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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.
“It’s what I’m here for, my dear,” he whispered softly.
He leaned over and brushed a piece of my hair from my face that had fallen out of my ponytail. I looked in his eyes and he kissed me. Softly and slowly. A moment later my blood pressure kicked up a few notches. I playfully pulled away, but then kissed his forehead to show my affection.
“You kiss by the book,” I mumbled jokingly.
“And you’re adorable,” he said with a smile.
I pulled myself out of the daze and redirected our attention back to the topic at hand.
“I wonder what’s going to happen with Michael now that she’s back,” I turned around on the couch and leaned into Alex. His arm immediately wrapped around me as I laid my head on his chest.
“What do you mean?” he asked. He lifted me slightly and gently leant his head on top of mine.
“Well, you know.” I took a sip of my wine and returned to using him as a body pillow.
“I’m just wondering if it’s going to be awkward between the two of them now that she’s back,” I offered, stretching to reach in my purse for my cigarettes.
“Why would it be awkward?” he asked, stealing a cigarette from my pack.
He inched up a bit and pulled a green lighter from his back pocket, lighting both of our cigarettes.
I inhaled deeply and let the nicotine rush over me. I had been smoking since college and every year I swore I was going to quit.
“Because they were hooking-up for the better part of last year,” I said. “And it’s probably going to be a little weird for them now. Honestly, I just don’t want to deal with any of the drama. Amalia’s my friend, but you should have heard her go on and on about Michael last semester. It was exhausting.”
I took another long drag of my cigarette, and ashed into the ceramic tray centered on the coffee table.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he said, now gently moving me to sit upright. “When were they hooking-up? Wasn’t Michael dating that Marge chick last year?”
I hadn’t spoken about Amalia and Michael’s indiscretion to Alex. I had always assumed he knew, that Michael had at some point told him. But even if Michael had never said anything, he really should have been able to figure it out by now.
“Wow, babe.” I muttered, shaking my head. “Just wow.”
I guess the cat was now out of the bag.
Chapter 3 (#ub0a7bd1d-de2e-5398-809d-35cf0d298b7e)
Amalia (#ub0a7bd1d-de2e-5398-809d-35cf0d298b7e)
“I was thinking it would be fun if we could go for brunch Sunday,” I said to Cassandra. “We and Olivia should have a girl’s day. You know, before school starts back up on Monday. What do you think?”
It was noon on Saturday and I had just woken up. I had spent the night in Cassandra’s guest room. After she persuaded me to go out to Fire Island last night, the two of us came back to her place. I caught her while she was heading to the kitchen to make coffee. She was wearing gray sweatpants and an oversized men’s T-shirt. Her freshly colored blonde hair was hanging straight to the middle of her back.
Apart from Michael’s, Cassie had my favorite apartment in the city. From what I had seen of my friends’ homes, at least. She lived downtown, in Chelsea. A convenient five-minute cab ride to most of the NYU buildings. Her apartment building was a walk-up, but she only lived on the third floor, so taking the stairs wasn’t too bad. At least not until you were coming home tipsy in three-inch heels. I was currently parked in my pajamas on her white suede couch. Unlike Cassandra, I hadn’t drank anything last night. I felt crappy enough from the jet-lag.
“Can I let you know?” she asked, reaching for the kettle. “It’s just that I might have a date with this guy Brandon.” She wasn’t making eye contact and her overall demeanor suggested she was distracted by something. I just chalked it up to her being tired. We were out until very late last night. Cassandra had dragged me out to a bar and wouldn’t even think about leaving until last call.
“Brandon? Who is this Brandon? Tell me about him!” I jumped up from the couch and joined Cassie in the kitchen area. It had been all summer since Cassie had regaled me with tales from her dating world, and I was chomping at the bit to hear one.
“What’s to tell?” She carefully peeled a banana.
“What’s to tell?” I laughed. “How about everything? For starters, how old is he?”
“I think he’s thirty-one,” she offered, taking the now-whistling kettle off the electric stove top.
“Well, where does he work?” I smiled, trying to encourage Cassandra to dish. “And more importantly, how did you meet?”
“He works in advertising.”
I nodded and waved my hands around, gesturing for her to continue. She handed me a mug and motioned for me to sit on one of the counter stools.
“Did you meet at some fabulous work party?” I joked. One of the perks of Cassie’s job was that she always had an invite to the opening of one of Manhattan’s up-and-coming hot spots. She had been working at the magazine ever since college, and it seemed with each passing year her job became more and more demanding. But at the same time more rewarding.
“I wouldn’t exactly say fabulous, but yes. We met at a new bar that just opened on the Lower East Side,” she explained, sipping her coffee.
I smiled but felt myself cringe at the same time. The Lower East Side had to be my least- favorite neighborhood in all of Manhattan. It was littered with “up-and-coming” bars and night clubs, which I referred to as “seedy-chic” establishments. I thought back to the Manhattan I knew when I was a kid. I always thought of it as classy and romantic. Like an old black-and-white movie. Or at least that’s how everyone pretended it was. I wondered when we traded in our Audrey Hepburn phase for a more dilapidated version of New York.
“Do you like him?” I asked, encouraging Cassie to move the conversation along. “Is he your type?”
She just nodded and smiled.
I waited a few more seconds for her to tell me all of the juicy details, as usual, but she just sat quietly finishing her coffee and banana. I stared at her for a moment and tried to read her facial expression. She was acting unusual. Usually after a date she’d give me a play by play of the night’s events, down to the brand of lipstick she had chosen. Instead, she continued to sit quietly until a few seconds later, when her phone buzzed, and she reached for it with her free hand and was soon completely absorbed in the email.
“Hey, Cassie,” I stared. “Is everything alright?”
“Of course,” she said, collecting the now-empty coffee mugs. The mugs were black; part of a matching set her mother had given her when she first moved into this apartment. Along with coordinating bowls and dishes. She crossed over to me and gave me a weary smile. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
I know she was trying to come off as being polite, but the question sounded more like a challenge.
“I’m not sure,” I said quietly. I tucked my hair behind my ears and shrugged. “The thing is, I just got back from my trip. And you don’t really seem all that happy to see me.”
I wasn’t sure why, but I felt nervous bringing this up to her. Cassandra and I could usually talk about anything. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but something about her seemed different.
She rinsed off the mugs and walked back over to the counter top.
“I am happy to see you,” she uttered, sounding exasperated. She started fidgeting with her long blonde hair, pulling it in and out of a ponytail. “I am just really stressed out with work, and I’m not even sure what time I am going out on this date on Sunday. I absolutely want to spend time with you, I have just been really busy lately.”
“Of course. I understand,” I replied, quietly studying her laminate counter top. Her explanation had sounded more like a scolding. I wasn’t sure why she was acting this way, but my gut told me something strange was definitely going on.
“Listen, if anything changes I’ll let you know,” she offered. She wasn’t even looking at me now, her attention was completely dominated by her cell phone.
“Sure. No problem,” I grimaced.
I waited a few more seconds and then, without Cassie even noticing, I slipped off the counter stool and headed back to her guest room.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_0864e858-1ae2-5b62-84f5-1f593099b319)
Olivia (#ulink_0864e858-1ae2-5b62-84f5-1f593099b319)
