You'll Find Me in Manhattan

by Jill Knapp

  I let out a long sigh and took her by the arm, leading her out of Wedding Atelier. Sadly, I had to leave the dress behind, even though it was my final fitting. The store agreed to look after it until the day before my wedding, when I would come pick it up. Too many things could destroy it between now and July. For example, a drunk friend coming over in hysterics and spilling red wine on it.

  Amalia pushed open the door and a stream of sunlight hit our faces. We were both temporarily taken aback to find out it was actually nice outside. Spring was in the air.

  Well, almost.

  “Want to grab a cup of coffee and talk?” I offered, holding my hand above my eyes to shield some of the glare.

  “Yes, please,” she muttered dejectedly.

  I linked her arm around mine and led her to the closest coffee shop. As we walked down the street, I noticed she looked more like herself today than she had in a long time. Her curls were left untamed and delicately framing her face. She was wearing her converse sneakers instead of the Tory Birch flats she starting donning when she and Michael started seeing each other more often. She had on minimal make-up, from what I could tell just foundation, a hint of blush, and clear lip-gloss. No brightly colored lip color this afternoon. No overpowering perfume. And to tie it all together, she was wearing a light-pink, long-sleeved shirt with a faux leather jacket over it.

  I couldn’t help but smile as I realized she might be going back to her old self too.

  We made our way into the nearest Starbucks, ordered a couple of skimmed lattes, and sat down by a window.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she uttered. She twirled a curl around her index finger and stared deeply into her cup of coffee.

  “What do you want to do?” I asked gently. Part of me wanted to probe her with questions. Find out why she acted this way. Why she couldn’t just see what was right there in front of her.

  “I don’t know,” she answered softly. “Hayden texted me about a week ago asking to talk in person and we just sort of ended up kissing. I told him afterwards that I was with Michael. He got angry at first, but ultimately let me off the hook.”

  I took a sip of my coffee, considering my next words.

  “Did Hayden tell you when he’s moving?”

  “He did,” she nodded, still looking down. “March 30th.”

  “Wow. That’s next week,” I took a long, soothing sip of my coffee. “Do you think you’ll see him again before he moves?”

  She finally met my gaze. Her blue eyes were glazed over with dolor, and her lips twitched into a sad smile. She shook her head and I understood from the gesture that she couldn’t talk about it anymore. I reached over across the table and gave her small hand a squeeze.

  “I’m here for you,” I said softly.

  “I know,” one tear rolled out of her eyes and landed on her cheek. “Thank you, Olivia.”

  I handed her a napkin and she quickly dabbed her eyes. Not that it really mattered. This was New York City. Someone could come and sit down next to you wearing nothing but their boxers and a pair of construction boots and no one would look twice.

  “Change of subject,” she declared with faux enthusiasm. “Can you believe we only have two months left of school?”

  Now it was my turn to feel stressed out. Graduation was in May and I still hadn’t heard back from any of the doctoral programs I had applied to. None of us had.

  “It went by fast,” I shook my head. “Much faster than I could have imagined.”

  “Think of how much has changed since we all first met,” she mustered up a half-smile. “I thought you were dating our TA!”

  “I had no idea anything was going on with you and Michael!” I laughed. “The two of you keep secrets very well.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she chuckled. “My roommates! Christina was fine but Liz was a nightmare.”

  “Oh! Group study sessions in your old apartment,” I smiled at the memory. “Those were good times.”

  Amalia nodded, holding the coffee cup in both hands. “Remember that douche bag Bryce that Cassandra was dating? He was the worst. But then again, he is how I met Hayden.”

  “Remember Cassandra?” I raised an eyebrow.

  A look of pain swept across Amalia’s face and then quickly dissolved.

  “I’m sorry,” I gently slapped my forehead. “I just shoved my foot in my mouth.”

  “It’s fine,” she paused to sip her coffee. “I sent her an email, my last-ditch effort. I love Cassie, but there’s nothing more I can do. She has changed so much from the person I grew up with that if I met her now–”

  “You probably wouldn’t want to be her friend anyway?” I cut her off.

