We’ve Always Got New York

at 9:17 pm, I was home.

Home. The word seemed funny to me because I didn’t have a home to go back to. I moved out of my apartment right before leaving for Brazil and after my friend-with-benefits, Michael, showed up at my apartment, asking me to stay. I hadn’t thought it through properly; I just knew I didn’t want to live in that apartment anymore. Before my trip to Brazil I packed up what little stuff I owned and put it in storage for when I returned, assuming I would deal with it then. Well, “then” has become “now”. So for tonight I was staying with my best friend Cassandra. Who was currently waving at me.

I knew what she wanted. She wanted stories. Juicy ones that involved hot hookups on the sand. She wanted to see pictures. Pictures of the places I went, the food I ate, and the hot guys I met. She wanted me to run up to her in a sun dress, hair braided and skin tanned, and explain, no, to pontificate, to her how life-changing my trip was. She wanted me to playfully link her arm around mine and gush about how amazing it all was. How I was changed forever. That I had a new appreciation for life, food, and music. She wanted me to tell her that I would never be the same.

But this isn’t the movies and I’m not Julia Roberts.

The florescent lights above me flickered, making the airport look dark and ominous. I looked down at my hand as I pulled my rolling suitcase across the sticky, tiled floor. Not even my hand had acquired a tan. Three months in the Brazilian sun and my skin remained as pale as ever.

Cassandra was looking right at me with wide, unblinking eyes. I walked a little slower.

For some reason I couldn’t pinpoint, coming off the plane felt like a surreal experience to me. Although I was relieved to have landed, and I wouldn’t have wanted to stay in Brazil any longer, I still wasn’t utterly happy with being back. I wondered if it merely had to do with the fact that I had no apartment to go back to and was feeling pretty untethered from not having a proper home.

There’s an old saying. I’m not really sure where it’s from or who said it first. Kind of the proverb equivalent of The House of the Rising Sun. It proffers, “Wherever you go, there you are”, and up until about one month ago I had no idea what it meant. But now it means everything. It rings in my ears like a scolding mother, repeating itself over and over again until I submit.

I finally stood face to face with Cassandra, who was grinning like a fool at this point. She was dressed down for the night, wearing a purple racer-back tank top that showed off her summer glow, jeans, and gold flip-flops. Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose, messy bun and her make-up was minimal, apart from the extra-shiny, coral lip-gloss she was wearing. She reeked of summer.

“Hey,” I offered, looking down at my sneakers. I wished I had more energy for her, but after ten hours on a plane it was all I could muster up.

Cassandra cocked her head to the side and smiled. Her hair swung back and forth and she popped her hip out like a model in training. She looked as fierce as ever, even dressed-down in comfortable summer clothes.

“That’s all I get? Get over here!” she said, pulling me in for a hug.

I hugged her back for a moment and then pulled away, overcome with exhaustion and jet-lag. I smiled at Cassandra. She smelled like a salty coconut and I realized she had probably come straight from Fire Island, a beach not too far from Long Island and just outside of the city. That explained the dressed-down attire, but not the lip-gloss. Unless, of course, we were going straight back there from JFK airport.

I looked back at the gate. Most people I knew hated airports, but I liked them. They offered a chance to escape. Get on a plane and in six hours from now you could be across the country. You could be in a different town, in a different house, with a different group of people. I think we all took that for granted.

I could go back to Brazil right now. Or I could go somewhere else. I’ve never been to Cincinnati; I wonder what it’s like there. Or maybe Savannah. I could definitely live in Savannah! I took a step backwards, away from Cassie. Back toward the inside of the airport. She just smiled.

“Very funny, Amalia!” she said through perfectly white teeth. “Don’t sneak away from me now. I’m so glad you’re back, I really missed you.”

Cassie threw her arm over me and smushed our faces together. She whipped out her iPhone and flipped the camera application around so the front lens could be used and snapped a picture of the two of us. Before I knew it, she uploaded the picture to Facebook with the caption “So excited, Amalia is officially home!”

Without glancing back, she walked a few feet in front of me and remained glued to her phone. The back of her Havaianas smacking onto her heels echoed throughout the now nearly empty hallway. I let out a long sigh that Cassandra didn’t hear and pulled my suitcase toward the exit. Yep, it was official. I was home.

