Page 75 of Between Here and There

The first week back in New York was a whirlwind. For starters, I’m moving out of Jenny’s apartment in two days. I prepared all my documents and packed my stuff. I also cleared things with Sarah, my new landlord.

Then there’s work. My shifts at the café have been all over the place. Frank made some changes, and now there’s only three of us, so we juggle shifts, sometimes even covering the whole day. When I’m not working the late shift at the café, I’m performing at the club. It’s exhausting, but it’s the only rhythm I’ve known for the past few days.

And how do I find time for my third job?

Like this. Curled up on a park bench on a lunch break. Just as I’m checking my emails, I receive a call.

“Hi, is this Miss Emily Rodriguez?” a man says on the other line.

“Yeah?”

“This is Frederick Wells from BGP Financial Group. Would you be available for an interview within the week?”

Oh my gosh, an actual interview. “Yes!” I say, almost immediately.

We exchange details, and once the call ends, I sit there, trying to process what just happened. After months of sending resumes into the void, of applying to every financial firm that crossed my radar, this is it. I landed an interview.

I thought I’d feel elated, but instead, there’s a small knot in my stomach. I thought this was what I wanted, but now that it’s happening, I’m not so sure. A part of me is terrified of going back to a big firm—back to men like Ben, whose egos are bigger than their budgets.

A part of me wants to just focus on myself, and maybe get loads of project-based clients and freelance my way out of life. Another part? Another part just wants to take Joshua’s offer and work for his new construction company. He’s probably the only man in New York I’d be comfortable working with. Well, if comfort means staying in close proximity where his hand is within reach and wanting to sneak a kiss every now and then, then I amsocomfortable working with him.

Speaking of Joshua, I thought we’d become more awkward by the time we’re back in New York. But, surprisingly, we’re okay. Like we’re real friends. He’s still cocky and playful most of the time, but we’refine.

He’s at a seminar in New Jersey, so we haven’t seen each other since we landed. But we keep texting each other. Just last night, he sent me a text saying he’s at a bar where they’re playing Elvis Presley’s rendition of ‘Can’t Help Falling In Love’.

JOSHUA: I know this is the original, but songs sound better when you sing them.

EMILY (ME): Words sound better when you say them too.

He ended up calling me, and we talked for hours until he went back to his hotel room.

Friends do things like that, right? Because we’ve agreed to a strictly friends rule upon our return. By agreed, I mean I brought it up and he went along with it. He’s coming back the same day I’m moving out, so we agreed to have dinner then.

There’s a very real possibility that I’m setting myself up for disaster with this whole new dynamic with him. And this might be the first time that I did not think of a decision before I made it. And I might be spiraling because of it. Everything is confusing and it’s keeping me awake at night trying to find the answers to questions I can’t even articulate.

“Sorry,” I say. “What do you mean, next week? I’m movingtoday,” I say, as I put my phone up between my ear and my shoulder, trying to grab my envelope from my bag.

I’m all packed and ready to move, so it’s a struggle to look for the envelope with the lease agreement that I stashed with my other stuff.

“Emily, I’m sorry, I think we’ve had a misunderstanding,” Sarah says on the other line. “The other tenant isn’t moving until next week.”

“No, no,” I say as I fumble with my documents that prove her wrong. I open the lease papers, ready to point it out and say smugly that—shit. It does say the eighteenth, not the tenth. How could I possibly have missed this? I never miss things like this. In fact, I am usually very good at remembering important things.

Then I remember that when I was filling in the form, I was on a call with Joshua, talking about my lunch at the time, because I accidentally added more jalapenos than pickles to my sandwich. Then, like I always do, I got lost in our conversation. Serves me right, I guess.

“Hello?” Sarah calls out, bringing me back.

“Sarah, sorry, I misread it. You’re right,” I apologize. “I’ll see you next week,” I say as I hang up. I’m sitting on the bench in front of Jenny’s apartment, with my luggage in front of me.

I suppose I could check into a hotel.

For eight days? Yeah, I can’t afford that. Even the cheapest hotel in Manhattan would put a dent in my savings. So, instead of spending money and energy to think too much into this situation, I call the one person I could count on lately. My… friend.

“Heyyy,” I say, trying to keep my voice light, even though the anxiety is creeping up on me. I can hear the hum of machinery in the background—the telltale sound of a construction site. “You busy?”

“For you? Never,” Joshua responds smoothly, his voice a comforting anchor in the chaos of my day. I can almost picture him grinning, and I can feel my shoulders relax just hearing him. “What’s up? Where do you want to have dinner later?”

“Well, I kinda have a problem,” I admit, pacing a little as the weight of the situation settles in.

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