He takes my face in his hands again and kisses me, then entwines his fingers in mine, dragging me back to sit with him on the couch once I’ve picked up my coffee, effectively making me forget there’s any reason to be embarrassed.
The next few days pass in a similar manner. While Luke’s roommates vacate the apartment for work and various errands, we let the minutes turn to hours in bed, savoring the quiet moments without the weight of the world pinning us down.There’s nowhere weneedto be, nothing we’resupposedto be doing, and if we never left his bed again, I would be content.
However, Luke doesn’t forget all the things he wanted us to do while we’re here, and after some minor convincing, he drags me up and out into the world so he can show me everything he loves about this city. And there’s a lot to see.
Restaurants and food carts seem never ending for his quote-unquote “absolute favorite foods on this planet,” and I can see why he has a hard time pinning it down to just one. Everything’s so unique and delicious that I can’t complain. I even wonder if I could recreate some of the recipes. Then there are museums, art galleries, and indie art scenes across the city that he seems to have exclusive knowledge of—even an underground rave, which is definitelynotmy scene, but Luke absolutely adores, and watching him come alive under the black lights and thumping music is a sight I’ll never forget.
After manifesting tickets to the Broadway musicals he thinks I’d enjoy, it’s his turn to show me the part of his soul that makes him whole. After each breathtaking performance (god, I love musical theater) he takes me backstage to meet all of the cast and crew, many of whom, if not all of them, know and dote on Luke like he’s the prodigal son returned.
It's clear how loved he is. Not only have these people missed him, but his absence from their lives isnotable—more than I think he’d expected with how he tears up at the revelation. It’s clear that this is a solid community with bonds stronger than those of many I could claim to know. Luke belongs here, and that slight clench of fear goes right through my gut as the thought reminds me that this is why our paths will ultimately diverge.
But for as much as I’d feared that I wouldn’t fit in around Luke’s friends, I find myself being enthusiastically welcomed into their fold with open arms. Everyone goes out of their way to make me feel included in conversations or bring me up to speedwhen I look confused, and as we get to talking, I realize that I have a lot more in common with them than I’d expected. My tastes in music, my love of cooking, even my passion for books… Luke introduces me to so many people who match different facets of my personality in ways I didn’t think possible, and I begin to wonder why I’ve lived so long keeping them hidden.
Finally, Luke takes me on a novelty stint through Times Square so that I can say I’ve been to the iconic heart of the city. He’s avoided the more touristy attractions, staying away from the traps that are wildly overcrowded and more for show than a truly authentic New York experience. This is the only exception.
The energy of the massive buildings and blaring billboards is truly a sight to behold, and even though it’s full of people in almost every direction, I don’t find myself panicking like I would have expected.
In fact, the more we venture out into the city, the more I realize that I haven’t been genuinely anxious this whole trip. Despite being surrounded by more people than I’ve ever seen in my entire life, I’m perfectly calm. Awareness washes over me like a ray of sunlight breaking through a cloudy day, and I can feel how my body tingles with the discovery thatI’m okay. Not just okay, but…good. It’s unexpectedly cathartic, healing a wound I never thought I could recover from—but can it last?
Luke has been taking photos the entire trip, updating his Instagram with our exploits for his ten thousand followers while maintaining my anonymity. He takes selfies or has me take pictures of him in artsy poses, claiming I’m a natural when it comes to getting his good side. I can’t deny how much fun it is to be behind the camera. His high praise makes me feel like maybe there is something to this photography business that I should explore.
But a thought occurs to me during one of these photo ops, and I realize we don’t have a single picture of the two ofus together. Luke’s respect for my privacy online means he’s avoided taking pictures of me directly, so we haven’t posed for anything together the entire time we’ve been dating. As soon as I recognize that fact, I’m determined to change it.
Even if we don’t post the photos anywhere, I’d like something to prove that this is real and that we’re here—not only to commemorate the trip, but to bear witness that I’m with the most beautiful man I’ve ever known. On a whim, I grab Luke and turn the camera to take a selfie of us with the city's neon lights as our backdrop. Luke lights up at the opportunity, almost like I’ve just handed him the best gift he could have ever asked for, and I get a few good shots of us both smiling at the camera and another good one with Luke’s head turned in, kissing my cheek.
I stare at them, feeling the smile on my face as I observe their perfection. Then I send a couple to my mom for proof of life… And maybe because I feel like showing off a little that I’m here, a feat I know she’s come to believe was impossible for me. To be expected, she responds with a string of hearts and crying emojis and shouts in all caps,I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!It makes me regret it immediately, though I smile at the same time, knowing that she’s genuinely excited to see me stepping out of my comfort zone.
