You’ll Find Me in Manhattan

“Amen to that.” I could feel Amalia on my back, struggling with each button. I made a mental note to leave a lot of extra time to put on this dress on the day of the wedding. She was taking forever and I was getting anxious. There were no mirrors in the dressing room, so I had no idea how I looked until I was able to step outside.

“Finished!” Amalia announced. “Turn around. Let me get a look at you.”

I slowly turned around and let out a sound that sounded somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “So?” I smoothed the dress down over my legs, “How does it look?”

“Immaculate,” she said softly. “Alex is going to love it.” She pulled me in for a hug and whispered in my ear, “Olivia, listen to me. Don’t let your mother ruin this for you. You only get to do this once. If you’re lucky, at least.” She backed away, still holding onto my shoulders, and smiled warmly.

I felt tears threaten to pour out behind my eyes. She really was a great friend and here I was bashing the guy she liked, in my mind.

“Okay, missy. Now let’s get out there so you can see how incredible you look.”

The gown’s train was short enough that I didn’t need her to hold it behind me. I made my way out of the dressing room and walked into the main room with the podium. I carefully slid on the two-inch heels I had brought with me, to get an idea of how the dress would look with my wedding shoes on, and the nice brunette sales associate, whose name-tag read Jenna, offered me a veil. It was elegant with just a touch of lace. No glitter of any kind. I bent down so she could fasten it to my hair.

I took a deep breath and finally turned around to face the mirrors. I hardly recognized myself as I brought my hands to cover my mouth. The whiteness of the sheer veil created a deep contrast with my brown hair. The dress fit like a dream. Apart from the length, it would hardly need any alteration at all. My eyes welled with tears and I allowed myself to envision walking down the aisle, holding a bouquet of deep- pink peonies, my father on my arm, as I slowly made my way to Alex, who always looked amazing.

I gently held onto the bottom of my dress and turned to face my mother, who was looking at me disapprovingly. I braced myself for what she was about to say. “What do you think, Mom?” I asked in a small voice.

She stood up and took a step back, taking the dress in. “Honestly? I think it’s a bit bland, Olivia.” My mother grimaced, her green eyes glazing over in a look that resembled sheer boredom.

“I happen to think that it’s lovely,” Amalia shot back at her. I pushed out a heavy breath. Leave it to Amalia to always speak her mind, no matter who was on the receiving end of it. I grinned widely and raised my eyes brows in triumph. Turning back to the mirror I stood up a little straighter, remembering Amalia’s words in the dressing room. This dress was the one, just like Alex was the one. It was settled. This was the gown I was getting.

“Alright, then,” I called over my shoulder to Jenna. “I’ll have this one”

A few moments later, three other sales associates came darting over with small bells and began ringing them. A few of the other patrons in the store began to clap and I couldn’t stop my face from turning at least three different shades of red. Amalia and I were instantly handed flutes of champagne, which we promptly clinked together. I took a small sip, careful not to spill any on the dress.

“To my friend, Olivia,” Amalia cheered loudly. I laughed nervously and she grabbed my hand and pulled it up as I received the applause. To be fair, the associates were probably happier that I was spending two thousand dollars in their store than the fact that I had found the dress of my dreams.

I looked over to my mother one last time. Her attention was currently being held by her cell phone. I felt a pang of sadness. Even with all of the support around me, not having my mother’s approval was painful. I shook my head and took another sip of my champagne, trying to ignore her callousness. She looked up at me one last time, a strange look in her eye.

For a moment there, it felt like pity.

Amalia turned to me and gave me a tight-lipped look that conveyed she had to leave.

“Go!” I laughed. “Have fun on your date with Michael and I’ll see you on Monday.”

Amalia rolled her eyes. “Right, for work-study with Dr. Pain In the Ass.” She scratched her head.

“We have summer in a week,” I offered. “It’s already the last week of May.”

“Don’t you know?” she scrunched her face. “I’m working for him all summer,” she grunted, while synchronously rolling her blue eyes. She always did have a flare for dramatics. “I don’t have much of a choice. I really need the money. Oh well.”

