Chapter 7
“Did you know the phrase Grand Central Station is actually a misnomer?” Diya asks.
I’ve been to Grand Central before, but the constellations on the ceiling seem to crackle today as if they might just come to life.
When I point my camera to the sky to take in that cerulean firmament, I feel a current go through me.
This was the right decision. I scan for Scorpio while Diya continues.
True to form, she spent most of the train time studying up on New York City because “Knowledge is power.”
“The accurate term is Grand Central Terminal. Terminus ,” she goes on now, “meaning the end of the line.”
“That sounds creepy,” Cash says.
“But it’s so freaking beautiful,” I say.
The station—er, terminal—is an ocean of humanity, rippling through the cavernous Grand Concourse. It casts waves of travelers out onto 42nd Street, and reels throngs of others back toward the numbered tracks, each a portal to what feels like another world.
And even better, the Beaux Arts–style halls are magnificently decked with mistletoe and holly, and filled with thick aromas of rich baking spices rising up from the dining concourse below.
Diya and Izaac are the order Muppets, keeping Cash and me from ping-ponging off the walls of the station, but I can at least invoke a professional interest in everything, because I have to document it all.
I take out my camera and capture the holiday market stalls and the seasonal gingerbread lattes at Bourke Street Bakery, the tinsel and the wreaths hung with care around the info booth, the travelers carrying packages wrapped up in gold and silver, topped with red and green bows.
“There’s so much material here,” I say.
“Well, it’s a very good thing you made it, then,” Izaac says with no small measure of snark.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes. Okay, so I almost missed the train, but that’s only because I was preparing our coffee with the same peppermint syrup I made last year on Christmas Eve Eve, which everyone loved.
I didn’t want everything I’d prepped to go to waste.
I had to sprint all the way down the platform to find them with the hot thermos, and managed to jump on just before the conductor closed the door.
I still feel winded even after the ride, but I regret nothing.
“Come on, that peppermint latte was worth it,” I say, and he gives a concessionary nod.
I pan around the space and suddenly Diya pops into frame. Since I had the zoom on 8x, what I see through the viewfinder is a giant version of her nostril. She puts a mitten over the lens and smirks at me.
“So I think the subway is that way,” Izaac says, pointing. “But I’m going to check out the return time board and make sure it’s the same as what’s online.”
“I’ll come,” Diya says.
“Perf. You guys manage that. Bennie and I are going to investigate the doughnuts,” Cash says quickly.
“We are?” I ask, and he glares at me. “I mean, hell yes we are!”
I’m happy to go on this doughnut finding mission, and also to have a few minutes of one-on-one time with Cash. It’s a good chance to gauge what’s going on with him.
He and I head downstairs and I keep the camera going the whole time.
This could not be a more perfect place to kick off my project.
A train station is a contact zone that connects all kinds of people, one of the great social equalizers in history.
All walks of life are forced to rub elbows if they want to get where they’re going.
There’s a row of raised chairs along one wall, and for a second they look like stadium seats for spectators of the station crowds.
But then a man in a fedora with a briefcase, looking straight out of Mad Men , climbs up and takes a seat.
It’s a shoeshine station. I didn’t know that was still a thing!
Nostalgia is a major element of Christmas, so I pause to film the process.
This is a perfect demonstration that not all traditions have gone by the wayside, that there’s still room in the world for true human interaction.
I’m imagining how well this will fit into my narrative, when the man having his shoes shined suddenly yanks his foot away and swats the man doing the work with his newspaper.
“Be careful!” he snarls. “That’s genuine Italian leather!”
I lower the camera, because damn— that’s not an example of goodwill toward your fellow man.
“This way!” Cash says, pulling me by the arm as I try to shake it off. It’s only the first stop, and fortunately, the second at least smells magical.
Doughnut Plant is a little kiosk, but there’s still a whole glass display bursting with doughnut varieties.
“Oh my god, look at that one!” Cash points to a doughnut shaped like a Christmas tree, with green frosting and mint filling.
