“It’s a real adventure, living together for the first time,” Max said. Emma nodded dismissively. Max and Alysse had gotten hitched and moved in after one of those formal courtships straight out of Fiddler on the Roof. Emma doubted they’d even had premarital sex. Max continued: “It’s funny, even with Cindy—”
“Wow, Cindy,” Emma blurted. “I haven’t thought of her in years.” The name of Max’s college girlfriend seemed out of a different lifetime. Cindy had been non-Jewish, but willing to convert, if Emma remembered correctly.
“Yeah, well, even though she’d been sleeping over at my dorm for months—her roommate was an epic snorer—when we officially started living together, it felt different. We learned so much about each other.”
“Huh.”
“Like how her room was always a mess, but she kept the insides of her dresser drawers freakishly neat. And how she liked a beverage in the shower—she kept juice and seltzer by the towels.”
“That’s bizarre.”
“Cindy was a trip.” Emma wanted to ask her brother if he missed her, that girl she remembered as a spark plug, always up for an adventure, pretty much the opposite of Alysse. Even back then, Emma recalled thinking Cindy had been much too interesting for her brother. Max looked immersed in thought, so she didn’t interrupt.
“I don’t know, though. I feel like I already know everything about Nick.”
“I bet not. It’ll be interesting to see. I’m psyched for you guys.”
“Someone talking about me?” Nick appeared in the room, shouldering the body pillow Emma liked to sleep curled up with.
“Geez,” said Max, “I thought it was bad having a three-year-old show up in my bed at night, but that thing’s crazy. A serious cock block, eh, Nick?” Emma smirked at the comment her brother never would’ve made in front of his wife.
“We manage with an occasional ménage à pillow,” said Nick. Emma blushed at the dorky joke, and chucked a pillow at Nick. He deflected with the larger pillow.
“If this is some kind of foreplay, I’m out,” Max said. Emma rolled her eyes.
“Well, I think that’s everything,” said Nick. “All that’s left in the van is a layer of Goldfish crumbs and a stuffed penguin.”
“You sure the penguin isn’t yours, Emmy? Need more company to go beddy-bye?”
“Oh, shut up,” she said. “So should we grab the kids and order pizza, as promised in your mover contract?”
Max consulted his watch—Emma noticed he’d swapped out his usual Cartier for a sports kind on a fabric band; it looked good on him. “I actually think we’d better get going. Alysse is making tacos for dinner, and she’ll have a fit if we come home full of pizza.”
Emma was surprised to feel disappointed. “Okay, next time then. I still owe you.”
“For sure.” While they hugged, Emma went for the back of Max’s neck, where she knew he was most ticklish. Predictably he began convulsing with giggles, looking like his ten-year-old self; his laugh sounded just like his son’s.
“Pathetic, as usual,” she said.
“My sneaky sister,” he said. “I better scram before you launch another attack.”
Watching him go, Emma thought about how today had felt like the old days, the two of them just hanging out together. And it was fun to be with her niece and nephew in the city. Maybe once she and Nick settled into a new place, she’d suggest hosting them for a sleepover; they could go to one of those trendy origami workshops or a kid yoga class, then hit up the Central Park carousel and overload on sugar at Dylan’s Candy Bar.
Alone now with Nick, Emma looked around at all their boxes. “We should probably unpack and relaunch our apartment search.”
“You’re right, we probably should.”
“But I don’t really want to, do you?”
“Nah.”
“If I know Annie, they’ve got cases of fine wine stashed somewhere in this place. How about we hunt one down and go unwind on the roof deck?”
“I like it. You find the wine, I’ll order the pizza. But in just a minute.” Nick pulled Emma close and together they toppled onto the borrowed bed that was temporarily theirs.
Chapter 20
In that split-second fog between sleep and waking, Nick made out a blue-and-white pattern, sniffed gourmet coffee shop, and heard the low whir of a fan. He barely registered his panic—the fear of the unfamiliar, the disorientation, the longing for his own bed—before he heard Emma’s voice, blinked fully awake, and spotted his girlfriend entering what he now remembered was the guest room in Annie and Eli’s apartment.
