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My room at Roosevelt was small, no bigger than the size of a cup of coffee, minus the stirrer. The door grazed the bed as I opened it, and the window met a charming brick wall with a spray-painted dick. I pretended it was art and that my yellow curtains were the frame. The world’s smallest exhibition. How New York.
The room was packed which didn’t help, especially since I was able to get my personal items back from Robbie. He thought I called to ask for forgiveness and didn’t care for when I laughed at his assumption.
Apparently, Dad concluded that the clunky heater from my room was the cause the fire; the same heater that Robbie treated as his whipping boy. I threatened to file a report with the ‘Domestic Fire Crimes’ department had he not let me get my stuff. Of course, there was no such department, but luckily he was too stupid to know.
My phone buzzed as I walked out onto the street. It had been a few weeks since the hospital, but I always anticipated Nathan’s name appearing on my screen. It never did. I always wondered if he would call me or wanted to. I thought about it at night, calling him, lying in bed in the dark, my face illuminated by the gift of his phone. But what would I say? Would I just tell him over and over again, I miss you, I miss you, I miss you? It seemed like a tease, for us both. Still, I wanted it, despite my urge to resist.
Today was no different. It wasn’t Nathan, instead my realtor to confirm an appointment to view a two-hundred-square-foot studio. Sounded charming, in a claustrophobic type of way. The photos she sent highlighted the creaky old floors and chipping brick walls of its interior. Though, with all it scars, it had the charm of old crown molding and antique brass lamps. It was no penthouse, but in a way it was better. It was me.
I smiled, imagining Nathan and I on a small couch, eating greasy Chinese takeout. I loved the idea of it, although I knew it would never be, at least not here.
For an instant, I went back to my contacts, hovering my thumb over Nathan’s name. I even clicked it, staring at his number in contemplation. I froze, both literally and figuratively. The streets of New York were icy, and the heat of the steaming sewers were a godsend for warmth. I shuffled along with the mass crowds, our bodies compiled like penguins on an exodus for money. I needed a job, and fast. I exited from Nathan’s name and opened my email in search of application responses.
As far as my old job, unfortunately, I did lose it… thanks to Robbie. It was literally the first news I got as soon as I landed in New York. My first email on my new phone, the subject title:Your services are NO LONGER needed. Thank you, Mitchell for the overdramatic all caps. Just the welcome home parade I expected.
“You kidding me?” My vocal shout went unnoticed amongst the natives. My inbox was filled, not with responses, but rather with the bold and declaring word, EMPTY. I needed New York to cut me some slack. Luckily, people here were used to outbursts, that and ghetto cookie monsters forcing you to pay for photos ops you didn’t ask for.
The lack of stares and attention was appreciated, yet I felt like a ghost. For the sake of my sanity, I made my way back to the coffee shop for my banana nut muffins.
The moment I stepped in, the barista shot me a flirty nod, as if he remembered me from a few weeks back.
“Five shots of espresso today?” He winked, and while I smiled at his cute remark for remembering my order, I didn’t feel that same giddy surprise as before. He had a smooth Hollywood charm, his wavy blond hair was pulled back, and his deep voice was as soothing as he said the word espresso. Before, I thought he was so sexy. One arm covered in tattoos, popping out within his tight shirt. But now, my cheeks didn’t flush as I handed him my credit card. It wasn’t the same. He wasn’t what I needed or what I wanted. The truth was, he wasn’t Nathan.
“Not today. Just an iced mocha latte.” I said somberly.
“Sure thing,” the barista flashed a warm, genuine smile.
People tend to be rushed, even agitated in the city. A smile could make all the difference, and it really helped, but it hurt at the same time. Back in North Carolina, I didn’t need to go to a coffee shop to satisfy an unfulfilled need for interaction. I felt as though I was reminded of something I missed, something I forgot before my trip back home. Or maybe it was that I discovered something new. I discovered Nathan. I couldn’t get him out of my mind. It just felt… so different now.
No, Jules… this is your time to shine, to discover yourself, to find your true way in life, I nodded to myself in deep thought.
The barista dropped off my drink on the waiting counter. “Thanks,” I snatched my coffee and sat amongst the crowd. They weren’t as glaring today; maybe the morning scene was more of my jam. All of them were writers, I could tell. Sipping on their tenth cup of coffee, oozing out another ounce of brilliance on paper. Their faces appeared like a human chart of emotions, a spectrum across the room, some striking mental gold, others, on the brink of jumping off a bridge. The plights of writing, I knew all about them.
Though I’d never thought of it before, but maybe I didn’t need to work for a paper or a magazine. Maybe I could be a coffee shop junkie like my fellow peers, working on a story of my own. Starving artist perhaps? I did love romance novels, maybe creating the perfect love story starring Nathan and I as Nick and Jewel wouldn’t be a bad idea. I loved happy endings after all.
I scolded myself internally while I sipped on my freezing drink. When there was snow outside, it seemed more difficult to keep a clear mind. I couldn’t even order coffee right anymore.
As I contemplated my life as a Central Park bum, I felt a buzz on the table from my resting phone. It was a number I didn’t recognize, yet I still answered the call out of curiosity.
“Hello?” My tone was low when I answered.
“Ms. Williams, please?” A woman asked in a chirpy voice.
“Yup, it’s me. Whose calling?” Probably a scammer, offering an impossibly free cruise to the Bahamas.
“I’m calling on behalf of a recommendation to interview you.” Interview me? This was quite the turn of events.
“I must admit, I’ve applied everywhere. Where did you say you’re from?” My begrudging tone now surprisingly professional.
“This is Rachel from New York Prestige Magazine. We have an opening for a lead journalist, and you’ve come highly recommended by an…” she paused, “Evelyn Derry. Are you available to interview tomorrow?”
I fell silent for a momentary second, my jaw dropped. Her words flashed through my ears, like a verbal lobotomy. Evelyn? My Eve? It felt like a prank.
“Hello, miss?” The chirp turned more into concern.
“Umm, yes. I’m certainly interested. I’ll be there.” I babbled in a giddy, yet startled tone. I felt my eyes widen. “Thank you so much for this.”
“Lovely, we’ll see you here.” The call disconnected. I was so excited my stomach curled into twisted knots.
