“What does Steve think?”
“Steve thinks that his parents are amazing and that we’re the luckiest two people on the planet and he thinks I feel the same way. It’s just not really me,” she motions to the gleaming white walls, the sleek furniture. She’s definitely got a point. Back home her room seemed to pulse with color. Every surface had something on it; every inch of wall was covered with paintings, pictures, drawings. “I guess I always kind of pictured myself living in some old loft in Brooklyn, or maybe a brownstone. But this...well you get the picture.”
“You’re going to marry Steve, you should probably tell him the truth.”
“What good would it do? We have somewhere to live, we don’t have to pay a mortgage or rent. There are people starving in this world and I’m upset because I didn’t get to pick out my marital home.”
“And why don’t you want me to tell Mom and Dad?”
“Oh come on. Mom spent ages picking out that silver tray she gave us for our engagement gift. If she found out what Kim and Saul gave us…I just don’t want to make her feel bad.”
“Oh.” I get it. It’s not like we’re poor or anything, Dad owns his own restaurant, Mom’s the busiest realtor in town. But with six kids in need of college tuition and what not, it’s not like they’ll be buying us houses anytime soon. And they’re the kind of people who would love to do such an amazing thing for their children.
Alyssa goes back to assembling brunch, a rag tag assembly of bacon, eggs, oven fries, and garden salad.
While we eat she entertains me with stories about crazy models and crazier celebrities. I nearly spit out a mouth full of orange juice when she tells me about shooting pop singer Summer Stone and a peacock in Central Park.
“She ran around the pen screaming, thinking the thing was trying to eat her shoes...”
***
Over the next two days, Alyssa indulges my every tourist whim. Even though I’m sure she’d rather do anything but, we circle the Statue of Liberty on a ferry, take the elevator to the top of the Empire State Building, stand in the middle of Time Square during rush hour, and eat hot dogs in Central Park. By Sunday evening we’re both exhausted and my suitcase is already bulging with pointless souvenirs.
“So what’s the schedule for tomorrow?” Steve lopes into the room wearing a pair of ratty sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’s been working all weekend and finally finished just as we got home.
“I was thinking maybe The American Museum of Natural History?” I say hopefully.
“Awe hun, I’m sorry,” Alyssa frowns. “I’ve got work tomorrow. By the time I’m off the museum will be closed. But it’s pretty close to here, why don’t you go over during the day? Then we can grab dinner or something? I should be home by six.”
“Oh, yeah of course,” I say, not sure why I’m surprised. I knew Alyssa had work, but I guess I just figured we’d be spending the entire week together. That she’d play hooky special for me.
“Hey I’ll come if you want company,” Steve offers. “I’m off for the next couple days.”
“Oh definitely take Steve,” Alyssa nods enthusiastically. “He’s clocked more hours in that place than probably anyone who works there.”
***
The next day Steve and I awkwardly venture out on our trip to the museum. I say awkward but what I really mean is dreadfully uncomfortable. The fact is that I’ve never been left alone with Steve, ever. There’s always been someone there – Alyssa, my parents, one or all of my other sisters. It’s easy to carry on a conversation when several others are floating you along, but when the weight of the conversational burden falls on just two – things can get difficult. As we walk, both of us mine our brains for something interesting or useful to say, but somehow fall flat every time. Steve starts talking about work, but when he meanders on to the topic of a story he’s currently writing on STIs and teenagers, we both turn bright red and can’t speak for five or so minutes. I’ve only ever had one boyfriend, back in junior high. It wasn’t exactly earth moving. We kissed twice and spent the rest of our three week tenure together holding hands and barely speaking. Suffice to say, I’ve never been on a date and by the way things are going here, maybe I should never go on one. What does it say about me if I can’t even talk to a platonic male, soon-to-be relative?