“One Christmas tree doughnut, my good man,” I say to the clerk, and when he gives it to me a moment later in a paper bag, I pass it to Cash.
“For me?” he says, and when I nod, he gasps and puts a hand over his mouth.
I got a little Christmas bonus from Joany, and even though I need every dollar for next year, that expression of delight is priceless, and I can’t say no when there’s such a simple way to put a smile on my friend’s face.
“I’m going to save this for a first kiss celly later,” he says, and stashes it in his jacket pocket.
“We’ll see,” I say. My stomach churns with fresh nerves.
We spent so much time discussing the logistics of the trip, but never the whole kissing part of it.
Now that we’re here, I remember that I have no idea what that looks like.
I try to contain my panic—and keep the memory of Michelle’s words and promise from messing with my focus.
“It’s been so long since we’ve even broached the topic of your romantic life,” he says. “Now you’ve gone and grown up without me.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault you fell in love and we stopped having our sleepovers,” I say, happy to keep it light.
When Cash moved to town freshman year, we became friends immediately, and Naomi practically offered him residency in our house.
Every Friday night, he took her up on it, and we stayed up late watching movies and eating snacks and he would fall asleep at the foot of my bed on a pile of pillows.
Even Michelle sometimes came to hang out with us—that was back in the before times.
Then, sophomore year, he and Izaac had a meet-cute over a mistaken oat milk latte mix-up at Rhapsody, and Fridays became date night for them.
It sucked at first but then I met Izaac, and I also fell in love with him, and the two of them as a couple.
So when they started spending more time together, I couldn’t be mad about it.
“Well, I for one cannot wait for you to fall in love, and witness the look on this girl’s face when she sees you later,” he says, but it comes out distracted. Now that he’s finished taking photos of doughnuts, he’s back to scrolling again.
“You’re not going to see anything if you don’t put that thing down.” I whack him with my glove.
“You sound like an old,” he says, and I give him a look. He pockets his phone, looks at me very deliberately, and takes my hands. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m here! One hundred percent present, just for you.”
“You are my favorite present,” I say, and he puts an arm around me. “But speaking of old, you are getting up there yourself.
He sighs heavily.
“Eighteen. Groan. Just put me out to pasture.” He drops my hands and pulls up his phone again, this time turning the camera around to assess his skin, as if an actual wrinkle might have popped up during the train ride.
“Who even are you?” I ask. “You love your birthday! Which reminds me, we are tragically behind on planning a celebration…
As the words are coming out of my mouth, it occurs to me that maybe this is some of what’s been on his mind. Cash is the oldest of us and will be a full-blown adult right after the new year. Maybe the idea is scaring him a little? Or maybe he’s upset that we haven’t planned anything yet?
“I do love it, but life is life-ing more than usual,” Cash says vaguely, scanning the concourse as a group of elderly women wearing matching red-sequined sweaters hustle past us. I briefly imagine they’re en route to a rousing performance of the Radio City Rockettes.
Focus , I tell myself, and scan my mind for other possible sources of Cash’s stress.
His brilliance has always been in fashion and design—specialties not usually rewarded by your average high school.
He’s struggled with grades over the years, so I know he’s also feeling pressure about his applications—even with Izaac’s help.
He’s had to work extra hard to make sure he graduates on time too, and started seeing a tutor in the fall.
“Speaking of life-ing, are you still seeing that tutor for English?” I ask.
“Delores? God, no,” he says. His tutor, Delores, is a bridge-playing friend of his septuagenarian aunt Bev. “She was delightful in a Dorothy Parker kinda way, but I decided to abandon ship on the English.”
“Oh my god, how’d that go?” I ask. Knowing Delores’s philosophy—that English is of utmost importance—I can’t imagine she took that well.
“She told me that someday my hotshot politician boyfriend isn’t going to want to explain to the press why his partner failed high school English.”