Chapter 2 (#ub0a7bd1d-de2e-5398-809d-35cf0d298b7e)

Olivia (#ub0a7bd1d-de2e-5398-809d-35cf0d298b7e)

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Alex asked me, as he glided over to the liquor cabinet.

“Red, please,” I craned my neck to answer.

I was quite cozy on the couch. The last week of summer had come and gone in a blur of tapas restaurants and strolls in Central Park. Monday marked the first day of our second year in graduate school and I couldn’t wait for it to begin. Ask most people and they’ll tell you summer is their favorite month. Not me, I’m partial to autumn. Summer is too crowded here in Brooklyn. The restaurants open their side entrances to create manufactured, outdoor seating areas so New Yorkers can pretend like they’re enjoying a nice day outside. I’ve often heard people say that the city clears out on the weekends during the summer months. But I have yet to see this happen.

Frankly, I’m a little sick of it.

During the summer months, everyone is in “vacation mode”. Vacation mode for girls means they’ll actually go a day without flat-ironing their hair, and for guys it means they’ll just hookup more than usual.

Autumn is different. Autumn is the time of the year that signals a new start for me. I always remember my mom putting me in my knee-length red dress and tucking my long brown hair behind my ears while scooting me off to school with a kiss on the forehead. Every first day of school, she would take a picture of me flaunting my new lunch box. For first grade it was “Where In The World Is Carmen Sandiego?”

Now that I am an adult and no longer living in Rhode Island, I look forward to autumn even more. I do this essentially because I want everyone’s “vacation mode” to end, and for everything else to just go back to normal.

Alex slipped in beside me, put the wine glasses down, and put his arm around my shoulders. I immediately let my head drop to the side to rest onto him. I was really into Alex. His deep, soulful eyes still sent as many shivers down my spine as the day we met. Next week would mark a year since we’d been together, and we had already made dinner reservations at some restaurant on Roosevelt Island that I had never heard of. Sandwiched in between Manhattan and Queens, Roosevelt Island was a small area in New York City. There isn’t a ton of nightlife there, but the housing is more affordable than Manhattan, and most apartments offer large, sweeping views of the Manhattan sky-line. It was mainly inhabited by young families. I didn’t really understand why he wanted to live there, but I guess there are worse places. Like the Bronx.

“Last weekend before school starts back up, baby,” he said. He raised his right hand and smoothed down his hair. “Are you ready to do it all again?”

“Just one more year after this, and then it will all be over,” I said, reaching for my wine.

The fact that we still had two years left in school was wearing on me now more than ever. Alex and I were in a good place, but I worried about what all the stress of schoolwork was going to do to our relationship. At first it seemed perfect, we had something crucial in common. But I started to question if the pressure of finishing school and beginning our careers would be too much for our relationship to handle.

“Have you spoken to Amalia yet?” he asked, now running his fingers through my hair.

“No, I haven’t heard from her in a few weeks, actually. Why?”

“I just saw on Facebook that she’s back,” he said, through a smirk.

I had forgotten that Amalia was coming home tonight.

“That’s right, today is the 20

.” I rubbed my forehead and let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

Alex rolled his eyes and leaned back into the couch.

“Why don’t you like her?” I asked, with a smile. “She’s never done anything to you.”

“I’m just kidding around,” he uttered.

I shot him a look.

“What? I am!” he added. He cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

I let out a small laugh. He was too cute to be mad at.

Alex winked at me and took a sip of his wine. Alex and Amalia had always been terse with each other. Now that he and I were in a relationship, I really wanted them to get along. My college boyfriend, Nate, and my old roommate never saw eye to eye, and it made those two years of my life more difficult than needed.

“I’d really appreciate it if you tried a little harder to be friendly toward her,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “She’s pretty cool, once you get to know her.”

Alex took a large gulp of wine and widened his gorgeous eyes. They were my favorite feature about him.

“Okay, Olivia, I’ll make you a deal. As long as she doesn’t give me a hard time, I will do my best to be her, you know,” he turned away.

“Her what?” I goaded, smiling at his discomfort.

“You know. Her friend,” he dramatically stuttered over the word “friend”.

“That’s very noble of you, Alex. I appreciate the gesture.” I rolled my eyes.