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“No problem, ma’am!”Bryson replies cheerfully.“How’s your day going?”
“Oh, it’s going well,” the woman answers, clearly surprised that this big burly-looking guy is talking to her.“I’m on my way to visit my sister.”
“Oh really?”Bryson leans over, keeping a hand on the bar to steady himself, and continues chatting with the older woman.Her sister’s mobility has been getting worse lately, so they’re thinking about a nursing home, but ideally they’d like to go to the same one.
Bryson engages with this information with a characteristic balance of sensitivity and encouragement; I marvel at it.He’s such a natural with people.It’s jealousy-inducing.What a gift.
“Babe, which stop are we getting off at?”he asks me suddenly, glancing up at the line map.
“One more,” I answer, feeling my natural shyness take over as the elderly lady glances between us.
“Oh, is this your girlfriend?”the woman asks with a warm smile.“You’re very beautiful, young lady,” she tells me, patting my hand.
I blush.“Oh, that’s very nice of you to say, thank you.”
Bryson looks at me adoringly.“She is.”I press my lips together and shake my head a little at him, but don’t say anything.
The woman folds her hands on her lap and smiles at us.“You’re very sweet together,” she says.“There’s certainly nothing like young love.”
“Thanks, ma’am!”Bryson says, grinning at her.“I’m going to try to keep her from coming to her senses!”The train slowly lurches to a stop and I double-check the stop before standing up.I indicate to Bryson that we should be getting off here, and he says, “Very nice meeting you, ma’am, you have a lovely day.”
“Nice to meet you,” I echo, and with a wave goodbye, we step onto the platform.Once we’re at street level, I slip my hand into his.“So, you’ve never met a stranger, huh?”
Bryson shrugs.“I like yakking and old ladies like to be yakked at.Mutually beneficial, as they say.”
“Hmm.”
He lifts our hands to waist height.“So um - are we telling Quinn today, then?”
I grin.“I think we just let him figure it out.”
We don’t get the chance.
It’s unplanned, but while we’re waiting outside the restaurant for Sawyer and Quinn, I get an email, one that I hadn’t expected for a few weeks still: an acceptance letter from the Culinary Institute of America.
I applied on a whim many months earlier, before Bryson even moved in.It isn’t a realistic dream, but after splitting a bottle of wine with Trinity one night, I decided I owed it to myself to at least see if I could get into pastry school.The chances were slim, and when I didn’t get in, I’d just continue on with my predetermined academia path with some kind of satisfaction that I at least entertained other avenues.It’d been a deviation in my plan, sure, but the plan allowed for thinking about other things.
It hadn’t accounted for this:a yes, Ms.Murphy, please come join us in Hyde Park for the winter session beginning in January.
“Oh,” I breathe, staring at my phone.We’re leaning against the old brick of the building, waiting.My phone had buzzed with a notification from my inbox, and I decided to check just in case my professor had responded to an earlier inquiry.
Bryson, who’d been staring down the street for any sign of Sawyer or Quinn, looks over at me.“What?”
“I, um - a few months ago I applied for … for pastry school,” I stammer, still staring in disbelief at my phone.“I’d been feeling a little over it with my lit stuff, and I figured it didn’t hurt to apply, probably wouldn’t get in anyway but I just - Bryson, I got in.”I look up at him, my brain feeling fuzzy.“I got in.”
“Carleigh!”Bryson exclaims, his face immediately breaking into a grin.“That’s amazing!”He sweeps me onto my toes, into a grand hug, squeezing me so tightly that I nearly can’t breathe.“Why didn’t you tell me you applied?”he asks, setting me down.
“I - I kind of forgot,” I answer, looking at my phone again.Absurdly, I feel the burn of tears prickling at my eyes, and blink hard to stop them.“So much has happened since then, and…” I look at him again as heavy realization hits me.Hyde Park.That’s too far away to commute from the city; at a minimum, I’d have to move to like, Poughkeepsie, at least for weekdays.“Bryson, it’s - it’s two hours away.”
I’m surprised at the pit in my stomach that is beginning to open.We’ve been dating for not even a month, and I’ve never been one to base my life decisions on any kind of personal relationship.But this thing with Bryson, it feels … good.I don’t want to ruin it, especially when it’s this new.I remember how my undergrad boyfriend freaked out at me when I decided to move to Manhattan for grad school, telling me I didn’t care about him or about our future - we’d been dating for barely six months, I’m not sure we had a future at that point - and so I expect Bryson’s face to sour at the news.
But it doesn’t.Instead, Bryson makes a who-cares face, shrugs, and pulls me into a hug again.“We’ll figure it out, babe, don’t worry about it.”He laughs happily, presses a kiss on my hair, and gives a grand sigh.“This is the best news ever, Carleigh, I’m so proud of you.Going after what you want, doing you.”
I pull back from him a bit, mostly so I can access oxygen, and nod.“You don’t think it’s crazy?I spent six years getting two degrees in literature, and instead, I’m going to go learn how to make kouign amann?”
“I don’t know what that is, babe,” Bryson says with a laugh.“Sure maybe it’s a little crazy, but you seem a lot happier when you’re baking than when you’re doing book stuff.And life’s about what makes you happy, Carleigh.”
I shake my head a little at him, marveling at how simple he makes it seem.Maybe, it can be that easy.
