Endearing is an understatement as to how I feel about New York. My hotel room view is even better than what I visualized. It's painted in a warm beige color, giving it a rich and spacious look. The king-sized bed, perfectly tucked into a seamless white bed sheet, with a huge soft duvet sitting on top. There is a beautiful minimalist open wardrobe on my left, with white lights glued to it, I think. I want to hang my clothes in it immediately.
The balcony view is much more captivating. It showcases the stunning city lights from tall skyscrapers that seem so common here, their heights competing with each other. The lights from a row of windows peeking out from the opposite hotel building give me a sense of Sonder as I watch a couple slow dancing to a song I can't hear, but I imagine it to be "Garden Kisses" by Giveon. I'm comfortable with these moments, pairing them with my otherworldly songs. I admit my taste in music is quite different from everyone I know, but that's what makes me unique. That is my superpower. I admire what they have going on there. Swirling to mellifluous music that resonates with my soul feels like love. It feels like intimacy, like a lover asking you to fill his palms with your hands as he takes the lead to a place of__.
One day, I'll find a name for it.
But for now, my eyes move to the next opposite apartment window with dim light and a guy painting. He isn't squinting his eyes to see his art, so I conclude he has a spiritual light in his eyes, or he is free-drawing an amoeba to make me sleep better at night. Hearing the sirens blare from a reasonable distance make me come to the actual realization that I actually am in New York. The feeling of being here, at this moment and time, doesn't feel wrong. It feels right in every way, gosh, it feels surreal.
I inhale deeply, almost causing damage to my lungs. The air feels different. It feels lighter, with hope dangling on it. I wonder what New York has in store for me. I wonder what I can make from a month's stay here. I wonder what Caroline is doing at the moment, probably engrossed in Anna's endless chats or baking her a pastry. I'd better call them.
Anna appears on my screen, in a bonnet that looks too similar to mine, but I don't mind. She waits for me to say something, so she bombards me with her list of questions, which I know she reserved for my arrival. But I don't give her that satisfaction; instead, we both engage in a staring contest, blushing sheepishly till Caroline comes in. Why we do that, we don't know.
"Hey, baby," Ma flashes me the most beautiful smile I've seen today. It's like a rush of adrenaline fills my body.
"Hi Mummy," I mirror her smile.
"Look at you smile. How does it feel to finally visit your New York?" she says with a sunnily smile plastered on her face. She looks like she's going to cry. Honestly, it feels good to be here, but incomplete without her. I don't plan to say that out loud and spoil the happy moment.
"It's wonderful, mom, you wouldn't believe the balcony view."
"Show ussss," Anna roars from the corner of my screen, her voice rising progressively. I can barely see their face clearly, even if it's already daybreak over there. The network is shitty here. I flit to the balcony, switching to my back camera for them to see the beautiful view. Caroline looks so fulfilled, and that is enough for me.
Anna has her eyes still fixed on the screen as she squeaks from excitement. The network is finally going off completely, leaving Anna in the same position. She looks hilarious.
My tummy made a grumbling sound that sounded like 'feed me,' so now I'm sprinting down the hallway that looks like the best location for a horror movie, in my white after-shower robe and pink bonnet with my phone hanging on for dear life on my attached beaded pouch bracelet. I speed walk to the food buffet stand, reaching for the neatly stacked flower print plates as I pick one out with my trembling hands.
It becomes clear as I pick up the dishing spoon that people are watching while they match out like they've never seen a girl on a bonnet, or maybe it's the robe, am I stained? I can't be, Flo says it's not until next week, Thursday. What would Ma think? What would she think if she were in this situation? Probably the entire hotel wants to use her for a ritual? Ma wouldn't think of such, but even if it were true, I'm not the chosen one, so they dare not waste my precious blood.
I slow down my fast operating brain, and realization hits. They were walking out while I was walking into a restaurant that, now that I look around me properly, is almost closing. That explains why the chef is looking at me funny with a backpack in her hand. She looks like she's ready to go home, and I'm wasting her time.
I go ahead to scoop a spoonful of mashed potatoes and a sauce I'm not familiar with, but it has green veggies in it, so it should this should be a healthy meal. I pull out my phone from my robe pocket, taking a picture of my perfect plating.
