You’ll Find Me in Manhattan

I breathed a sigh of relief and turned on my heel to leave the store. That’s when I saw her.

Cassandra.

The two of us hadn’t spoken since Olivia’s engagement party nearly six months ago. I watched as she gingerly made her way around the lip-gloss section, picking up two very similar shades of pink and studying them in the light. I wanted to go over to her and say something. I hated that we weren’t speaking. I wanted to tell her I was going on a date with Michael. That I was a mental case who ran away from Hayden. I wanted to tell her about what a bitch Olivia’s mom was being, and how overwhelmed I was with school. And I wanted to know all about what was going on with her too. Who was she dating? How was work going for her? Did she miss me?

I took a step forward and then I stopped myself. I had a tiny fantasy play out in my mind. One where I walk over to her, and she greets me with the same cold indifference she had for the better part of last year. I felt a pang of humiliation just thinking about it, and I had waited too long for a real shot with Michael to let anything put me in a sour mood tonight.

So I did what I had to do. I glided sideways out of the store and walked back the two blocks to the restaurant, where Michael was already waiting for me.

“I’ll have the steak, medium rare,” Michael uttered, squinting at the drinks menu. “And an old-fashioned.” He subtly chewed on his bottom lip, momentarily distracting me.

The waitress smiled at him, her blue eyes lingering on him a little longer than necessary. They caught eyes as he handed her his menu, and he gave her a polite smile. I felt an instant pang of jealousy.

I smoothed my skirt out, careful not to accidentally hit my tights with a fingernail, and cleared my throat in an attempt to get the pretty waitress’s attention. She turned her gaze to me and offered me a fake smile. “And for you, miss?”

“Penne in vodka sauce, with a side of steamed spinach, I beamed back. She could stare at him all she wanted. The fact was, he was out on a date with me. “And I’ll also have a glass of cabernet. Thank you.” I held out my menu with a triumphant smirk.

The waitress collected our menus and darted off to put our orders in. The restaurant was crowded, not unusual for a Saturday night. Michael caught eyes with me and I immediately melted. I wondered if he could hear my breathing get heavier whenever he was around. His dark hair was perfectly in place, and I wondered if he had gotten a haircut just for our date. He reached across the table for my hand, and I slowly slid mine over to his, scared that if I moved too quickly he’d pull it away in jest.

But he didn’t pull away. He held my hand gently as we sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, gently easing into casual conversation.

“How was the wedding-gown search?” he asked, as the waitress dropped off our drinks. “Did Olivia find the dress of her dreams?”

“She did,” I uttered through a wide smile. I must have looked like such a fool, but I didn’t care. Even being here, now, across the table from Michael as he held my hand and asked me about my day, felt so surreal. Like any moment my alarm clock would go off and I’d wake up to find out that this was all just a cruel dream. That he had gotten back together with his ex-girlfriend, Marge, and I had broken things off with Hayden for nothing.

“What does it look like?” he asked, now smiling himself. For our first official date, Michael looked as extraordinary as ever, donning a dark-blue button-down, grey dress slacks, and black patent-leather shoes. I tried to hide a hard swallow as I thought about us going back to his apartment to be alone when dinner was over. I shook my head to clear my thoughts and tried to focus on the question he had asked me.

“What? I’m not telling you what her dress looks like!” I laughed, and then paused to sip my wine.

Michael’s index finger drew small circles over my open palm on the table. Damn it, I’d give away government secrets if he kept that up!

“Why won’t you tell me?” he asked, finally letting go of my grasp to take a sip of his drink. I felt a little disappointed that the touching had stopped.

“Because then you’ll tell Alex and he’ll know what his bride’s wedding gown looks like,” I raised my eyebrows.

“That’s right, babe. Alex and I sit around gossiping about wedding gowns,” he smirked. “Actually tomorrow he and I have plans to sit down and really bang out the roses-versus-peonies debate.”

I blinked a few a times before answering him. “Did you just call me babe?”

“Penne Vodka?” the waitress plopped the bowl down in front of me, the sauce nearly spilling on my blouse. She carefully set Michael’s food down in front of him, once again grinning like a mental patient. This time I ignored her staring and dug straight into my pasta. She walked away, strutting just a bit. Michael didn’t look at her again.

“Question,” I said to Michael, without looking up.

“Answer,” he replied, while cutting his steak.

“Will you be my date to their wedding?” I held my breath the moment the words escaped my lips.

He looked up at me just as he was about to take a bite of his food. I sat for a moment, perfectly still as I awaited his response. It was kind of a hard question to answer, considering Olivia and Alex hadn’t even set a date yet.

He offered me a small smile and said, “Sure.”

I slowly let out my breath as he went back to eating.

Four – Olivia (#uad08a62a-4c9d-5d44-8ecc-f9b7d07b921c)

Another summer came and went in New York City. I could swear they all felt the same. The weekends included walks in Central Park, iced lattes at cafés, and lots of people jogging down the waterfront in Battery Park. This summer was no different. While Amalia worked for Dr. Greenfield all summer long, I feverishly flipped through any wedding magazine I could get my hands on. I also spent a couple of weekends up in Rhode Island visiting my dad. The first time I arrived, he gleefully showed me the engagement announcement in the local newspaper that he had submitted on my behalf. He had copied a picture of Alex and myself from my Facebook page and submitted it along with a small description of us. It wasn’t the picture I would have chosen, but it got the job done. It was so sweet of my dad to do that. My mother, on the other hand, continued her reign of terror while trying to micromanage every detail of my wedding, for which I had yet to set a date. It was getting a little ridiculous, at this point, not having the date set, but Alex and I were so busy traveling back and forth to Rhode Island, and checking out doctoral programs to apply for, that we honestly hadn’t had the time to scope out any venues.

