Page 5 of Falling for the Veterinarian

“See you tomorrow?” he asks.

“No, Vin,” I squeeze the words out with pain, “unfortunately, this is probably goodbye. I lost my job. I guess I’m not cut out for New York City. I’m going to stay with my aunt for a while in Vermont to figure things out.”

“Aww.” He motions me toward him. “Come here and humor an old man with a hug.”

I give him a bear squeeze.

“Everything will work out,” he whispers in my ear.

“From your mouth to God’s ears,” I say as I wave goodbye.

Four

Sarah

Mywholeadultlifeis packed in four 20” x 24” boxes and one wardrobe box. I feel like a failure. Even minimalists at least have fun memories in place of their possessions. I spent the last few years working long days and nights just trying to make ends meet. Before my mother died, she told me to be bold and find my place in the world. I packed up my little possessions and left a tiny town in Arizona for the big city, hoping that following her advice I would make my mark on the world.

I always felt out of place in New York. However, after I started my job at Mitchell Realty, things finally felt right. The money was fantastic and I felt on the cusp of success. Now, I have to start my life over. On the positive side, Vermont in the fall is absolutely magical.

I walk down the front entrance of the building and grab the bellboy trolley. Sam looks at me with pitiful, sympathetic eyes.

“It’s ok, Sam,” I say. “I’ll bring the key to you after I load up my stuff.”

“No hurry, Miss Sarah,” he replies. “I sure am sad to see you go.”

“Yeah, me too,” I say. “C’est la vie, besides this place is way too ritzy for a small town girl from Arizona.” I try to play off my despair with the joke.

Sam humors me with a brief laugh as I saunter back to the elevator, pushing the cart in front of me. I take one last look around the apartment when my phone rings.

“Miss Sarah,” Sam says, “your rental car is here.”

“Thanks, Sam."

“No problem, I called Juan over to help load the car for you. He’s already standing outside.”

“Ok, I’ll be there in just a minute.” I disconnect the call and savor one last glimpse around the luxury space I called home for a remarkably brief time. Another tear escapes my left eye and betrays my calm and collected exterior.

I push my belongings on the trolly with some effort. Despite the cool temperature inside the building, sweat from exertion drips down into my eye. The sting of the salty sweat burns. I see the elderly woman from 6C enter the elevator at a distance. She’s wearing a thick brown rabbit fur coat and carrying a teacup poodle in her Louis Vuitton custom-made dog-carrying purse.

“Hold the elevator!” I shout at her and rush forth.

Our eyes meet just as the elevator door slides shut. I swear she hit the close elevator doors button.Rude.The old hag is probably the one who reported me. I roll my eyes.

“Here, Sam, here’s the two keys I had. The landlord requested that I leave them with you,” I say.

“Thanks,” he says, “I’m sure she will be calling or coming to check about it.”

“Have fun with that.”

The owner of the apartment property was notoriously difficult to deal with; most building owners hire someone to take care of their estates. Not Cheryl, though. She prefers a hands-on micro-managing approach. In the past, we had a slight run-in when she was humiliating Sam over something trivial. In the back of my mind, I thought she might try to evict me. Wish I had remembered that when I asked Rick to move in.

Juan loads my car quickly and bids me farewell. I tip him $200 and ask him to split it with Sam after I leave. Sam rarely accepts tips from me, but if I leave it behind, he’ll have no choice but to take it. I set my GPS and head to my aunt’s place. Ten minutes later, I see a message alert.

Miss Sarah, you are too kind! If you’re ever back in NYC, let me know and I’ll have my wife make a traditional Peruvian meal.

The estimated time of arrival on the GPS is almost seven hours until arrival. I sigh as I refocus on the road. Before I realize it, I am less than three hours from Vermont. I spy a gas station and pull over to fill up. When I step outside the car, I hear the crunch of gravel below my four-inch electric blue heels. These shoes are my absolute favorite even though they’re six years old and starting to peel on the inside. I bought them to try to fit into city life.

The debit machine on the gas pump is broken. I'm tempted to just leave. I hate going inside to talk to the cashier. Turning, I see all the pumps have the same sign. I stare off into the distance searching for another gas station but there are none in sight. The next stop is more than thirty minutes away. I exhale and roll my eyes at the sky.

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