City Love(4)

“We have the AC on,” Rosanna says. “It’s so hot out.”


“Tell me about it. Since when is it such a sweltering hot mess this early in the morning? What time is it, eight?” I flop onto the couch. “Sorry, I’m disgusting. Navigating the subway system with backpacker gear is even harder than backpacking through Europe. I’ll try not to sweat all over the cushions.”

Sadie laughs. She comes out of the kitchen. The kitchen isn’t one of those typical microscopic cubbies. This one opens up into the living room, separated by a small breakfast bar. I like the layout.

“When did you guys get here?” I ask Sadie.

“We moved in yesterday. We actually have to leave soon, but we wanted to get up early and work on the place some more. The cabinets are kind of gross.” Sadie glances at the kitchen. “I’m making progress, though.”

“You don’t have to do that. We could just hire someone.”

The girls give me blank looks.

“To clean? We could hire a cleaning lady to get the place in shape. Easier than doing it ourselves, right?”

“Um . . . I don’t mind cleaning,” Rosanna says. “I already started on the bathroom.”

“Wasn’t the apartment supposed to be cleaned before we moved in?” Sadie asks. “That’s standard for New York.”

“Guess the rules don’t apply to lowly student housing,” I say. Then I sigh like I will never ever drag my sprawled exhausted butt off the couch. “This couch feels incredible.”

“You must be tired from your flight,” Sadie says. “And from hauling your bag around. It looks really heavy.”

“Oh, I’m used to it.”

“Did you really backpack through Europe?” Rosanna asks.

“Best year of my life. It was the most enlightening experience a girl could hope for. I took a year off after high school to explore. That’s why I’m almost nineteen. You guys are eighteen, right?”

They nod.

“Have you ever been?” I ask Rosanna.

“To Europe?”

“Yeah.”

“Not so much.”

“Not so much or not at all?”

Rosanna blushes. “Not at all.”

“Better to save it for when you’re older anyway. You’ll get more out of it. At least, that’s what my dad said when he tried convincing me not to go. Luckily my mom won that battle.”

“I can’t wait to go to Europe,” Sadie says. “Not that I’m going anytime soon.”

“You’re already super lucky. Growing up in New York City? That’s so cool. What neighborhood?”

“Right here in the West Village. I’m hoping to avoid running into my parents.”

“What a drag. You move away to college and it’s like, What up, parental unit. Thanks for still being all up in my face.”

“They’re not that bad. It’s just . . . whatever.” Sadie turns to Rosanna. “What’s Chicago like?”

“Not as exciting as New York,” Rosanna says. “There’s so much to do here. I don’t even know where to start.”

“We start by asking the locals for hot tips.” I look at Sadie. “Where do you like to hang out?”

“There are some gorgeous outdoor spaces around here. I’m kind of obsessed with green spaces and architecture in general. Just a heads-up that I might spontaneously start geeking out over a window or something while we’re walking down the street. Have you heard of the High Line?”

“That park that was built on an elevated railway?” Rosanna asks.

“Yes, and it is beyond impressive. We have to go.”

“I read about it in the New Yorker. I’m dying to see it.”

“We’re there.” Sadie looks at me expectantly. “You in?”

“Totally. But I meant . . . like bars and clubs.”

“Oh. I haven’t really gotten into them yet.”

“Just let me know where you want to go. I can get you in anywhere.”

“I don’t have a fake ID,” Rosanna says.

“Fake IDs are for amateurs. I’ve been crashing bars since I was fifteen. Trust me. I know how to work a bouncer.”

Rosanna is not impressed. Maybe she doesn’t believe me. Or maybe clubs aren’t her scene. She’s clearly not the kind of girl who whips her top off at Mardi Gras. But I’m hoping there’s a wild side percolating underneath her reserved exterior.

“We’re going to have a blast this summer,” I promise them. “You’ll see.”

Rosanna goes back to the table and starts fussing with it again.

“Why do you keep turning the table?” I ask.

“I’m trying to figure out which way it should go. Long way? Wide way? I can’t decide. What do you think?”

“Does it matter?” I snap.

The girls stop what they’re doing. They look at me.

“Oh my god,” I say. “I am so sorry. I’ve been . . . it’s been a hard time for me. You probably think I’m a monster. Please know that I’m not a monster. I’m just carrying some heavy baggage.” I tip my head toward my enormous backpack in an attempt to lighten the mood.