“I made you a vanilla cappuccino,” she said, holding out a mug. “And look, I used a stencil to make a foam flower on top.”
He took a sip. “Holy shit, that’s good.”
“Apparently Eli gets his beans shipped from Colombia. And that espresso machine has a larger skill set than I do. I made myself a mocha granita. I feel like we’re at the Ritz!”
She said it with excitement, but as Nick stumbled around the space trying to approximate his Monday morning routine, he, too, felt like he was in a hotel—though in a cold, detached way. He straightened out the high-thread-count sheets, remade the bed with all its embroidered pillows, and then showered under the rain-forest spigot that Emma said was designed to soothe, lathering up with the lilac soap. He tried the shower’s steam feature and got momentarily lost in the air, then dried himself with a towel two inches thick. He’d planned to grab a bagel on his way to the subway, but Emma intercepted him with a bowl of granola, the kind they sold at the farmers’ market for twelve dollars a bag. Someone had sent a Harry and David fruit basket, so he chopped a pear into his bowl, perfectly ripe. Leaving the building, the doorman handed him the Times and tipped his cap in a way that made Nick wonder what he’d done to deserve it.
It was all a little unsettling. So when Nick commuted up to East Harlem and arrived at the crumbling school and entered his slightly sour-smelling classroom, then turned on the halogen lighting whose one bulb always flickered, he actually felt relieved. Here he belonged. And as the day progressed, and he led his students through science and reading and math, Nick realized he’d hit his groove; he’d made it through the shaky first few weeks of the year, and the class was becoming a community, almost a home.
Nick had been dreading the relaunch of their apartment hunt. But that evening, as he joined Emma at the computer and she loaded up Craigslist and typed in a move-in date of October fifteenth, Nick surprised himself by feeling fine. Popping open beers and scrolling through their options, they may as well have been perusing cute puppy gifs for how comfortable Nick felt. Calmly he urged Emma away from the listings that looked too good to be true—suspiciously spacious or too well located for their price range—nudging her instead toward spaces that seemed exactly adequate. Nick realized he didn’t care much anymore about having a dishwasher or a full-sized bathtub or central air; all the fancy gadgets in Eli’s apartment were nice, but to Nick a dollar coffee and an egg-and-cheese from the deli were just as satisfying as a gourmet latte and designer granola. He didn’t even need to be in a choice location. So long as it was safe for Emma to walk at night, it would be fun to get to know a new neighborhood. Nick’s revised priorities were affordable rent, functional plumbing, a lack of bedbugs, and a decent landlord. As long as these conditions were met, he was sure he and Emma could thrive. It was amazing how many listings fulfilled these simpler needs.
So Nick wasn’t surprised when, just three nights later, he and Emma found themselves perusing yet another lease, pens poised for signing. For both of them it was their first foray into Red Hook, the South Brooklyn neighborhood they’d previously heard about mostly in relation to its IKEA. The walk from the subway to the apartment in question had been long, but it took them across cobblestone streets and past an occasional bar or restaurant and just a handful of other pedestrians. Though they were only six miles from Nick’s Manhattan neighborhood, it seemed worlds away. Nick dug the sparse, even stark feel
, and he noticed that Emma had relaxed her usual clip to an actual stroll. She went on about her research of the area—the waterfront views of the Statue of Liberty, the world-class supermarket, the free pool in the summer that attracted a field’s worth of food trucks outside—and Nick half listened happily. A block from the apartment, the aroma of espresso lured them into a coffee shop and, lidded cups in hand, they arrived at their destination. Maybe it was the rush of caffeine, but Nick’s heart began racing when they entered a plain hallway—no uniformed doorman or fancy lobby like at Eli and Annie’s place, but no smell or garbage and dying animals like at Luis’s place, either. It was average, nondescript, exactly fine. Nick squeezed Emma’s hand.
The landlady introduced herself as Shelley, then announced that she would start with the downsides. She proceeded to tour them around three small rooms, pointing out little cracks in the shower’s caulking and a kitchen sink whose faucet had to be positioned just so to stop the drip. “First-floor apartment, so no stairs, yay!” she said. “But you get tiny black ants when it gets warm outside, but they don’t bite and they gone in a week. We spray each month.” She shrugged. “What else? Small closet space. But, a five-minute walk to IKEA, which sells excellent wardrobe. Here, I got you catalog to look.” The cover bore a sticker: “For tenants!!” Shelley seemed like a long-lost aunt.