When we get to the museum we climb up the big grey steps and glide into the lobby. The sight of the giant T-Rex bones, recognizable from any number of movies and television shows, sends a jolt of excitement down my spine and I forget to be nervous or weird. I instantly poke Steve excitedly and demand we get moving ASAP so I can see everything. Steve has a season pass, so he waits dutifully by the T-Rex while I sift through a ten minute line and finally purchase my admission from an overly cheerful man with horn-rimmed glasses.
The rest of the afternoon passes by in a blur as we take in every exhibit. I’m a geek, fully admitted. I love museums, I love history, I love soaking in facts and knowledge. I’ll never be as smart as Arianna, academically at least, but Dad has always said the difference between me and her is that she loves being smart, and I love learning, and those are two very different things.
When we finish it’s just past five. We head up to the apartment and I start getting ready for dinner with Alyssa. All weekend she was telling me about these fabulous places she wants to take me to, I wonder which one she’ll pick.
Just after six the front door bursts open and Alyssa frantically rushes in, Topher on her heels. She looks at me, waiting on the couch and she frowns apologetically.
“I have a work thing, I completely forgot. I can’t get out of it. I’m so sorry Syd.” She says breathlessly. She shoves her purse and keys at Topher and then runs to her room to change. A few minutes later she emerges her hair pulled back into a soft knot and wearing a pink silk dress and towering heels. Four minutes and she goes from frazzled to fabulous. Mom taught her well.
“Bye guys,” Alyssa waves to us and rushes out. Topher chases behind her, not even bothering to wave on his way out.
“So...” Steve rocks back on his heels, “want to go see a movie?”
Chapter Four
Over the next four days, Alyssa’s schedule continues on its same tornado-like path, wiping out any and all plans she tries to make with me. Steve takes it upon himself to become my guide, somehow getting out of work for the next few days. He only ends up having to go into the office once, and brings me along with him for a tour.
We end up weaving our way across the city, eating in funky cafes and pricey restaurants (Steve foots the bill). He takes me to two broadways shows – gritting his teeth and smiling forcibly through Mamma Mia, but kind of enjoying Wicked. I catch him tapping his foot more than once and he claps just as hard as anyone at the end. By the time Friday rolls around any trace of the awkward silence from Monday is gone.
Saturday, my last full day in the city, Alyssa promises upon the heads of her future children that she will not flake out on me. She even persuades someone vaguely important from work to get us reservations at LIMA – a hotspot restaurant she can’t stop gushing about. But when I wake up Saturday morning there’s a sticky note pressed between my cheek and the pillow. I sit up and smooth the creased paper.
Syd,
Emergency at work! No way out of it. So sorry. Back in time for LIMA!
Love, Alyssa
I try not to focus on the disappointment settling in the pit of my stomach. We were supposed to go shopping. Despite Steve’s willingness, I’d been less than inclined to drag him out to Macy’s and Saks 5th Avenue with me. He was being so nice, the last thing I wanted was to put him through the hell of shoe shopping. Besides, that’s more of Alyssa’s department. She works at a fashion magazine after all.
I drift out of the guest room and into the kitchen. I’m the only one here. Steve’s off at work putting in a twelve hour day
to make up for his absences this week. I could sit around the apartment by myself for the day, watch some TV on the 46 inch LED, or teach myself how to use Steve’s brand new Mac in the office. But, I can’t bring myself to waste my last day here stuck inside. Despite my mother’s rampant warnings that I’m not to go off on my own in the city, I shower, dress, and shove all the cash I have left into my wallet. Rules be damned, I’m going shopping.
We have a Macy’s back home, well not in West Plane, but in Albuquerque. Still the dull department store there and the bright, glitzy one here are two very different places. I become hypnotized by the sights and smells: silk dresses and $1000 dollar bottles of perfume. I can’t afford to shop here, not even on clearance, but who cares.
I continue to make my way around Herald Square, taking in the Manhattan Mall and spending the remainder of my money on a funky emerald green dress from JC Penny that brings out my eyes. On my way through the shoe department I forfeit the wad of emergency cash Mom gave me before I left for a pair of black wedges.