"You don't eat meat as well?" someone said super close to me, my soul almost levitating, leaving my body behind. I look down at my plate to make sure I didn't spill the sauce. It's in perfect condition.
I turn to see a tall male figure looking down at me. I'm so angry and hungry that I fear that if I look up at him, I'll shoot lasers out of my eyes. If only he knew that this isn't the best time for him to be tall.
"I'm sure the meats here are well-cooked for your delicate stomach."
The voice sounds buttery or maybe not, I'm really hungry. I look up to see the window seat guy wearing an ear-to-ear smile. He looks taller than I noticed on the plane, and maybe finer. What's he doing here?
"How may I help you? Did you lose something?"
He looks down at me like I just said something funny. Thinking about it now, that was a stupid thing to say, because this is a hotel where basically anybody could check in.
"Which would you like me to answer first?" he comfortably flings his two arms over his chest, folding them against each other. He looks like he has all the time in the world. I don't.
"Never mind."
I brush past him, sauntering away. How small is New York that you meet someone twice?
. . .
I was given a room business card by the service this morning, according to her, it was from Mr. Noah. I know who that is. I'm holding the card up, flickering it with my pitch colored almond shaped nails. Does he like me? He can't possibly like me. I may not know much about love, but at least I know you don't just love someone you barely even know. The thought of a guy liking me is funny but quite entertaining.
I vigorously type an epistle to Anna. I tell her about how this window seat guy is in the same hotel I'm lodged in and how he sent the room service to deliver his card to me. I don't tell her the part where he mentioned he knows my Dad. For some reason, I can't share that. I haven't been able to think of what to do with that information yet. She sends a text back almost immediately. Did she even read through my message?
Anna
And that, my lovely Olivia, is how you met your husband
Julie
What? You're crazy. What do I do with the card?
Anna
CALL HIM!!!
Julie
Why would I even want to do that? girl bye.
Anna
Don't be so boring, Jules, you're over there in NY without a friend you could tour the city with, and there is this guy just right at your doorstep, trying to be friends.
Julie
Okay And? I still don't see what this has to do with calling him. Or am I suddenly slow?
Anna
Use him as your ticket to be outside. Explore and have all the fun you can, Olivia, please.
That wasn't the advice I expected, but what could be the worst thing that could ever happen?. I don't call like Anna instructed. Rather, I drop a text to the number on the card.
Julie
Hi, I got your card.
He takes too long before he responds. How rude.
Window seat guy
Finally. She texted. I almost thought you wouldn't
Julie
Do you know a good hangout spot?
The message is delivered, but no response accompanies it. Why did I ask him such a question? He's probably wondering the kind of girl I am. I should have at least replied to the context of his message first. I reread the message, and now I think I see the reason he's not responding. It's such an awkward question to ask someone you just met a day ago. I knew that Anna's advice was such terrible advice. I long-press on the message, about to un-send, when he shoots back a text.
Window seat guy
I know a pub.
. . .
I'm dressed in a butter yellow halter neck backless dress and regular nude colored slippers heels. My hair is in an up-do, messy bun-like, but I curl the falling strands like Anna advised over video call. I look just like Ma. I amble out of the hotel, turning eyes with the clicking sound of my heels on the tiles and my cocktail of perfumes.
I come out to see Noah already packed at the spot he said he'd be waiting. His ride, which I don't know if it's a range or just a really huge car, complements his evening look. He is wearing a simple white t-shirt, which I can't see its logo but from its rich texture, I can tell it cost a fortune. He paired it with a free blue jeans and a white sneakers. And of course, his Richard Mille.
He opens the front passenger door for me as I slip in, making myself comfortable. He joins me in a second, flashing me that charming smile of his. I mean a friendly smile.
"You look really pretty tonight," he says, starting the car. The engines run. "I didn't in any way in the world imagine we'd be meeting up this way. Really." He scratches the back of his ear and gently slams his hand on his thick thighs, his other hand accessorized with rings still wrapped around the steering "but I really don't mind showing you around New York… I'm fully at your service."
"Uh, thank you," my voice trails off under the sound of the running engines, but he nods with a smile. I'm guessing he heard that then. I mirror his smile.
The car speeds off at a gear I'm not sure of, making me jolt in fear. Noah's hands move like the speed of light, grabbing mine. His eyes are searching into mine like he's trying to communicate in a language I definitely do not understand. I feel a wave of awkwardness flush through me, suddenly shaking my hands free from his giant palm. I read him like an easy book, and I sense a little disappointment in his face.
