Page 1 of In the Dust

You can’t milk a freaking almond.

“What will it be?” the antsy barista asks again, her stiletto nails ready to stab the screen for my order.

My tired eyes sweep over the menu. As much as I’d like to try something different, I’ve always been a creature of habit. “Black coffee with honey.”

Gina orders her usual, “Matcha latte, please.”

I sip my bittersweet coffee as Gina and I stroll down New York’s bustling streets.

Gina’s the whimsical, romantic type. Your quintessential starving artist living in the city, except she isn't starving at all. She owns a beautiful art gallery in a corner space off a busy street.

She’s the only real friend I’ve made since I moved here. “Are you nervous? You seem nervous.” Gina bumps my shoulder.

“A little. I mean, is it too soon?”

She laughs. “Me and Andre moved in together after a week.”

I nod. “But you and Andre …” I look away. “Y’all are different.”

“Y’all,” she repeats in a fake southern accent.

“Seriously, though.” I smile at her.

She twirls around, drinking in the city life. Her long maxi dress flows out with her languid movements. “This is the city of love, Dixie. Enjoy it.”

I stifle a laugh. “That’s Paris, G.”

She grabs my hand. “You two will be just fine. Brad may be a super serious Wall Street type, but your sweet southern charm will be a good contrast to that.”

I give her an uneasy look when we make it to my door. “Good luck.” She winks as I wave goodbye.

It’s a small flat that me and three other girls are packed into like sardines. Gina offered for me to live with her, but she’s been in a serious relationship for years now. I didn’t want to stir up her and Andre’s serenity.

Living in a tuna can in the city is a far cry from the ranch I grew up on, with its sprawling hills and quiet sunrises.

But hopefully soon I’ll have a small slice of peace. Tomorrow, I’ll be moving in with my boyfriend, Brad. He lives in upstate, so it’s a bit of a drive to school, but an hour and a half commute won’t be too bad since I only have one year left.

At least I don’t have to worry about the drive just yet. Summer vacation isn’t over.

I can’t wait to have room to move my legs, and not having to share a bathroom with three other college-aged girls will be a dream come true.

Plus, the view from his penthouse is beyond words.

I’m living the stereotypical New York experience: college, a high rise, the suit wearing boyfriend.

I got everything I wanted when I left Georgia; this is where I’m meant to be.

A knock sounds on the door. “Dixie, it’s for you!” one of my roommates calls out, huffing in frustration about being pulled away from her studies. I guess that’s one good thing about the girls I live with, even though we’re practically stacked on top of each other; we stay out of the way.

Brad’s assistant, Valencia, is impatiently waiting on the other side of the door, sucking down a green drink that smells like kale and sadness.

Oh, how I miss sweet tea. Here, it’s never quite sweet enough.

“Brad wanted me to drop these off for you.” She smiles, pulling a cart into view with six suitcases stacked on it. “He wanted you to have everything you needed for your move! The moving team is downstairs, too.”

“How sweet of him! I’ll only need three. I’ve packed a couple already.” Her eyes roam around my tiny apartment, and I’m sure she’s wondering how I have so much stuff. I wonder the same daily.

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