Chapter Two
Three weeks later, the Amtrak train lurched to a stop as the person in the window seat shoved past me. I instinctively reached for my handbag, then scanned the overhead compartment for the two suitcases that held everything from my old life.
I waded through Penn Station toward the escalator up to Eighth Avenue, the August air hitting like a wet sponge.
I had a week to find an apartment before starting as a first-year associate at Abramson & Klein.
Jessica, my college roommate who traveled weekly to Copenhagen for work, offered her pullout couch in Brooklyn until I found a place.
Emilie and Connor were separately spending time in Europe before starting their jobs in New York, and the city felt more solitary than I expected.
After a few long days of schlepping from building to building and collapsing onto Jessica’s couch each night, I was convinced I’d never find a place to live.
I cycled through four different brokers in five days, each with apartments more underwhelming than the last. I hadn’t planned to live in Brooklyn, but out of desperation I almost settled for a studio in Jessica’s building where every window faced a brick wall.
Once I started working, I wouldn’t have any time to hunt for an apartment.
With less than forty-eight hours until I started at the firm, I started desperately trolling Craigslist. It was impossible to tell which postings were legitimate.
I kept thinking about the comfort of the fully renovated, cookie-cutter townhouse Ben and I had shared in the quiet suburbs of DC.
On the sixth day of sweating profusely between showings, I collapsed onto a hot bench in Madison Square Park and pulled up Facebook Marketplace on my phone to see if there were any viable rentals.
Free for a drink tonight babe?
There was so much condensation on the screen, I almost didn’t see the text come in. I exhaled warm air. I hadn’t even started working, and the city was kicking the shit out of me.
I met Caroline the first summer I interned in the city through a mutual friend I went to college with at the University of Virginia.
Caroline grew up in Iowa and was recruited by Goldman Sachs out of Yale. Now barely thirty and a senior vice president in the risk management division, she was everything people imagine about women in New York: elegant, independent, fiercely ambitious, and always dating the wrong guy.
We made a plan to meet at Wilfie & Nell in the West Village.
“Try the spicy agave margarita,” she said as I fanned myself with the menu. “We need to get you used to real cocktails.”
“I’m going to need more than one to shake off this week. I’m going to be homeless soon.”
“What’s your budget?”
I never wanted to be asked that again.
“I’m only looking for a studio. I was hoping to keep it under $2,000, but I could go up to $2,500.”
I could never tell my parents how much I’d be paying to rent an apartment in New York. I wasn’t raised to spend money like that. They still had no idea how much I’d borrowed for law school.
Caroline clicked her tongue as she scrolled through her phone. “So, my neighbor in 5E just got engaged and is moving to San Francisco. It’s the same layout as my studio. Let me text her.”
I’d pretty much lost all hope, but this was starting to feel like it could turn into one of those magic New York stories. The rumored only way to find an amazing apartment: have a friend like Caroline.
“Do you know how much she pays?” I was already mentally reshuffling my finances to make it work.
“No, but I pay $2,500.”
I held my breath as she texted her neighbor. Between the tequila and the prospect of finding an apartment in the West Village, I barely heard anything else until her phone buzzed.
“Okay—she says we can come by tomorrow, and she’ll put in a good word with the landlord.”
“Holy shit.”
“How’re you feeling about the rest of it?”
“I honestly feel like being a lawyer is going to be cake compared to finding a place to live.” I dabbed the last beads of sweat off my upper lip. “I still have to get my hair trimmed. And buy an entire lawyer wardrobe. You know, the small stuff.”
“I’ll text you the number for my hair salon on Thompson Street. And for the rest, Theory is all you need.”
“Is that a school of thought or a clothing store?”
“It’s J.Crew for former versions of ourselves.”
I left Jessica’s apartment the next morning and mapped the closest subway line to the Meatpacking District. Half an hour later, I found Theory’s flagship store on the corner of Greenwich and Gansevoort.
The air-conditioning hit me like an IV. A stylishly dressed male holding a mini Evian took one look at me and clicked his tongue.
“Oh, honey. The world is literally burning to the ground, and we’re all just walking around trying to make it out alive.” He handed me the water. “But I’m here to hydrate you. What are we looking for today?”
“Thanks—I start a new job on Monday, and I just need a few things. Basics.”
He nodded knowingly. “You came to the right place. What kind of job? Smart casual? Bit stuffier?”
“A law firm.”
He nodded knowingly as he gave a long once-over.
“Right. Let’s see . . . You’re probably an extra small on top, and I’m thinking a four for slacks.
Maybe a six, depending on the cut. Curves are a blessing and a curse.
Size 2 in a dress. Hold tight and just sip that water, sweetie. We’ll get this done.”
I pressed my palms together appreciatively.
I pulled out a navy blazer from the closest display, absentmindedly flipping the tag. I instinctually blinked. I wasn’t in J.Crew anymore.
Is it crazy to spend $600 on a blazer? I texted Emilie.
I could see her immediately typing.
You’re about to make $200,000 a year. Time to transition the Georgetown Law t-shirts to pajamas.
I knew my credit card bill would keep skyrocketing until I got my first paycheck. Even with my split from selling the townhome I owned with Ben, I was going to be one of those people who used their year-end bonus to pay off at least one maxed-out card.
I charged $2,000 at Theory, deeply unsettled when everything fit into two light bags.
Caroline’s building was a short seven blocks away.
I balanced the bags on one arm, iPhone in hand, and headed down the iconic cobblestone streets, past the trendy weekend brunch crowd and private brownstone driveways.
In my loose-fitting white shorts and oversized tank top, I felt like the worst-dressed extra in Sex and the City.
Five minutes later, I walked up to an elegant café with a few tables nestled under an awning. Caroline emerged ten seconds later, pulling me in for a hug.
“That’s my building,” she pointed across the street, grabbing the Theory bags. “Oh, you did good! Let’s drop this stuff, and we can pop over to 5E.”
It was the most charming corner in the city.
All week I’d been running around ragged, a girl from the middle of Virginia, hoping to shed my identity as a suburban DC housewife. Never in a million years had I believed there was a chance of finding an apartment here.
My heart was racing as Caroline unlocked the building. She pointed behind us to a group of tourists taking pictures of a brownstone across the street.
“That was Carrie Bradshaw’s apartment.”
As soon as we walked into apartment 5E, I knew I’d do anything to make it mine.
Even in its imperfections, it was everything I’d dreamed about.
Tiny but cozy, with a galley kitchen that had just enough room to open the refrigerator.
It was tastefully outdated in that classic prewar style, with original wainscoting and two oversized windows that looked out over treetops and brownstone rooftops.
Caroline sent a personal reference letter to the landlord that afternoon, and I signed the lease the next day.
I felt dangerously lucky. If karma was really a thing, leaving Ben for a new life should have meant luck wasn’t in the cards. But the apartment was mine. I’d be able to move in the weekend after I started working. Luckily, Jessica was in Europe for the week, so we wouldn’t be on top of each other.
Sunday night, I pulled out the navy Theory dress I’d chosen and draped it over the back of a chair, then rummaged through the closet for the handheld steamer Jessica swore was back there somewhere.
I felt overwhelmed by how much had happened in the last few weeks.
If leaving Ben meant trading in his happiness for mine, I had to get it right this time.