I offered her a small sympathetic smile and she made a beeline for the door. Even through the annoyance of having to work with Dr. Greenfield, her spirits were still high because of Michael. I wanted to be happy for her, but if it was up to me, I would have preferred her to continue seeing Hayden.

I turned and gave my dress a final once-over. It really was gorgeous, just like my fiancé. I couldn’t ask for more. Screw everyone else! I was marrying the love of my life. Now I just needed to set a date.

Three – Amalia

As I pulled my jacket tighter around my chest on this particularly chilly May evening, I had a thought. Dating in New York City is not like dating in the rest of America. Or at least, how I imagine it is from the movies and television shows I’ve watched. If you live in, say, Virginia, and you are going on a date with a guy, he will most likely drive to your house, ring your door bell, and then walk you to his car, where he will open the passenger door for you and tell you how pretty you look. You’ll smile as he closes the door, careful not to accidentally hit you with it, and you use the two seconds that it takes him to walk from one side of the car to the other to subtly run your fingers over your hair, because, man, that walk down the driveway really could have messed it up. Then the two of you will drive off to your destination, most likely The Cheesecake Factory, chatting the whole way there about what kind of music you like to listen to while you drive, and whether or not you still use your GPS to get to the mall.

When you live in Manhattan it’s a little different. For one, no one is picking you up. Unless you live right near each other, which almost never happens, in which case you’ll do one of the following together, you are responsible for your own transportation to and from the location that he most likely chose. So what are your choices? There are really only three options. Unless you have a lot of money to spend on a private car (such as an Uber cab), you are either walking, taking a cab, or taking the subway. All of these choices almost guarantee that you will look nothing like how you did when you left your apartment for this date. If you went down into the grody abyss that is the subway, your make-up has most likely melted off and been replaced with soot. There is no avoiding this. Even if you are only taking the train for one stop, you will be dirty when you exit the station. Another choice is walking. This can be nice if your date falls on one of the five days out of the whole year when the weather is bearable and you have on very comfortable shoes. But, you’re going on a date, so why would you be wearing comfortable shoes? So the safest choice is probably to take a cab. Just make sure to account for the copious amounts of traffic in the city. For me, my date was at seven o’clock. Coming from Murray Hill I decided to give myself forty-five minutes to get to the Upper East Side to meet Michael for our dinner at Café Grazie.

I sat in the cab for exactly thirty minutes and made it to my destination with fifteen to spare. Now here’s my trick. After being a gross cab for half an hour, I got on my phone and tried to find the closest Sephora to refresh myself before meeting with my date. You figure it’s been over an hour since I last so much as looked in a mirror, so I need to use these fifteen minutes wisely.

As I follow the map on my phone to the store, a text from Michael comes in. I feel a rush of excitement as I click on the message icon.

On my way ;-)

That was all he wrote, but it was enough for my heart to skip a beat. Olivia was right. This was a big deal. Anything Michael and I had ever done before was in secret. Now we were going out to dinner on a bona fide date. I felt a fresh batch of nerves hit me as I entered the store and caught sight of myself in a mirror.

Damn it, New York, why are you so dirty?

I spent exactly ten minutes in there, applying some vanilla-scented cream to my hands, which were dryer than a mouth of sand from ever-present New York wind. Sad to say it, but it still felt like winter to me in April. I then made my way over to the make-up section, where I unashamedly swept a generous amount of forty-dollar blush on my cheekbones. While utilizing the mirror, I ran my fingers through my curls, trying to get them to resemble something less Bride of Frankenstein and more Carrie Bradshaw. I scanned the store, deliberately avoiding eye contact with anyone who worked there, and found the perfume wall. Now for the final touch. I picked up a Marc Jacobs perfume that I had been mulling over buying for some time now, and spritzed a small amount on my wrists.

I breathed a sigh of relief and turned on my heel to leave the store. That’s when I saw her.

Cassandra.