The feeling’s mutual.
Later in the week, Dmitry offers us an opportunity to check out a new high-end listing for a townhouse in the heart of Manhattan’s Upper West Side. They’re having an open house for about an hour and a half, and he’s curious to get a peek inside. Luke practically dies of excitement at the invitation, but I’m not entirely sure what to expect. The phrases ‘high-end’ and ‘UpperWest Side’ mean practically nothing to me, but Dmitry promises it’ll be like nothing I’ve seen before.
Boy, is he right.
First of all, I discover that the Upper West Side is mainly made up of residences—expensive,fancyresidences. There are townhomes, condos, and skyscraper apartments on nearly every street, and Dmitry points out that most of them average around $5 Million. He says there are cheaper properties hidden throughout the district, but they’re small compared to the overall grandeur of the neighborhood, and still expensive as fuck for what you get. He pulls up a listing for a 725 square foot apartment for sale for$1.2 millionas an example. My eyes widen in disbelief.
“Even if all you can afford is one million dollars to be a part of the Upper West Side, people would kill for the opportunity.” Luke laughs. “It’s a status symbol.”
“Let me guess.” I snort. “You want to live here too, then?”
“Only in my absolute wildest fantasies. But I fearmylittle corner of the arts will never amount tothatlevel of wealth in all my life unless I somehow strike it big. We can’t all be Lin-Manuel Miranda. Instead, I force Dmitry to let me live vicariously through home tours that make me cry when I think about how nice it must be to spend that much money without batting an eye.”
My lips twitch slightly as I think about how I could easily spend that much money, and it wouldn’t even put a dent in my portfolio. Not that I would ever feel compelled to do something so stupidly reckless. I could easily buy ten homes for that price back in Michigan, and it would probably be a sounder investment.
After the trek across the city, we arrive at the front door of a very affluent-looking five-story building. It’s got the kind of architecture from a time when it was an art form to add grandembellishments to the stonemasonry, giving the house some character. The windows have intricately designed wrought-iron grates the higher up they go. The homes down the block were all built with similar details in mind, though each one is markedly unique from the next, making the street look rather quaint. It’s quieter than I was expecting, too. There’s not much traffic, cars driving through here slower than on the main streets.
Dmitry leads us inside, and we’re greeted warmly by the listing agent. She’s a petite blonde in her late thirties, wearing a well-tailored suit with six-inch red-bottom stilettos, and despite her short frame, she’s a total powerhouse. The confidence she exudes simply standing in the foyer of a multi-million-dollar townhome would make her seem unapproachable if not for the sweetness behind her smile.
If she can tell we’re not serious buyers—and I’m sure she can by my simple Carhartt hoodie and blue jeans—she doesn’t lose her charm for a moment. She gives us a short introduction to the house and says she’ll be around if we have any questions. Then, we’re free to explore.
I’m stunned by how cozy and non-intimidating the house looks on the inside. It’s different than I expected. Typically, when I think of a ridiculously expensive mansion, the first word that comes to mind is ‘sterile.’ Rich people, I’ve found, have a weird obsession with minimalism and minimalistic décor—all white, sharp, clean edges, and no real color outside of a rogue piece of art that you need to be pretentious enough to claim you understand, when in reality it’s nothing more than a single brush stroke on a blank canvas. There’s no personality outside of bland, and it’s not a home you can live in as much as a place to show off wealth to others who care about such things.
Whoever is selling this place knows the meaning ofcharacter. Every room has been decorated with intention and creativity. The foyer is tiled in a black and white checkered pattern, and thewalls are a mixture of exposed red brick and paneled drywall, painted sage green with black trim. The grand staircase, which spirals up all five floors, has dark mahogany wood steps and risers painted with a dark blue and white geometric star pattern. I never would have thought to do that myself, but here, itfits.Even the brass chandelier in the entryway is a geometric set of interlocking cubes to match the room's overall theme.
The rest of the house is similarly designed. Each room has a central theme, either surrounding a piece of furniture or an architectural construct, which is emphasized by the rest of the room around it. Walls are painted in vibrant colors, wallpapered with eccentric patterns, and decorated with art and fixtures that add to its overall charm. It’s warm and inviting, yet sophisticated and fun. This is the kind of home you can invite people into, and they’ll be comfortable enough to relax instead of worrying about scuffing the expensive furniture.
Luke falls in love with each new room we enter, lighting up as if it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. It’s like watching a kid in a candy shop. He points out little details that delight him, taking notes of things he’d change.
“Look at this!” he cries almost every two minutes. “Look at that! Do you see that? How fucking cute is that!Fuck, that’s adorable. Ugh, Ineedthat.”
