Layla – Present
I flick to the next page of the Dolly Parton autobiography Mabel lent me while Jacob sits down next to me.
“Well?” I ask.
“It’s delayed for an hour.” He passes me a bottled water.
“That’s not too bad.” I take the water and look around for something to mark the page I’m reading.
Mabel lent me this book for the plane, she said she’s read it many times, and judging by the lack of dog eared pages, I’d say she’s pretty opposed to the idea of them.
I pull my hair tie from my wrist and set it into the book.
“Is it any good?”
I take a sip of water and nod. “It’s Dolly Parton. Of course it’s good.” I’d bet my last dollar even her grocery list would entertain me. Maybe I’ve been spending too much time with my eighty-year-old roommate.
Jacob laughs, then reaches into the bag at his feet and pulls out some Hershey’s Kisses.
A man over the loudspeaker announces a change in gate number, and we watch as a small crowd of passengers scrambles to make it.
I screw the cap back on my water and pull my legs to my chest.
The woman in front of me tucks a blue, fluffy blanket around her grandson and rocks his stroller as he sleeps.
Then she turns her attention to the book in her hand: How not to be a tourist in New York.
I smile as she gives it her full attention.
A little girl, no older than six, sits on the floor beside her, coloring quietly.
“I want to see some tourist attractions,” I whisper to Jacob.
He leans in. “Where do you want to go?”
I think for a moment.
“Off the top of my head? The Empire State Building, The Statue of Liberty, and Times Square.”
“I’m sure we’ll have time to get to all of those, maybe even a few more.” He grins.
I should have gotten the How to have the most touristy time in New York version of her book. I want the T-shirts, and the hats, and all the other tacky New York memorabilia I’ve seen on TV.
I go to lift the Dolly book again when the little girl appears in front of me, holding up a hand drawn picture.
“This is for you.” She smiles and tilts her head to one side.
“It’s beautiful.” I take the piece of paper from her, and she moves closer, pointing down to it. “That’s the sun, that’s the aeroplane, and that’s you and your boyfriend.” She giggles, covering her mouth with her hand.
“You’re very talented,” I tell her.
She smiles back at me. “Do you like my dress?” She twirls around.
“It’s very pretty.”
“You should get one,” she tells me. “It’s really good for spinning in. See?” She twirls around again.
The baby starts to cry, and her grandmother sets her book down to tend to him.
“That’s my brother,” the little girl says. “He cries all the time.” She rolls her eyes, and it makes me chuckle.
“Betsy,” her grandmother calls, “do you know where Garrett’s pacifier is?”
Betsy skips over to her grandmother and starts to rummage through the diaper bag.
I fold the picture up and put it in my handbag. When she comes back, she asks me if we are going to New York. I tell her we are.
She smiles. “My dad lives in New York,” she says. “I don’t see him a lot. Nana says he’s a waste of space. She says all men are. I’m not sure what that means. Do you know?” She looks at Jacob, then to me, and attempts a whisper that comes out as more of a shout.
“Is your boyfriend a waste of space?”
Jacob laughs next to me, and I press my lips together.
Her Nana’s eyes widen.
“Betsy, come here please.”
Betsy rolls her eyes and sighs heavily. She slumps down in the seat next to her Nana while the older woman hushes words of reprimand.
I glance at Jacob, we’re both trying not to laugh. I shake my head and look away from him.
There’s a plane coming into land on the runway. Once it’s settled on the ground, I pick up my book, rest my head on Jacob’s shoulder, and give Dolly my full attention.
***
The man at reception takes our luggage and tells us he’ll have someone bring it up to our room.
He hands us the room key, then points his pen toward the grand marble staircase, directing us where we need to go.
My head is spinning as I look from the staircase up to a skylight, showcasing the height the building beside this one spans to.
Another man, dressed in a burgundy coat, waits by the elevator on the first floor.
He smiles warmly at us both, then the doors slide open.
“Which floor for you, sir?” he asks Jacob.
“Twenty-four.”
He nods, stepping into the lift to press the button for us. The doors close with him still inside.
“Have you been to the city before?” he asks, making light conversation, his back straight as he watches the numbers ascend above the doors.
“It’s our first time,” I answer. “Any recommendations?”
“Ah,” he says, turning to glance at me. “In that case, I suggest a trip to Prospect Park. It was designed by the same people as Central Park, but it’s the lesser known of the two. And don’t miss out on visiting the boathouse while you’re there.”
The door opens at our floor.
“Enjoy your time in the city.” The man smiles.
“Thank you!” I shout as the doors close on him.
The marble floor continues all the way to our room. Cream wallpaper, with delicate flowers swirled into the design, cover each wall.
“Are you disappointed he didn’t tell you where the good T-shirts are?” Jacob puts the key into the door.
“I don’t think he would have approved.” I look at the chandelier lights dotted along the corridor. “I have a feeling this isn’t the kind of place people wear I heart New York T-shirts in.”
I step inside our room. The curtains are pulled wide apart, floor-to-ceiling windows wrap around two walls, creating a breathtaking view of the city at dusk.
I set my handbag down on the bed, which looks like a cloud, and walk toward the windows.
I never considered myself afraid of heights before, but looking down isn’t something I’d recommend.
It’s the polar opposite of Rockport. No sand or sea in sight, just high rise buildings as far as the eye can see, lights flicking on as the sun begins to dim.
Jacob tips the man who arrives with our luggage, and I decide its time to freshen up. There’s something about being on a plane, it doesn’t seem to matter if it’s an hour or eight, I always feel gross.
I gasp when I look at the bathroom, a large tub beneath another window. I could spend the entire trip in this room and I wouldn’t be upset about it.
An outfit change and elevator ride later, and we’re back in the fast paced atmosphere of city life, buzzing all around us. I tuck my arms into the newest addition to my wardrobe, my I heart New York hoodie, and look at the map the hotel receptionist gave us.
“Where to next?” Jacob asks.
I glance back toward the hot dog stands we passed by.
“Let’s get something to eat.”
I shove my map into my bag and take Jacob’s hand as we join a line for a doughnut shop.
“I love New York.”
He grins, nudging my hat. “I’d never have known you felt that way.”