The two of us hadn’t spoken since Olivia’s engagement party nearly six months ago. I watched as she gingerly made her way around the lip-gloss section, picking up two very similar shades of pink and studying them in the light. I wanted to go over to her and say something. I hated that we weren’t speaking. I wanted to tell her I was going on a date with Michael. That I was a mental case who ran away from Hayden. I wanted to tell her about what a bitch Olivia’s mom was being, and how overwhelmed I was with school. And I wanted to know all about what was going on with her too. Who was she dating? How was work going for her? Did she miss me?

I took a step forward and then I stopped myself. I had a tiny fantasy play out in my mind. One where I walk over to her, and she greets me with the same cold indifference she had for the better part of last year. I felt a pang of humiliation just thinking about it, and I had waited too long for a real shot with Michael to let anything put me in a sour mood tonight.

So I did what I had to do. I glided sideways out of the store and walked back the two blocks to the restaurant, where Michael was already waiting for me.

“I’ll have the steak, medium rare,” Michael uttered, squinting at the drinks menu. “And an old-fashioned.” He subtly chewed on his bottom lip, momentarily distracting me.

The waitress smiled at him, her blue eyes lingering on him a little longer than necessary. They caught eyes as he handed her his menu, and he gave her a polite smile. I felt an instant pang of jealousy.

I smoothed my skirt out, careful not to accidentally hit my tights with a fingernail, and cleared my throat in an attempt to get the pretty waitress’s attention. She turned her gaze to me and offered me a fake smile. “And for you, miss?”

“Penne in vodka sauce, with a side of steamed spinach, I beamed back. She could stare at him all she wanted. The fact was, he was out on a date with me. “And I’ll also have a glass of cabernet. Thank you.” I held out my menu with a triumphant smirk.

The waitress collected our menus and darted off to put our orders in. The restaurant was crowded, not unusual for a Saturday night. Michael caught eyes with me and I immediately melted. I wondered if he could hear my breathing get heavier whenever he was around. His dark hair was perfectly in place, and I wondered if he had gotten a haircut just for our date. He reached across the table for my hand, and I slowly slid mine over to his, scared that if I moved too quickly he’d pull it away in jest.

But he didn’t pull away. He held my hand gently as we sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, gently easing into casual conversation.

“How was the wedding-gown search?” he asked, as the waitress dropped off our drinks. “Did Olivia find the dress of her dreams?”

“She did,” I uttered through a wide smile. I must have looked like such a fool, but I didn’t care. Even being here, now, across the table from Michael as he held my hand and asked me about my day, felt so surreal. Like any moment my alarm clock would go off and I’d wake up to find out that this was all just a cruel dream. That he had gotten back together with his ex-girlfriend, Marge, and I had broken things off with Hayden for nothing.

“What does it look like?” he asked, now smiling himself. For our first official date, Michael looked as extraordinary as ever, donning a dark-blue button-down, grey dress slacks, and black patent-leather shoes. I tried to hide a hard swallow as I thought about us going back to his apartment to be alone when dinner was over. I shook my head to clear my thoughts and tried to focus on the question he had asked me.

“What? I’m not telling you what her dress looks like!” I laughed, and then paused to sip my wine.

Michael’s index finger drew small circles over my open palm on the table. Damn it, I’d give away government secrets if he kept that up!

“Why won’t you tell me?” he asked, finally letting go of my grasp to take a sip of his drink. I felt a little disappointed that the touching had stopped.

“Because then you’ll tell Alex and he’ll know what his bride’s wedding gown looks like,” I raised my eyebrows.

“That’s right, babe. Alex and I sit around gossiping about wedding gowns,” he smirked. “Actually tomorrow he and I have plans to sit down and really bang out the roses-versus-peonies debate.”

I blinked a few a times before answering him. “Did you just call me babe?”

“Penne Vodka?” the waitress plopped the bowl down in front of me, the sauce nearly spilling on my blouse. She carefully set Michael’s food down in front of him, once again grinning like a mental patient. This time I ignored her staring and dug straight into my pasta. She walked away, strutting just a bit. Michael didn’t look at her again.

“Question,” I said to Michael, without looking up.

“Answer,” he replied, while cutting his steak.

“Will you be my date to their wedding?” I held my breath the moment the words escaped my lips.