  “As much as it pains me to say it, yes, that’s how I feel.”

  Amalia and I exchanged a look. Looking back on these past few years made me really grateful to have her in my life. Even if she was a bit wacky at times, I still considered her to be my best friend.

  “Promise me one thing,” she said, finishing the last sip of her coffee.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “That before finals, we’ll have one more group study session. Like we used to. But this time I think it should be in your apartment.”

  “I think that can be arranged,” I laughed. “Now you have to promise me something.”

  Amalia just nodded, waiting for me to continue.

  “Promise me you’ll consider talking to Hayden again before he moves to Florida.”

  She looked around, everywhere but at me. Finally she said, “I’ll think about it.”

  “Alright,” I collected our paper coffee cups and tossed them in the trash bin. “That’s all I ask.”

  Twenty-Seven – Amalia

  “How has everything been going for you, Amalia?”

  I sat across from Autumn with my legs crossed and my hands folded. Today was our last day of therapy together. Work-study was coming to an end and after this week I would never have to interact with her or Dr. Greenfield ever again.

  A grin tugged my lips as I said, “I’m doing pretty well, actually.”

  “And what about continuing your education after NYU?” she scribbled something on a yellow legal pad. Probably a drawing of her cat. “Have you heard back from any of the doctoral programs that you applied to?”

  I shook my head and shifted my weight on the plush chair. “Just one. Hunter College sent me a rejection letter yesterday.” I shrugged and Autumn looked at me like I just told her I was dying.

  “You seem very cavalier about this?” She pulled her long red hair into a ponytail and then rested her chin on her palm. “Why aren’t you more upset?”

  “Because I didn’t really want to go there,” I said, plain and simple. “And I’m trying not to get worked up about something that I didn’t even want in the first place.”

  “Then why did you apply there?” she countered.

  “I applied there when I applied to all of the other schools. I don’t exactly have a first choice. NYU has been no picnic, but Hunter is no better than the New School. If I don’t get in there, I’ll probably muster up some tears.”

  “Because that’s where you really hope to go?” she probed.

  “No,” I answered, my eyes fixed on hers. “Because I’ll have felt like I wasn’t good enough to get in. And that will hurt.”

  “Interesting,” she leaned back in her chair.

  “What’s so interesting, Autumn?” I asked in a slightly defeated tone.

  Just fifteen more minutes and then this is over. Fifteen more minutes and I never have to see her again.

  “It’s interesting, the way you think about rejection,” she answered, not missing a beat. “You wouldn’t be upset that you didn’t get into a program that you have been working toward. But you’d be hurt by the rejection.”

  To her credit, I saw where she was coming from. It probably sounded strange to those working so hard around me to get into the best doctoral program. They wanted the best education
to become the best researchers, or therapists, or professors. My classmates, my friends, even Autumn – they had dreams of conquering the field of study they had been working so hard to break into. Because when you spend nearly a hundred-thousand dollars on your education, getting an office job simply won’t cut it. You vehemently fight your way to the top. And that’s really what you’re doing. Fighting. You’re put in an exclusive cohort of people who are already brilliant and hard-working for your Master’s degree. But you’re told merely one day in that there’s really only room for ten of you in any given program past this point.

  So the rest of your life fades, it disappears. Not because you want it to, but simply because it can’t survive.

  “The truth is, Autumn, I don’t know what school I want to get into because I am still struggling with what I want to do with my life.” I braced myself for the next line of questioning. But the next thing she said to me actually took me by surprise.

  “A lot of people feel that way in their mid-twenties,” she offered me a smile. “It’s becoming more and more common for people your age to question their decisions.”

  I shook my head. “I feel like my life is always at a proverbial crossroads. And I haven’t always made the best choices. But the more I think about it, the more complicated it gets.”