The landlady left them alone to browse, and Emma pulled Nick into the corner closet. Pressed against each other they barely fit, and Nick’s head bumped up against the hanger bar. “Cozier than those walkins, right?” Emma said, starting to nibble on his neck. Nick would’ve undressed her right then if Shelley hadn’t been waiting in the next room. Back in that first apartment with the pair of closets, he’d mostly been thinking about how much sports equipment he could fit. “Should we sign?” she asked. He kissed her in agreement.
Moments later Nick watched as Emma looped her signature onto the lease, feeling none of the nausea he’d experienced while signing Luis’s lease. He added his own name, and Shelley extended them a thumbs-up. Nick felt like they’d won the lottery.
“Now, go celebrate.” Shelley handed them a laminated index card entitled Shelley’s best ratings!!!, which listed several local bars, followed by descriptors such as, Best for friends and fun! Good times for all! and For romantic lovers—candles and roses! Drink up! Emma pointed to the description that read, Attention **PARTY** animals, this spot’s for you! next to an address on the same block, and they set out.
Shelley’s idea of party animals was apparently small groups of twenty-and thirtysomethings nursing beers and nodding along to St. Vincent songs played at a reasonable volume. Nick, who’d already decided this would be their neighborhood spot and that he’d establish a signature drink, asked for a Dark and Stormy and imagined the bartender—cute in that dirty-haired hipster way—mixing it up each time she saw him come in.
In the spirit of party animals, Emma ordered them shots of whiskey. “Cheers, love,” Nick said. As he tilted back the drink and felt that back-of-the-throat burn, the sky outside erupted into downpour. They watched the falling water through the windows, which soon fogged up, making the space even more charming. Nature seemed to be releasing a sigh of relief along with the two of them. Everything seemed like a sign.
They didn’t have umbrellas, of course, and the rain was relentless. So they stepped outside naked to the elements, and raced through the flooding streets, sheets of rain and gusts of wind pounding against them. Nick imagined they were in Venice, or somewhere else he’d never been—Mars, maybe (his students would correct him, saying Mars was dry as a bone). This was the beauty of New York, Nick thought: Every neighborhood was a world unto itself, and every season, every shift in weather transformed it totally—a new iteration, a new scene to explore. And the person you were with, of course, made it all new again, too. There was Emma beside him, soaring over sidewalks and splashing through puddles, hair matted to her head and eyes sparkling with rain, miserable and thrilled all at once. They’d signed on for a home here during a cool and dry golden hour, and now they were flying through a wet, cold twilight. Nick had navigated the city’s streets for years on his own, and now he had this beautiful, bright companion. Anything seemed possible.
Distracted by Emma’s off-key rendition of “Singin’ in the Rain,” Nick’s foot caught on a newspaper, soaked to a slimy pulp. He slid across the cobblestone and, in attempts to regain his footing, groped at Emma’s arm. His grab was rough, and Emma, too, lost her balance. The two of them lurched forward, tumbling to the ground. They landed hard, both acquiring the beginnings of bruises that Nick imagined would remain black and blue for days, eventually fade to yellow, and only return to healthy pink after they’d settled into their new apartment and made this street their home. It was a strangely thrilling thought. Lying with Emma on the sidewalk in a wounded heap, the rain pounding, Nick experienced a surge of adrenaline—excitement for all that was to come.
Now that they’d secured a home that Emma could conjure up concretely (moving there would be another matter, but for now she chose not to dwell on it), she was free to devote her full emotional energy to missing Annie. They’d been apart for more than a month, with just two staticky phone calls to sustain them—a record, ever since their parents had gifted them their own phone lines for their respective tenth birthdays. Emma dug into her friend’s bureau, searching for traces of her scent. Mostly everything smelled of Tide Fresh, but Emma managed to find a ratty sweatshirt and baggy Lehigh sweats that smelled of Annie. She pulled them on to pad around the house in, tricking herself that her friend was nearby. Nick catcalled her, praising her new hobo look.