He looked up at me just as he was about to take a bite of his food. I sat for a moment, perfectly still as I awaited his response. It was kind of a hard question to answer, considering Olivia and Alex hadn’t even set a date yet.

He offered me a small smile and said, “Sure.”

I slowly let out my breath as he went back to eating.

Four – Olivia

Another summer came and went in New York City. I could swear they all felt the same. The weekends included walks in Central Park, iced lattes at cafés, and lots of people jogging down the waterfront in Battery Park. This summer was no different. While Amalia worked for Dr. Greenfield all summer long, I feverishly flipped through any wedding magazine I could get my hands on. I also spent a couple of weekends up in Rhode Island visiting my dad. The first time I arrived, he gleefully showed me the engagement announcement in the local newspaper that he had submitted on my behalf. He had copied a picture of Alex and myself from my Facebook page and submitted it along with a small description of us. It wasn’t the picture I would have chosen, but it got the job done. It was so sweet of my dad to do that. My mother, on the other hand, continued her reign of terror while trying to micromanage every detail of my wedding, for which I had yet to set a date. It was getting a little ridiculous, at this point, not having the date set, but Alex and I were so busy traveling back and forth to Rhode Island, and checking out doctoral programs to apply for, that we honestly hadn’t had the time to scope out any venues.

Before I knew it, it was August and school was starting back. The best part of the summer was not having to work for Dr. Greenfield, but Monday morning that would all change. Monday marked the beginning of the end of graduate school. The first day of our final year. All of our doctoral program applications had to be in by February. It seemed a long time away, but I knew the time would fly by. Years seemed to be getting shorter with each passing birthday.

By Thursday morning, I was already in a routine. I was sat at one of the laptops Dr. Greenfield had set up for us in a small computer lab. The room was bleak and depressing. As I worked with the analysis program on the computer that was already making my head spin just ten minutes into me working on it, I knew I had to make a good impression on Dr. Greenfield if I wanted a letter of recommendation to the doctoral programs I would be applying to. I checked the clock on the screen – nine forty-five. Amalia was already fifteen minutes late and I could tell it would easily turn into a theme with her. I rubbed my eyes and tried to concentrate on the work in front of me. With all of the wedding ideas bouncing around my head, concentrating on this work-study program was getting harder and harder to do. At the computer next to me sat August Marek, Dr. Greenfields little pet, with his head down and completely engrossed in the work in front of him. He was the final student picked for Dr. Greenfield’s study, and his grades completely put mine to shame. He had managed to get an A in nearly all of his classes his entire time at NYU, and his key-chain told me he went to Brown for undergrad. I knew we weren’t officially competing against each other, but being a woman already gave me a disadvantage just because there were so many women in the program. If he and I were going to apply for any of the same doctoral programs, the admissions office would choose him over me in a heartbeat.

A moment later, Amalia came bursting through the door, her purse falling off her shoulder as the door shut loudly behind her. She was wearing her typical jeans and sneakers, but looked a little classier than usual with a cream-colored sweater with rhinestone details around the collar. She had a small, Coach purse on her right shoulder and a take-away cup of coffee in her left hand. Dr. Greenfield and I looked up at her disturbance. Unflappable, August never took his eyes off the computer screen. Amalia opened her mouth to speak, but I shot her a look and then motioned to the empty chair next to mine.

“Miss Hastings,” Dr. Greenfield said in a tight voice. “What did I tell you over the summer about showing up late for work?” His facial expression was a frightening one. For a brief moment I wondered what it would have been like to grow up in a household with that kind of man for a father. So strict and unrelenting.

“I’m really sorry, professor,” she scrambled to get to her seat and turn her computer on. “I was coming from midtown, and the R train was running late.” She placed the coffee down on the desk and I held my breath as I imagined her knocking it over. Thankfully she didn’t.

Dr. Greenfield raised a hand, indicating her to stop speaking. “I’m not interested in your excuses. You either get here in time from here on out, or I will find someone else to take your position. Remember what I said last year? Don’t make me fire you.” He shook his head in disapproval. “We are as busy as a cat on a hot tin roof over here.”