  I heard a tiny beep go off on Autumn’s phone, indicating that our session was over. I felt a sense of relief hit me. I could leave now. I didn’t have to talk about this anymore.

  “Our session is up,” she said in a hushed tone. “So now that I am officially no longer your therapist, there is something I want to be honest with you about.”

  I raised an eyebrow and looked around the room like this was some sort of trick. “Alright,” I uttered. “What’s that?”

  Autumn put down her pen, her legal pad, and her judgmental looks. She took a deep breath and stared off for a minute. She looked like she was struggling with what she wanted to tell me.

  “I felt very similarly to how you do when I was your age. I had two choices. After I finished my Master’s degree I got an offer from NYU to finish out the rest of my education here. Four to five more years of classes, training–” She trailed off for a moment before saying, “Isolation.”

  I kept perfectly quiet and still. Suddenly it was Autumn’s emotions that were on display, and I was careful not to make any sudden movements.

  “I think that’s the worst part,” she lightly scratched her forehead. “The loneliness.”

  She caught my eye and quickly cleared her throat. “What none of my friends knew was that I had gotten another offer. One in Los Angeles to study art.”

  “Really?” I asked. “You don’t seem like the–”

  “Artistic type?” she finished my sentence. “No, I wouldn’t now. Because that life is gone. Along with a lot of my friends and the close relationship I used to have with my family.”

  I had no idea what to say, but I slowly began to realize what she was telling me. She was telling me that this wasn’t the life she had imagined for herself.

  “All of this is to say that I had a choice. And for me,” she tapped her chest lightly. “It was the wrong choice. So if you’re not completely sure if you want to spend the rest of your life doing this, then you have to allow yourself the chance to find something else. Even if you just take a year off. Maybe travel, maybe work at a coffee shop in the Village, it doesn’t matter. Just use your time wisely, because it is your time. And you’re not going to get these years back. This is the kind of life, Amalia, where you have to eat, sleep, and breathe your career. You have to be married to it. You have to need it. Because I learned the hard way that wanting it simply wasn’t enough.”

  I stared at her for a moment as our eyes locked on one another’s. And in the moment, I felt like this girl, who I hardly knew, knew me better than anyone else in my life.

  There was nothing else to say except, “Thank you.”

  She nodded and stood up to walk me to the door. As she reached for the handle, she wished me good luck and congratulations on my upcoming graduation.

  I shuffled out of the room and numbly made my way down the hallway and out the front door. Immediately I was ambushed by the hustle and bustle of Washington Square Park.

  I took a look around the area. An elderly couple holding hands and sitting on a bench. A few teenagers standing a little too close to the fountain, threatening to splash one another. A group of undergrads that I recognized practicing their latest skateboarding moves. And then there was me. I didn’t fit in anywhere.

  Taking a few steps further into the park, I stared up at the giant white arch. It was truly beautiful.

  A lot of tourists were taking selfies in front of it and I smiled watching them discover for the first time some of New York’s beauty.

  “Will you take our picture?” A woman in her early thirties with a Scottish accent asked me. I smiled and nodded, taking the camera from her hands.

  She darted over to who I assumed was her husband and the two of them immediately wrapped their arms around one another.

  I held the camera up and positioned the happy couple in the middle, careful to get the entire arch in the background.

  “Okay,” I said softly, my eyes fixed on them for a few extra seconds.

  “Smile.”

  Twenty-eight – Olivia

  “Gather around the coffee table everyone,” I said in a hurried tone. “Alex has the flash cards, I have the outlines, and Amalia has the coffee. Michael, did you bring anything?”

  The three of us turned to him as he retrieved his laptop from his satchel.

  “I have all of the notes I’ve taken since the beginning of the year,” he offered. “And an overwhelming need to get an A on this final.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Alex said while lowering himself onto the floor. He smoothed out his dark wash jeans as he landed on the hardwood.

  Alex, Amalia, Michael, and I were all sitting crosslegged around the coffee table in my and Alex’s living room. As promised, we were having one final group-study session before the end of school.