I get home around five and stare at my purchases with excitement. Alyssa said I could forage in her closet for something to wear tonight, but I’m too in love with my new dress to bother. I slip it on over my head and slide my feet in to my new shoes. I’m not very good at doing my hair, so I simply pull back two tendrils from each side of my face and secure them at the back of my head with a few bobby pins. A bit of make-up and I’m set. I take a look at myself in the mirror and nod with satisfaction. I never get dressed up and I barely ever wear more than mascara. What’s the point when no one is really looking? But I think I look good. Better than usual anyways.
I walk out in the living room and here the trill of my phone’s message alert. There’s a text from Alyssa:
Running late. Meet you at LIMA for seven.
I drop my phone into my bag and sit down on the couch. It’s just past six now. I wait half an hour, then traipse downstairs. Tom, the doorman from last Saturday is there.
“Ah Sydney!” Tom smiles. “Don’t you look like a picture!”
“Thanks. Can you call me a cab?”
“Sure thing.”
While I’m waiting, Tom asks me how I’ve enjoyed my week in the city and seems quite pleased and prideful when I tell him I had fun in his hometown. My cab arrives and Tom holds the door open as I slip inside, careful not to let my dress bunch up beneath me. Yes I do pay attention when my mother lectures on the rules of beauty...sometimes.
It takes a little over twenty minutes to get to the restaurant. I pay the driver then carefully scrutinize the sidewalk, looking for Alyssa. I try calling her cell, but there’s no answer. The windows to the place are all blocked by curtains, there’s no way to tell if she’s here already without going inside. The lobby is crowded; I have to push and shove to get to the hostesses podium in the front corner of the room. A model-pretty girl with sleek blonde hair and sharp-as- glass cheekbones is staring with boredom at the swarm of people before her. When a guy in a dark blue suit with a smarmy smile steps aside I swoop in.
“Um hi. My sister made a reservation, um Alyssa Kane for two I think?”
The girl clicks around on the computer monitor. “Uh huh,” she nods. “Is the rest of your party here?”
“Um, I guess not.”
“Right. Well why don’t you go sit in the lounge and when she gets here let us know. Okay?” She nods to her left and produces an insincere smile.
I step aside and follow the line of her chin toward an archway leading to a large room filled with people. The air is thick with laughter and talk, every chair seems to be filled with gloriously decorated people – men in tailored suits, women in gorgeous sheaths. I can’t see anywhere to sit, so I resign myself to lean up against the wall and I train my eye on the arch – waiting for Alyssa to appear.
After about ten minutes my feet are starting to ache in my new shoes and there’s still no sign of her. I spot a handful of people slip off their stools at the bar and make their way back into the restaurant. Desperate to get off my feet, I dart across the room and snag one of the stools before anyone can steal it from me.
I hate sitting on stools, and wish the people who left had been seated on one of those squishy leather chairs in the corner. I find myself trying, and pretty much failing, to balance on my tall perch without falling off. I finally find a position that doesn’t send me careening over and force myself to still.
The bartender’s gaze sweeps over me and I feel a squeeze of trepidation in my belly. Am I even allowed to be in here? Can he tell I’m only sixteen? Is he going to kick me out? He slips over to me and raises his eyebrows. I mentally prepare myself to stutter through some sort of excuse as to why I’m sitting at his bar. I clench my fists and wait for him to speak, but before he can utter a syllable, a woman on my left beckons his attention and he turns away.
Starting to get downright pissed with Alyssa for sending me here alone, I reach for my phone again, but just as my fingers snake around it, someone knocks the back of my seat and I tip left. My hand releases the phone, and it tumbles to the ground.
“Damn it,” I grumble and shove the stool back so I can slide off.
“Oof,” I hear from behind me.
I look over my shoulder and realize that I’ve just barreled the wooden backrest of my seat into some guy’s chest. He’s bent over a bit, massaging his ribs.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologize, trying to wedge myself out from the space between the stool and bar. “I dropped my phone and I was just trying to grab it...and I should have looked...and I’m sorry.”