Amalia pursed her lips and August actually raised a puzzled eyebrow at Dr. Greenfield’s remark. It was like our professor spoke another language than us. Sometimes it was comical, but I was in no mood today.

“It won’t happen again,” she muttered with wide eyes, and then immediately put her head down. She started fidgeting with her curls and I could tell she was embarrassed. I couldn’t blame her, the professor was definitely nothing if not intimidating. Especially with his stern, booming southern accent.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the hint of a smile tug at August’s lips. He knew he was Greenfield’s favorite. August had taken classes from him before and apparently always aced every exam. I was really starting to dislike this guy. I narrowed my eyes at him, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Greenfield’s eyes followed Amalia as she slowly lowered herself into the chair next to mine. Dr. Greenfield shook his head and returned to his books. Amalia let out a soft sigh.

“What are you working on?” she asked in a near-whisper, dropping her purse to the floor.

“Analyzing the data we collected on Monday,” I replied. I touched my fingertips to my temple, feeling a dull headache coming on. “There’s a lot of it.”

“Just tell me how I can help,” she offered me a weak smile. She looked past me for a moment. “Hey, August.”

“Hey,” he replied, without looking up. He let out a soft, exasperated sigh and pushed his sleeves up.

She rolled her eyes and I couldn’t help but smile. I reached over to the empty desk across from me and grabbed a bunch of files with last Friday’s date on them.

“Here,” I handed them to her. “Start helping before you get fired and have to live on my and Alex’s couch for the rest of the year.”

“Stop threatening me with homelessness,” she half-smiled. She flipped open the files and began to carefully type the data into the computer. “Speaking of you and Alex, are you going to move out of your apartment? Or is he going to move out of his?”

“We haven’t decided yet, but clearly his building is a lot nicer than mine. I’d much rather live there. I will miss living in Brooklyn, though, Roosevelt Island is a much different change of scenery,” I offered in a near-whisper.

“Well, I won’t miss you living in Brooklyn,” she gave me an over-the-top smile. “But back to you, I highly doubt he’d say no to you living with him. From the one time I was over there, it seemed to me like he really loved his place. Plus, guys hate moving.”

“Everyone hates moving,” I let out a soft chuckle. “I just hope he doesn’t hate having to make room for all of my stuff!” I rubbed my temples, suddenly overwhelmed by the professor’s research project, my regular classes, moving, and planning a wedding all within a little over a year. I took a deep breath and shook my head. “But you’re right, I’ll talk to him about it after we book a venue for the wedding.” I suddenly felt a strong urge to change the subject. “Can you grab lunch later this week so I can hear about your first official date with Mr. Big, I mean Michael?”

She nodded quickly, but then immediately turned the conversation back to me. “Have you narrowed it down at all?” she looked up from her screen.

“Narrowed what down?” I asked, suddenly feeling warm. I pulled at the collar on my shirt for extra breathing room.

Amalia shook her head in surprise. “Your venue, of course. As your maid of honor it’s my job to remind you that these places book up very far in advance, and it’s already the end of August!”

August shot his head up and glared at us.

“Not you,” Amalia waved him off. The month.”

He grimaced and robotically returned to his work.

Without missing a beat, she continued. “Have you thought about wanting your wedding in a hotel or maybe something outside of the city by a lake somewhere?” She looked up at the ceiling and then made a face at what I assumed was having to go to some random sleepy-town she had never heard of. She was never one for the outdoors. She turned her eyes back to me and plainly asked, “Do you even know what season you want to get married in?”

Before I could respond, August lifted his head again and shot us a look, his dark-blue eyes flashing with annoyance. Even though his eyes were also blue, they were a big contrast to Amalia’s, which were always wide and youthful. August’s reminded me of a villain in a super-hero movie.

Amalia met his gaze and held it. For a moment, it was if they were having some adolescent staring contest. I glanced back at the professor again, who wasn’t paying attention to us. I looked a little more closely at him and noticed his eyes were fixed on a wooden picture frame in the corner of his desk. I never noticed the frame before, but then again I had never really looked that hard at his desk. He must have felt my eyes fixed on him because he looked up and frowned.