"You good?" he says while fixing the dashboard that was totally fine, plugging his eyes back on the road.
"Yeah," I firmly say
"Okay," he clicks his tongue
The ride is smooth, thanks to the faultless smooth road. I lean my head to the open window as I watch the water by the side of the bridge, in awe. It's dark and far-stretched but beautiful. I imagine the bridge breaking in half, but I snatch my mind off the thought. The road is full of lights, flashy, speedy cars, and much more than I can comprehend at once. All my energy is channeled at focusing on not exploding from the sight of all of these.
Before I know it, we arrive at the pub. It doesn't look like what I imagined, a chaotic nightclub. It looks very chill. Noah makes me stay put as he turns around to my door, waving it open for me. It's giving romantic gesture. I don't know how to feel about that, so I try not to think too much about it. I'm here to have fun.
We cross the thin road together, walking into the building as I share my location with Anna, like in case anything goes wrong, she can come save me. It feels warm inside. No loud noise, but just really good music. My type of place. Like I've been in somewhere like this before now, tch. Around me, pretty girls and handsome boys chat and grind on each other. The DJ does a mix and lands on Blame U. The vibe scratches my head, and I want to dance on someone, too. The urge to do something regretful, and of course with someone I never expect to see ever again, comes up, but I stay composed, mouthing wrong lyrics confidently.
It's crazy how one minute you're in bed worrying and plotting on how to handle a piece of information that carries the potential of your past and possibly your future, and another minute you're in a pub having the time of your life. Maintaining eye contact with annoyingly handsome guys, like the one just three tables away. He looks so good. How can someone look this good?
"Let's go say hi to someone?" us? Us who?
Noah sends my thoughts flying away as he nudges me, taking me by the hand straight to where my eyes have been fixed.
"Olive, meet Liam and Liam, meet my new friend Olive"
Liam turns towards me, clenching his sharp jaw. His piercing eyes, which I'm not sure what color they are due to the flying club neon lights, hold an unwritten emotion in them that I can't read through. He shouldn't be here.
He doesn't acknowledge the introduction, so I reciprocate the energy. Thank almighty God, I didn't put out my hand for a shake first. I'm definitely not the person you act that way towards. And one thing I'd always do is magically walk away. I leave Noah with his sealed-lips Liam as I make myself comfortable on the high bar chair. Noah is out of sight, but I'm not bothered; I have his number. Two red-haired girls intertwine their arms together like a father escorting his daughter to the altar. They gulp down small shots of what I'm sure is alcohol. I want to try it too.
"Tequila?" the bar guy asked, following my eyes that were still fixed on those girls' drinks.
"Anything not bitter, but alcohol"
"Okay, ma'am," he lets out a frail laugh, shaking and transferring drinks to different preparation cups.
He pushes a small shot glass of tequila to me. Giving me a 'go on and drink it look'. I examine the glass to be sure it's clean enough. It is. The smell of the drink is so strong, I can't seem to find anything to compare it to. I push the glass back to the bar guy, and he pushes three more back to me like it's a challenge. Maybe this will help blur my mind from the ignorance Noah's Liam dished to me. They say alcohol does. This should. I pinch my nose close, gulping it down. The taste is as strong as the smell. My tongue needs a fruit juice to wash the taste off, or water, just something. It's like the bar guy notices and comes to my rescue, giving me a slice of lime and a pinch of salt. I attempt to make my heels meet the floor, but it seems too far. Like the chair is so long and I'm so short, but I'm not. I'm a solid 5.4. I pause for a minute, trying to observe my environment. Everybody looks like they are joyfully floating on beats. The smoke exhaled from the guys by my side from chicken nuggets and now a pile of pasta. The air feels congested, but it has so much life. I feel nauseated, the floor feels like it is spinning and crumbling. I'm trying to find balance, but my legs feel weak. Hold on, now that I think of it, was the salt cocaine? Am I high on cocaine, lime, and tequila? My mom will kill me. She'll probably send Aunty Lina to get me. My vision is blurry, but it captures a handsome, caramel-skinned Greek god walking towards me. My stomach flips at the sight of him, but he looks so kissable, so I kiss him. He slightly pulls away, and without warning, my legs falter.