“Ouch,” I say. “Uncalled for.”
He laughs, but I’m actually angry on his behalf, because Cash needs encouragement, not a put-down, even if it was meant to be funny. Maybe he’s concerned about that remark. Does Izaac know? And how would he really feel about Cash abandoning his education?
Yesterday Izaac asked me not to tell Cash about his family stuff—said he didn’t want to stress him out. I must be missing something here. It’d be so weird if they were keeping things from each other.
“Anyway,” he says. “I’ve decided to focus on improving my skills in something far more relevant to my career…”
I wait.
“Shopping,” he says, and beneath his mustache, he breaks into a huge grin.
I laugh along because it’s clearly a joke, but I can feel the furrow in my brow as I try to process this lengthening list of concerns.
Then, before I can respond, I spot Izaac and Diya headed in our direction. They seem to be scanning the crowd, so I wave.
“They don’t see us, huh?” Cash says.
I wave again, this time a little bigger, and manage to whack someone walking past in the process.
“Oh my god, I’m sorry!” I shout when I turn to find a woman who must be in her seventies, clutching a purse that’s bigger than her with a tiny white dog in it, scowling at me.
“Watch what you’re doing!” she shouts.
“I’m really so sorry,” I say, grateful I’m not holding a hot beverage this time.
“You could have killed Rufus!”
“I… uh…”
I mean, accusing me of attempted canine homicide feels a tad hyperbolic, but she walks away, muttering, “Tourists!”
“Wow, B. You’re in rare form this weekend,” Cash says, laughing.
“Haven’t you assailed enough strangers for one weekend?” Izaac asks when they reach us, following the woman with his gaze.
“I dunno,” Diya says. “The last one turned out pretty well. Maybe she’ll make a good backup for your first kiss.”
“Har har,” I say.
“What have you to report?” Cash asks them.
“Well, it looks like all the return times are the same as online,” Izaac says.
“We’ll just have to keep an eye on it in case there are any preemptive changes for the storm,” Diya adds.
“Do you think Cooper will cancel tomorrow if the weather is really that bad?” Izaac asks.
“Not snow, nor sleet, nor dark of night!” Cash imitates old man Cooper.
“That’s actually pretty good,” I tell him, and he gives me a grin, which warms my heart. I still have questions, but having a few minutes together definitely was a re-Cash-ification of my spirit. I resolve to make sure we have a lot more together in the new year.
“Did you guys clean them out of doughnuts?” Diya asks.
“No,” I say. “We were very grown-up and restrained.”
Cash looks proud.
“On that note, we were discussing the very grown-up subject of Cash’s birthday. Has he been blowing you off about it, too?” I ask Izaac, because I don’t want to accuse him of dropping the ball, but I also don’t want to drop the subject.
Izaac gives Cash a look I can’t quite parse. Why must couples have their own secret wordless language?
“I’m not blowing you off, I’m simply taking a more mature stance about my advancing age,” Cash says to me before Izaac can respond, pronouncing “mature” as ma-tour , then continuing with a wistful tone.
“Y’all will understand someday when you’re on the cusp of adulthood—one of life’s great turning points. ”
“Okay, so the train should take thirty-eight minutes,” Izaac announces, abruptly changing the subject. “Which means we need to get the next one.”
“So specific,” I say.
“Trains are all about precision,” Diya affirms.
“Amazing what humans can do,” I say. “Okay, in the interest of the schedule, I’m putting this birthday discussion on the proverbial shelf for now.” I mime picking up the issue like it’s a squirming mouse dangling by its tail, then placing it on his imaginary shelf. “But we’re coming back to it.”
Cash gives a little head snap, and we start making our way through Grand Central to the subway. That will take us to Eve’s bakery.
And as we descend into the subway station, I think about what Cash just said, and a shiver runs through me, catching me off guard.
I look around once more at the bustling station, then back to my friends.
If we were in a movie, this would be a cusp moment—a turning point—and things would be about to change forever.