Before I knew it, it was August and school was starting back. The best part of the summer was not having to work for Dr. Greenfield, but Monday morning that would all change. Monday marked the beginning of the end of graduate school. The first day of our final year. All of our doctoral program applications had to be in by February. It seemed a long time away, but I knew the time would fly by. Years seemed to be getting shorter with each passing birthday.

By Thursday morning, I was already in a routine. I was sat at one of the laptops Dr. Greenfield had set up for us in a small computer lab. The room was bleak and depressing. As I worked with the analysis program on the computer that was already making my head spin just ten minutes into me working on it, I knew I had to make a good impression on Dr. Greenfield if I wanted a letter of recommendation to the doctoral programs I would be applying to. I checked the clock on the screen – nine forty-five. Amalia was already fifteen minutes late and I could tell it would easily turn into a theme with her. I rubbed my eyes and tried to concentrate on the work in front of me. With all of the wedding ideas bouncing around my head, concentrating on this work-study program was getting harder and harder to do. At the computer next to me sat August Marek, Dr. Greenfields little pet, with his head down and completely engrossed in the work in front of him. He was the final student picked for Dr. Greenfield’s study, and his grades completely put mine to shame. He had managed to get an A in nearly all of his classes his entire time at NYU, and his key-chain told me he went to Brown for undergrad. I knew we weren’t officially competing against each other, but being a woman already gave me a disadvantage just because there were so many women in the program. If he and I were going to apply for any of the same doctoral programs, the admissions office would choose him over me in a heartbeat.

A moment later, Amalia came bursting through the door, her purse falling off her shoulder as the door shut loudly behind her. She was wearing her typical jeans and sneakers, but looked a little classier than usual with a cream-colored sweater with rhinestone details around the collar. She had a small, Coach purse on her right shoulder and a take-away cup of coffee in her left hand. Dr. Greenfield and I looked up at her disturbance. Unflappable, August never took his eyes off the computer screen. Amalia opened her mouth to speak, but I shot her a look and then motioned to the empty chair next to mine.

“Miss Hastings,” Dr. Greenfield said in a tight voice. “What did I tell you over the summer about showing up late for work?” His facial expression was a frightening one. For a brief moment I wondered what it would have been like to grow up in a household with that kind of man for a father. So strict and unrelenting.

“I’m really sorry, professor,” she scrambled to get to her seat and turn her computer on. “I was coming from midtown, and the R train was running late.” She placed the coffee down on the desk and I held my breath as I imagined her knocking it over. Thankfully she didn’t.

Dr. Greenfield raised a hand, indicating her to stop speaking. “I’m not interested in your excuses. You either get here in time from here on out, or I will find someone else to take your position. Remember what I said last year? Don’t make me fire you.” He shook his head in disapproval. “We are as busy as a cat on a hot tin roof over here.”

Amalia pursed her lips and August actually raised a puzzled eyebrow at Dr. Greenfield’s remark. It was like our professor spoke another language than us. Sometimes it was comical, but I was in no mood today.

“It won’t happen again,” she muttered with wide eyes, and then immediately put her head down. She started fidgeting with her curls and I could tell she was embarrassed. I couldn’t blame her, the professor was definitely nothing if not intimidating. Especially with his stern, booming southern accent.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the hint of a smile tug at August’s lips. He knew he was Greenfield’s favorite. August had taken classes from him before and apparently always aced every exam. I was really starting to dislike this guy. I narrowed my eyes at him, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Greenfield’s eyes followed Amalia as she slowly lowered herself into the chair next to mine. Dr. Greenfield shook his head and returned to his books. Amalia let out a soft sigh.

“What are you working on?” she asked in a near-whisper, dropping her purse to the floor.

“Analyzing the data we collected on Monday,” I replied. I touched my fingertips to my temple, feeling a dull headache coming on. “There’s a lot of it.”

“Just tell me how I can help,” she offered me a weak smile. She looked past me for a moment. “Hey, August.”

“Hey,” he replied, without looking up. He let out a soft, exasperated sigh and pushed his sleeves up.

She rolled her eyes and I couldn’t help but smile. I reached over to the empty desk across from me and grabbed a bunch of files with last Friday’s date on them.

“Here,” I handed them to her. “Start helping before you get fired and have to live on my and Alex’s couch for the rest of the year.”

“Stop threatening me with homelessness,” she half-smiled. She flipped open the files and began to carefully type the data into the computer. “Speaking of you and Alex, are you going to move out of your apartment? Or is he going to move out of his?”

“We haven’t decided yet, but clearly his building is a lot nicer than mine. I’d much rather live there. I will miss living in Brooklyn, though, Roosevelt Island is a much different change of scenery,” I offered in a near-whisper.

“Well, I won’t miss you living in Brooklyn,” she gave me an over-the-top smile. “But back to you, I highly doubt he’d say no to you living with him. From the one time I was over there, it seemed to me like he really loved his place. Plus, guys hate moving.”

“Everyone hates moving,” I let out a soft chuckle. “I just hope he doesn’t hate having to make room for all of my stuff!” I rubbed my temples, suddenly overwhelmed by the professor’s research project, my regular classes, moving, and planning a wedding all within a little over a year. I took a deep breath and shook my head. “But you’re right, I’ll talk to him about it after we book a venue for the wedding.” I suddenly felt a strong urge to change the subject. “Can you grab lunch later this week so I can hear about your first official date with Mr. Big, I mean Michael?”

She nodded quickly, but then immediately turned the conversation back to me. “Have you narrowed it down at all?” she looked up from her screen.