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Until my bachelorette party. My girlfriends and I had done the predictable thing and gone to Vegas. We squealed in mortification and delight over the Chippendale dancers, we lost money on the slots and we drank ourselves to oblivion.
On our last night, my best friend Trisha and I were at a club sitting at a table by ourselves while our friends gyrated on the dance floor. She leaned over to me and asked, "Can you believe you're getting married in less than a month?"
My answer was no. I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. I couldn't spend my whole life being boring, predictable Emma Mills. It was selfish of me. It was horrible of me. But I knew I was saving Sean and myself from a mind-numbingly boring life together.
So I called it off.
The day I got back from Vegas, I sat Sean down in the living room of our apartment. The one we had spent months decorating together by going to estate sales and flea markets, trying to restore pieces of furniture ourselves to save money. It reminded me that for all the dull moments in our life together, there had been sweet moments as well. We were comfortable together. But comfortable wasn't enough for me anymore.
When I had explained why we didn't belong together, that we were no good for each other, Sean had been shocked and devastated. He didn't understand where this was coming from. He thought I had been happy all these years. And a part of me had been happy, but it wasn't enough.
Sean's coaxing and tears weren't enough to sway me. I had made my decision and was sticking to it. As embarrassing as it was to call off the wedding and return all the presents, I was relieved. I felt like I had narrowly escaped.
Now I was furthering my escape by moving to New York City. I had accepted a job as an executive assistant there. It was several steps below my position in D.C., but I was grateful for anything that would get me out of Maryland and away from the scandal of a jilted groom.
I was taking the train to New York since I had sold my car back in Maryland. I had no need for a car in New York and all my belongings fit into two big suitcases. Sean and I had broken the lease on our apartment and sold all our furniture, splitting the profits, so I was literally traveling with all my belongings. It felt freeing.
I was moving in with Claire Ranson, the daughter of a family friend who had been living in New York for a few years. Claire was an aspiring actress with a revolving door of roommates since they were also mostly actors and tended to go where the jobs took them. We had already talked on the phone several times and I was excited to meet her in person.
The train conductor called out the impending stop of Penn Station and I felt a quiver of excitement go through me. Finally, at the age of twenty-five, I was going to make a different life for myself. I was going to become a new person and embrace everything New York had to offer.
Before the train even came to a halt, people were jumping out of their seats to rush off the train, haphazardly pulling their suitcases from the overhead baggage compartments. I looked up at my two large worn and unfashionably burgundy-colored suitcases with resignation. Having never traveled much, I hadn't owned much luggage. I had bought these suitcases at a second-hand store when I made the decision to move to New York and had stuffed them to the brim.
Now I was unsure as to how I was going to get them down and lug them all the way to the East Village, where my new apartment was. When I had boarded the train, a nice man had helped me put them overhead, but he was long gone. I grimaced in determination and grabbed a handle to pull them down. The new Emma Mills was independent, a go-getter. She could handle anything, least of all two suitcases.
The thought was fleeting, as the first suitcase came crashing down. I wasn't able to support the weight of it, and it slammed into the aisle with a loud thud. Well, that was one way to do it. Reminding myself that I had nothing fragile in my suitcases, I hauled down the second suitcase using the same method.
I was finally able to lug the suitcases off the train and navigated my way around the station, pulling them behind me on their little worn wheels. I caught flashes of designer luggage and imagined I looked a sight with my huge shabby suitcases and disheveled hair. It really was true that New York was full of beautiful people, even in the train station.
Shrugging off those thoughts, I maneuvered the two suitcases up the escalator and squinted as I got my first sight of the city as a New Yorker. I had visited New York once before with my parents when I was in middle school but it was a fuzzy memory. Now I was one of them; one of those people rushing around with important things to do. If I was aware that I stuck out like a sore thumb, standing on the sidewalk and gawking at the view, I didn't let it bother me. New York was for everyone. And I was everyone.
Hailing a cab was easier than I thought since they were lined up outside the station. I had been prepared to step out into the street with bravado and hail a cab with a casual wave of the hand, like I had seen Carrie Bradshaw do so many times. But my Sex in the City moment would have to wait.
"Where to?" the cabbie asked brusquely after he threw my suitcases into the trunk and slid back into the driver's seat.
"1st avenue between 8th and 9th street." I had practiced that line beforehand, not wanting to seem green and having the cabbie drive me through Brooklyn to take advantage of an unsuspecting out-of-towner.
The cab driver barely nodded as he sped away from the curb. I watched the crowded sidewalks, feeling a thrill go through me. Everyone seemed to be walking with purpose, coffee cups in hand and an
air of determination. I, Emma Mills, was now a New Yorker.
My first experience as a New Yorker was trying not to throw up as the cabbie made abrupt stops and weaved his way in and out of traffic as if we were in a video game. I had to hold on to the door handle to prevent myself from being thrown against the plastic partition. By the time the cab stopped on my street, I was taking deep breaths and willing myself not to regurgitate the bagel I had eaten that morning.
The cabbie dropped my bags on the sidewalk after I had paid him and took off. I looked up at my apartment building, feeling a bit of trepidation at the dilapidated sight before me. The building looked worn and outdated, obviously not having been well maintained. Claire had emailed me pictures of the inside of the apartment and it had looked cute and cozy. I hadn't seen the crumbling brick on the outside or the steps that were in desperate need of repair.
I took a deep breath, reminding myself that the new Emma Mills took all these things in stride. With that thought, I pressed the buzzer to apartment 4C.
"Hello?" said a female voice.
"Claire? It's Emma. I made it!"
"Great! I'll buzz you up! Do you need help with your bags?"
I paused, looking down at my gigantic suitcases. I definitely needed help, but the last thing I wanted was to have my new roommate lug them upstairs.
"No, I'm fine. See you in a sec!"
The front door buzzed and I pushed it open, dragging my suitcases behind me. Looking at the stairs before me, I figured it would take more than a second to get upstairs. The apartment was a walk-up and I wasn't relishing having to drag the suitcases up three flights of stairs.