“That what you’re looking for?” He points down at the ground where my purple phone is resting against the plum colored carpet.
“Yeah, great,” I nod and immediately duck down to snatch it. Unfortunately, the guy does the same and instead of grabbing the phone, I end up knocking his forehead with my own. We both spring up.
“Oh crap,” I wince while rubbing my own head. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t think...and...” I trail off. “Crap,” I add, defeated. Could I be any more lame or ridiculous?
He shakes his head. “No problem.”
Oh geez, I stare at him, only now seeing just how astoundingly gorgeous he is. He looks like he might be a couple years older than I am. His hair is brown, so dark it’s almost black, and carefully mussed, probably with the aid of some sort of product. His eyes are like dark chocolate with little flecks of orange and they’re surrounded by thick, black-as-night eyelashes – the kind most girls would commit murder for. Even though I’m in heels, he towers at least three or four inches over me.
Leave it to me to injure, not once, but twice, the hottest guy in the room, if not city.
Not interested in perpetuating my already unlucky streak with him, I turn around and attempt to climb back onto my stool, but realize too late that it’s a good foot too far from the bar. I’m just about to slide off again when I hear from behind me, “hey, let me help.” Then suddenly my stool, with me atop it, is being pushed forward until my stomach is just grazing the edge of the bar.
“Is anyone sitting here?” Gorgeous Guy indicates the empty seat beside me.
Afraid of either stuttering or squeaking, I opt to shake my head instead of saying no.
I drop my purse and phone on the bar and find some spot above the bartender’s head to focus on. But Gorgeous Guy is like a terrible car wreck, you just can’t help but look, and before long my head is slowly turning and my eyes are carefully flicking up and down, taking in all of him. The Rolex watch (he must be rich), his manicured fingernails (metro much?), and the darker hue of his skin, like pale caramel candy (yummm). God help me. I wish I was like my sisters, able to arm myself with charm and wittiness at a second’s notice – but there’s no switch inside of me that automatically flips to flirt when I come into range of a good looking guy. Although at this point I’d just
be happy with a switch that flips to coherent.
As if he senses my stare, he looks over and catches my eye. I automatically look away, staring down at my fingernails, and once more curse Alyssa. Where the hell is she?
“You’re blushing,” he says.
Oh crap. My heart thumps against my chest. I blink at him and words stutter against my lips. “Huh? What?” I can feel my cheeks, which were already a little aflame, ignite to inferno. I reach up and touch my face, then quickly pull my hand away. “It’s not, I mean, it’s just warm in here and my skin is so pale...and I’m not like....well you know?”
He creases his brow and stares at me like I’m a crazy person, rightly so. “You’re phone,” he points to spot on the bar where I dropped it, “it’s buzzing...vibrating?”
Buzzing, blushing...why do they have to sound so similar? It’s just so loud in here and oh shit, the buzzing stopped. I reach for the phone, one missed call from Alyssa.
I dial voicemail and squish the phone against my ear so I can hear the message. Between the noise of the room and static of the call, her voice barely cracks above a whisper.
“Hey Syd, this place crazy, I’m sooooo sorry. But I’m about to leave now and I’m like only fifteen minutes away! See you soon.”
I place my phone back down on the bar and run my fingers against the wooden surface.
“Bad news?”
“Huh?”
Gorgeous Guy is peering at me again. “You look disappointed.”
I squint at him and shrug. “No, I’m not. My sister is just supposed to meet me here and she’s running late. But she’ll be here.” I say firmly, reassuring myself more than anything, I think. Why do I get the feeling she’s going to let me down once again?
“I hear you, my publi...I mean my friend was supposed to meet me here ten minutes ago. But you know,” he shrugs. “By the way I’m...” there’s a commotion on the other side of the room – a woman leaping up and screaming, “oh my God,” – and he sort of jumps, then looks around the room furtively, finally spotting her. She’s wiping at a large red stain on her white skirt, a wine glass lay empty at her feet. He swallows, seemingly relieved, and then looks back at me, “I’m Grant.”
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