As crucial as it was to have a place to live, Emma had always found her home in people—first her parents, later Annie, and finally Nick. These were the ones who gave her a sense of comfort, and whom she longed for when they were far away. But now Emma had everything she’d wanted—Nick, an apartment, a home together—and still she yearned for Annie, feeling as if her friend had taken a chunk of Emma with her to Africa and left a gaping hole in its place. It didn’t help that Gen was still acting distant—Emma kept inviting her over to grill on her borrowed roof deck, but Gen had rain-checked twice.
Maybe Emma’s sense of home was more complicated than she’d assumed, more fragmented. With the latest iteration of the apartment hunt, Nick had turned placid, totally at ease with shipping out to an unfamiliar area and into an apartment much smaller than what they’d initially hoped for. Emma had gone along with it because Nick seemed so certain, and also because she’d started doubting her own judgment. But she was worried about being so far out in Brooklyn, so isolated from the familiar. And Nick’s sudden assuredness troubled her, too—would he eventually snap out of it and turn resentful? Would he go on another drinking bender then? Part of Emma feared the brain injury had fundamentally changed Nick, although the doctor had assured her that was very unlikely. Plus, ever since she’d delivered her self-righteous rant about the integrity of her job, Emma had been feeling slightly sick about how little the reality matched her description. She felt ridiculous for stressing over all this stuff that was small potatoes compared to the potential homelessness they’d faced a week ago, but Emma couldn’t help it. And as much as she knew how if she voiced these concerns to Nick, he’d listen and nod his support and kiss her with care, she wanted Annie, now, here in New York, home with her.
And then, as if she’d never even left, Annie was back in Emma’s life, returned to New York in all her suntanned, bug-bitten, African-print-donning glory. “Hellooo!” she bellowed upon entering the apartment, and then flung open the bathroom door to reveal Emma inside, nursing her wounds from her recent spill in the rain.
“Holy shit, did Nick become a girlfriend beater while I was off newly-wedding?”
“Yes, and where have you been when I’ve needed you most?” Though she said it melodramatically, Emma really meant it. She flung her arms around her friend.
“Well, I’m glad I could provide you with
refuge here at the Blum Center for Battered Women. Sorry, not funny—I’m jet-lagged and famished. I haven’t had a decent meal in weeks. Let’s get burgers and catch up on everything, including how you got that nasty bruise.”
“Five Guys?” Emma was already salivating, thinking of their favorite comfort food; for weeks she’d been subsisting on Nick’s abstemious vegetarian fare.
“Obviously.” Emma took a look at her friend, who was now all grown-up, a wife and a home owner, but still her same five-year-old self, with the same long nose, the same full lips, the same—wait—“What is that?” Emma spat, pointing to a blue line snaking its way around her friend’s wrist. Annie lifted her hand, revealing a curlicue design like an ornate wristwatch, which ended in a flourish at the base of her palm. “Ta-da! Eli got one, too. Like it?”
Emma remembered when she and Annie had hoped to get matching tattoos in high school—symmetrical butterfly wings, one on each of their ankles to symbolize their connection no matter how far apart they flew. But Annie’s mother had gotten wind of the plan and intercepted them at the mall before any needles pierced skin. Emma hadn’t admitted it then, but she’d felt relieved to be caught, and spared the permanent marring. Now she felt the absence of that wing on her ankle.
“Well?”
Emma realized Annie was waiting for an answer. “Oh, it’s cute,” she said. “The squiggles complement your freckles. Is there any significance?”
“Besides my eternal bond to Eli, you mean? Well, we met a few locals on safari, and some of the women had the pattern sewn onto their dresses. I thought it was beautiful, and they said it was their tribe’s symbol of love. So we just went for it. Although for all I know it’s just a brand logo, or some creepy anti-American thing.”
Emma laughed along with her friend, but it was hollow, not the kind of laughter she’d been pining for during Annie’s absence. “Come on, let’s eat,” Annie said, hooking her elbow through Emma’s. And as they walked arm in arm through the streets of SoHo, Emma wasn’t sure if the goose bumps she felt were Annie’s or her own.
If We Lived Here Page 21
