Chapter One Julia #2
Every week one of us delivered his grocery order, and whichever of us was lucky enough to do it usually ended up staying for at least an hour, conversing about anything and everything. Lou was no-nonsense and cursed like a sailor, but that didn’t make him any less endearing.
And then a couple of years ago my dad casually invited him to come over on Thanksgiving, which turned out to be our favorite Thanksgiving ever.
Because Lou entertained us with stories about what it’d been like to live in New York on parade days, he helped my mom by whipping up a batch of homemade cranberry stuffing (from memory), and he even stuck around to decorate the Christmas tree with us at the end of the day.
It was almost like we had an unofficial don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy with Lou, where we ate up every bit of information he chose to feed us from his life, but we also never pried or asked questions because something had led to him living all alone in a tiny fishing cabin near the Platte River.
So when we had our family meeting about moving, my family agreed that as weird as it might sound, we trusted Lou. We couldn’t believe he’d had a fortune or that he’d left it to us, and we had no idea what to make of the stipulations, but we had faith in his motives and his noble character.
My parents were adamant about the fact that if any of us hated Manhattan and wanted to move back, once the time requirement was met, we could. Lou had the inheritance set up where as long as we met the stipulations for six months, we kept the fortune.
We’d lose the house if we decided not to live in it, but we’d have more than enough money to buy whatever home we wanted, after the fact.
Including our house, back in Nebraska.
“Holy shit, look at this,” my brother said, pointing when we reached the corner.
“Wow,” I said, shaking my brain out of Springfield because I was in New York, dammit, about to embark upon a life far more fabulous than Hannah Holbrook’s. She could have Will and his classic Ford F-250 that didn’t have air-conditioning, because I was about to lose myself in a cool new world.
Markets, coffee shops, restaurants, nail salons—the streets were alive, thrumming with businesses as far as the eye could see.
Cars honking, people walking, delivery bikes, taxis—it was exactly like I’d pictured Manhattan, though to be fair, the only knowledge I’d had before now was what I’d seen on-screen.
“This street is definitely less fancy than ours,” Liam said as we turned left at the corner and started up the block.
“Thank God,” I said, because as little as I knew of life in the big city, seeing things like Panda Express, Raising Cane’s, and Five Guys made me feel far more comfortable than a quiet block of mansions.
Because what in God’s name do I know about that life?
“We should get Italian,” I said definitively as we passed a place called Upside Pizza.
“You always want Italian,” Liam countered, going around a slow walker in front of him.
“I know, but what’s better than noodles and meatballs?” I said, hurrying to keep up with his long stride.
“Sushi,” he said, pointing to a shop with blue neon in the window. “It’s what all the fancy Manhattan kids are eating.”
“Ugh.” I could feel my chest tighten. “Don’t start.”
“I can tell you’re already worrying way too much about school, but don’t sweat it, Jules—who gives a shit if the richies don’t appreciate us?”
“Maybe,” I sighed, trying to release the tension running through my body, “but I’d also like to blend in at school. I don’t want to be an outcast.”
“We might not even stay, so I wouldn’t worry too much,” he said.
“First of all, we’re staying for at least six months,” I said, “And it’s easy for you to say who cares because you’re super social. You fit in everywhere.”
“By fitting in ‘everywhere,’ you mean at the only school we’ve ever gone to?” he said sarcastically.
“Yeah, whatever,” I said, because we both knew I was right. Liam was like my dad: He always knew the right things to say to make everyone love him. He was legitimately the most charming person in the room at any given moment, and I wished I could borrow just a fraction of his charisma.
Because, conversely, I was the most awkward person in the room at any given moment. Give me a new and uncomfortable situation, and I was always down to trip over my own feet and ramble incoherently with an awkward laugh.
While likely spilling something on myself.
“Oh my God, look at the baguettes in the window,” I said, my stomach growling as I stared at a window display filled with crusty breads and delicate pastries.
Loaves was the name stenciled on the glass.
“I’ll never understand how one person can like bread so much, but come on,” my brother said, entertaining my unhealthy love of crusty carbohydrates. “Let’s get a couple sticks for later, when we’re moving shit into the house and have no food.”
The bakery felt like something from a faraway corner of Paris. It had shelves of beautiful pastries behind glass, each row more detailed and gorgeous than the next. Macarons. Chocolate croissants. Brownies. Cake pops. You name it, it was here and looking delicious.
Afterward, we grabbed burritos at Chipotle and found a bench in this, like, mini park called Straus Park that was in the middle of an intersection, where we ate in silence while looking at our phones.
And I was hit with a pang of homesickness as life appeared to go on back home without me. I’d contemplated deleting all my socials because I didn’t want to see anything from Hannah and Will, but that felt a little too final.