the crowd of people onward toward the exit and spotted my brother right away. He was holding two cups of coffee in his hands and I immediately let out a chuckle.

  “It’s so good to see you!” I wrapped my arms around my brother’s torso as he held the coffee tightly, careful not to spill any on us. “And thank you for the coffee.” He looked older than the last time I had seen him. His blonde hair had darkened slightly with age, and I could have sworn he had grown an inch or two.

  “I figured you could use all the energy you can get,” he said as we headed to the parking lot. “You know, for dealing with mom and dad.”

  “You got that right,” I muttered. “I see you’re picking me up in my car again?”

  He laughed and helped me with my overnight bag. “Come on, it just sits there while you’re in the city!”

  A ten-minute car ride later, we were pulling into my parents’ driveway. I heard the front door open in sync with my car door closing. Aaron shot me a look, followed by a bright smile. I rolled my eyes and let out a throaty laugh. At least I wasn’t alone in thinking my parents were a little odd.

  “Hey, kiddo,” my dad was the first to greet me. He gave me a quick hug in the doorway.

  “You’re letting all of the cold air in!” my mom hollered from the kitchen.

  “She’s right,” he said, motioning toward the couch. “Take a load off.”

  Aaron and I shed our heavy down coats and placed them next to us on the couch. My mom finally emerged from the kitchen. She had an apron tied around her waist and patches of flour on her hands and cheeks. Her blonde hair was in a loose ponytail and she was hardly wearing any make-up. Unusual for her.

  “Um, hi mom,” I gave her a small wave. “Are you baking something?”

  “Cookies,” she answered. “For you and your brother.”

  “We’re very grateful,” Aaron uttered in a sarcastic voice. My dad raised his eyebrows at him as if to say, “Watch it.”

  “So, Amalia,” my mother chimed in, rubbing her hands on her apron. “You didn’t have time to do your hair today?”

  Knew it.

  I took a deep breath and untied my hair from the bun and shook it out. “Is this better?”

  “Sure,” she shrugged. “Although I do like it better when you blow your hair out straight.”

  “I know you do,” I closed my eyes for a moment. I had been there less than five minutes and they were already getting on my nerves. How was I going to make it through two days here?

  “Are you still with that boy, Amalia?” My dad asked. “Holden?”

  My heart sank. No one had asked me about Hayden for a long time. Apart from my therapist, Lauren Autumn Mercer (what a bullshit name). I slowly shook my head and folded my arms across my chest, suddenly feeling like I needed them to keep me from falling apart.

  “No,” I stammered but quickly caught myself. I didn’t want my mother to get a whiff of any weakness in my voice. “We broke up nearly a year ago.”

  Had it really been that long? These past few months with Michael seemed to have flown by, and through the entirety of it I never really seemed to get my footing.

  “Anyone else in your life?” he asked with a smile. I could tell immediately where he was going with this.

  “No one who I’d feel comfortable enough proctoring an exam for,” I winked.

  My dad and his test. For some reason, Aaron never had the treat of the test being administered on any of his girlfriends. But then again, Aaron never told our parents when he was dating someone. He never outwardly lied; they just never actually asked.

  “Are you sure, Amalia?” My dad walked over to his printer. “Because I’ve actually taken the liberty of adding a few more questions. Topical ones, nothing too invasive.” He reached down and pulled out what looked like no less than ten freshly printed pages.

  I raised my eyebrows, hoping my facial expression would do all of the talking for me.

  “I can always email it to you,” he offered. He put the papers down on the computer desk and shrugged. He did seem a bit embarrassed, and for a moment I actually felt like what he was trying to do was find a way to bond with me. I looked him over. Short dirty-blonde hair, nearly the same color as my mom’s (gosh, come to think of it, the four of us probably looked like the Children of the Corn), a worn-in Mets t-shirt and light-colored jeans. No shoes. I remembered how he would always walk to the mailbox with just his socks on, and my mom would give him hell for it. The poor guy.

  “You know what, Dad,” I gave him a half-smile. “My purse is really full right now, but how about you email it to me?”

  “Really?” he perked up like I had just told him he had won and all-expenses-paid trip to Cabo. “Is your email still the same? [email protected]?”

  Aaron burst out laughing and I felt my ears grow red with embarrassment. “No, I haven’t had that email address since high school, Dad.”

  I was lying. I totally still had that email address. I never used it; it was completely embarrassing. But it was part of my youth that I want to remember. No matter how old, or how cultured I became, I wanted to remember that I was the skater girl with torn jeans and Vans sneakers who owned that email address.

  “Her email address is [email protected],” my brother provided.

  “Got it,” my dad quickly jotted it down on a loose piece of paper on his desk. “I’ll email it to you when you go back home to Manhattan.”

  Home to Manhattan? I still felt as if this house was my true home, but it had been a long time since I had spent any real time living here. I nodded, catching Aaron’s eye in the process. He could tell what I was feeling, because he was begging to feel it too.

  One day you’re living in your house, the same house you’ve always lived in. Then one day you’ve grown up, and it’s not your house anymore. It’s your parent’s house. It’s scary how fast that day comes, even if you’ve gradually been feeling it over a span of years.

  Earnest Hemingway wrote in his novel The Sun Also Rises about how his character went bankrupt. “Two ways. Gradually, then suddenly.” It was the same way I felt about growing up. There were two elements to it. It was a slow, painful process that seemed to last a lifetime. And then the rest of it came all at once. As I looked around my parent’s house, a house that had not been redecorated ever, right down to the frayed beige carpet beneath my socks, I realized that I was in the suddenly stage of growing up.

  Trying to push down the sting of nostalgia, I walked over the fridge. Hoping for something to calm my thoughts, I scanned the items and my eyes landed on a bottle of white wine.

  “Are you saving this for something?” I asked my mom.

  “Not really,” she shook her head.

  “Mind if I open it?”

  “It’s only four o’clock in the afternoon,” she answered, a displeased look on her face.

  “Is that a yes or a no?” I asked, exasperated by her tone.

  “Go ahead, Amalia. If you want to start drinking in the middle of the afternoon, who am I to stop you?”

&n
bsp; “Cool,” I muttered. “Aaron, you want some?”

  He walked over to me and silently poured himself a glass. My mom took off her apron and tossed it on the counter. As she walked out of the kitchen, she shot me some serious side-eye.

  I looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “It’s good to be home, bro.”

  He raised his glass at me and then took a generous sip. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered. I took another sip of Riesling before answering with, “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

  A few hours later, Aaron and I were hanging out in his bedroom. We took turns telling stories of what had happened to us since the last time we had seen each other. He told me about his girlfriend: a nice girl from Minnesota with red hair. Her name was Claire, and Aaron told me he was already in love with her.

  “How long have you been dating?” I asked. I was sitting on Aaron’s computer chair while he lounged on his bed. The blue paint that enfolded the room made me feel a pang of nostalgia. I hadn’t even dared to go into my old bedroom yet.

  “Four months,” he answered. “I met her on campus when she was lost. I noticed this beautiful girl with a puzzled look on her face and a scrunched-up map in her hand. So I walked up to her and offered my assistance. We talked for a few minutes before I asked her to have dinner with me the next night. We’ve been together ever since.” The glow coming from him as he talked about Claire was undeniable. There was no question in my mind; he was definitely in love.

  “I’m really happy for you,” I said. “Can I offer you just one piece of advice?”

  “Sure.”