  “Where should we start?” Amalia asked, inching a bit closer to Michael. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “Why don’t we start with our most recent notes and work our way backwards?” Michael answered without looking at her.

  We all nodded, flipping through notebooks and textbooks.

  I looked over at Amalia, doing a quick body scan of her outfit. Just like the other day, she was dressing more like her old self. Although her hair was flat-ironed, her outfit consisted of black jeans, a grey longsleeved shirt with a picture of a band on it that I had never heard of, and her trademark Converse sneakers.

  A part of me wanted to ask her if the way she was dressing had anything to do with her realizing that Michael probably wasn’t the right guy for her, but I thought it best not to put the idea in her head. She was stubborn, and there was a possibility she’d stay with him just to prove she could. Even if deep down it wasn’t what she really wanted. She flipped over a flash card and let out a sigh. This final was going to drive all of us crazy.

  After a few minutes of studying, Michael chimed in and asked Alex and I how we were feeling about our upcoming nuptials.

  “Excited,” Alex grinned. “I can’t wait.”

  I smiled and reached for his hand under the coffee table. “I feel the same way.”

  Amalia and I exchanged a glance, quickly followed by her turning her gaze to Michael. I watched as she reached for Michael’s hand under the table. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t acknowledge it either. She looked right at him and for a moment I could feel her pain.

  I cleared my throat and then clandestinely slid my phone off of the table and sent Amalia a text asking her if she talked to Hayden yet.

  Her phone vibrated loudly against the wood and she flinched at the sound. Michael and Alex looked up from their computers and for a second I could have sworn I saw Michael roll his eyes.

  “You shou
ld get that,” I said without looking up. “It could be important.”

  Amalia grabbed her phone and I watched her eyes scan the message. Her face paled as she dropped her cell into her lap. She met my eyes and slowly shook her head no. I smirked at her reaction and clapped my hands together to get everyone’s attention.

  “Hey, you guys. Follow me,” I stood up and walked over to the kitchen area. Standing on my tip-toes, I grabbed four glass champagne flutes from the cabinet.

  “What’s all this?” Amalia asked?

  Alex opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of some very expensive champagne. “Olivia and I have been saving this for a special occasion,” he said. “And what could be more special than the four of us taking our last final exam and then finishing out our time at NYU together?”

  Michael turned to Amalia and gave her a small kiss on her forehead. She smiled in delight, and wrapped her tiny arms around his waist.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Michael said. “Graduation is right around the corner.”

  “Would you do the honors?” Alex handed the bottle to Michael and a moment later the cork popped off loudly and champagne started to spill.

  “Easy there!” I laughed, trying to catch the bubbly with my glass. Michael handed me the bottle and I starting pouring everyone a glass.

  For a moment, the four of us just looked at one another. I felt a rush of memories come flooding back to me. Meeting Amalia for the first time and not being sure if we were going to get on well. Alex approaching me after class one day and asking me to get lunch with him. It felt like yesterday and now he and I were getting married! I could tell Amalia was feeling nostalgic too. Her cheeks were turning red and her eyes watered, threatening to spill over. She lifted her glass up a little higher and I followed suit.

  “To graduation,” Alex declared.

  “To graduation!” we all repeated in unison.

  Thirty – Amalia

  It was the night before Hayden was moving out of Manhattan to his former hometown of Gainesville, Florida, and I was sitting on a bench in Zuccotti Park reading the latest Sara Shepard book. Zuccotti Park was particularly beautiful at night, or in the very early morning hours. During the day, it was a small gathering place for business types who worked on Wall Street to sit and have their lunch outside. It was also the home for the infamous Occupy Wall Street protests. But right now, at eight o’clock at night, it was downright peaceful. Encircled by trees, the small park had a secluded feeling to it even though it was smack in the middle of the financial district in downtown Manhattan. The sunken seating area was illuminated by glowing lights any time of year, giving the park a fairy-tale feeling.