“I’d just like to see you when it gets into the 20s and 30s here and you have class at 8 a.m.,” Mom says. “It’s not always this nice out from what I hear.”
“I was fine in Colorado,” I say. Except that I’m terrified of the cold. I can’t wait for the changing leaves and the beautiful crisp fall, but the long hard winter? I don’t know.
Both of my parents laugh. “A few week-long skiing trips hardly qualify as experience. Besides, Winter Park is a small, sunny town. A six-month winter in New York where everything gets slushy and the snow is black from the cars and the pollution is something else entirely,” Mom says.
I nod.
“I think I’ll manage,” I say, putting on a brave face. I turn away from the window to change the topic.
“So which bed do you think I should choose?” The room has two of everything. Two beds. Two standing wardrobes. Two desks. Two chairs. Two windows. One looking out on 116th Street. One looking out onto Broadway.
“If you take this one onto 116th Street, it should be a little quieter,” Mom says just as an ambulance turns on its siren and rushes down the street. “Or maybe not.”
I decide on that one anyway.
“If you two are done staring at the blank room, I think it’s about time to go back downstairs and get more of your stuff, young lady,” Dad says, glued to his cell phone.
My mom and dad are both doctors, but they recently started a clinical trials consulting firm, which has made them busier than they’ve ever been when they were in practice.
“I’ll be right down,” I say. “I’m just going to put some of these things away.”
Right after Mom and Dad leave, the door swings open and a tall, voluptuous brunette walks in.
“Alice?” she asks. Her whole face lights up, putting me at ease.
“Doreen?” I ask.
“Oh, no, no, no.” She shakes her head. I extend my hand, but she pulls me into a warm hug instead. “Call me Juliet, please. I hate Doreen.”
“Okay.” I nod. Coming from LA, I’m well familiar with name changes. Three girls at my school changed their names officially before they got their boob jobs before graduation.
“Oh my God, you’re so cute!” She laughs. “And little. You’re from LA, right? You have to tell me your secret. Agh, why am I still holding this?”
She drops her bags onto her bed and leans the long mirror she’s carrying against the wall. “I thought we’d hang this on the door.”
Aha! I finally realize it. That’s what’s weird about this room; there are no mirrors.
“Great idea. I completely forgot to bring a lengthwise mirror,” I say. “Actually, I thought there would be one here.”
At home, I have three in my room. I help Juliet hang the mirror on the back of our door and try to see if it still closes. It swings along with the door, but we’re just going to be careful.
“So?” Juliet turns to me. “What’s your secret?”
“Secret?”
“In staying so small. I know you LA girls have your ways.”
I smile. I look at myself in the mirror. Skinny jeans, size one, flip-flops, white t-shirt. No bra. 32A breasts. Long scraggly blonde hair. Hardly any makeup. Next to Juliet, I look like a child. She tosses her dark curls over her head to give them more volume and reapplies her bright red lipstick. She’s wearing fake lashes and every part of her face is contoured, giving her beautiful highlights across her forehead and bringing out her cheekbones.
“No secret, really.” I shrug. I’ve had plenty of my own issues with weight.
“Agh, if you say eat healthy and exercise, I’m going to throw up.”
“You definitely don’t hold back, do you?” I smile.
“No, babe. I call it like I see it. Hope that’s okay.”
I nod. “More than okay.” I welcome her honesty. It’s a breath of fresh air after LA where everyone is nice. But too nice. No one says a bad thing to your face. Not even when you really need to hear it.
“Mainly, I try not to eat carbs at night. Avoid processed foods. My mom buys only organic and farmers market food. Not too much dairy. Lean proteins and fish. Stuff like that.”
“That explains it.” She tosses her hair again. “So no burgers with chili cheese fries?”
I shake my head. “No, not really.”
I shudder at the thought, actually. I may be thin here, but back home, girls from my class were much smaller. I’m what they called big-boned.
“That’s more like guy food, isn’t it?” I ask.
“Not when it’s twenty degrees out and you’re coming back from the bar at 4 a.m. Those spicy fries will really warm you up from the inside out.”
Again with the cold. Before it scares me even more, I decide that it’s time for me to go help my parents with the rest of my bags.
My phone beeps.
Where are you? Dad texts.
“I’ve gotta go,” I say. “Need to get the rest of my stuff from downstairs. Are you going to stick around? But my parents are here. I’d love for you to meet.”
“Yes, definitely!” Juliet smiles and tosses her hair again. Apparently, hair can never have enough volume.
Chapter 2
I walk out into our living room. The accommodations here are a bit more furnished: an ugly blue couch that desperately needs a throw or a few pillows to make it look at least mildly presentable and two identical green recliners that look like they came from some third-rate thrift store. Is there actually a store that manufactures these ugly things? A halfway acceptable coffee table, which has a French country distressed look, except that it’s not cute. It looks like it was actually distressed by the passage of time, not a carefully planned painting job. And a few end tables, which are mismatched in both color and height. Everything in this living room is wrong. And yet, everything about this place feels so right!
My palms grow sweaty from the excitement. I’m actually in New York.
N-e-w Y-o-r-k!!!
I feel like I’m in some fabulous movie, about to embark on the adventure of my life. I’m ready to put on a fabulous pair of fall boots, black tights, and a little black skirt and walk around Central Park with a latte like a real New Yorker!
“Alice?” His voice pierces my fantasy. I know who it is before I turn around. It’s a voice I could never forget no matter how I try.
“Alice? Is that you?” He grabs my arm, turning me around.
“Hudson? What’re you doing here?” I ask.
“What’re you doing here?” he asks.
We stand, staring at each other for a moment. He hasn’t changed. Not much. But there wasn’t much time for him to change. It has only been two weeks since our infamous breakup. Still, he looks more grown up. His light brown hair is shorter now. He’s dressed in a nice pair of slim cut jeans, which accentuates his ass, and his favorite light blue t-shirt with an outline of a penguin on the front. He’s as tan as he always was; that’s what happens when you surf every day of the summer, no matter what. But his eyes are bluer than they used to be. Maybe it’s the light. Or the distance.
“Alice, can you help me-” Juliet comes out of our room. “Well, hello there. I’m Juliet,” she says flirtatiously.