'Here you are, miss,' the cab driver announced, pulling me away from my daydream.
'Thanks,' I mumbled, avoiding his eyes, as he double-parked next to a white Fed-Ex van. I had to put up with the taxi-driver droning on and on about his various problems, ranging from debt to hives, all the way from Grand Central Station while at the same time trying to take in the sights of the city. It hadn't been easy. Every time the driver saw my attention divert to a real authentic NY hot-dog stand or subway station, he started yelling at me about how his wife didn't pay any attention to him either.
I was grateful that I didn't have to put up with him anymore, and tried to heave my bag from the seat next to me. The driver didn't seem to notice, or care about, my trouble with my huge Jansport backpack and held out his hand through the open window for the fare, oblivious to the sweat I had broken out into.
Hazy on my AP Math from Freshman year college, I dug my hand into my pocket and gave Monsieur Asshole more of a tip than he deserved to save my headache.
"See ya,"
I dug my hand into my pocket and checked the address again. Luckily my directions were better than my maths as I found I was in the right place.
I stared up at the Brownstone in front of me, feeling my apprehension increase tenfold. Apart from the first few months after I was born, I had never set foot inside New York City, and even then I didn't technically set foot there. Despite the fact my mothers side of the family live here, I've never been anywhere near New York or even east of the Mississippi. The first time I had travelled to the east coast was a few years ago to visit my Great Aunt Paige for her sixty-fifth birthday party in Boston. It had been the last time I'd seen her, as she had died two weeks later. I had lots of fond memories of her. Paige she had been a social worker for twenty-two years before she retired, and had devoted her whole life to helping others. She had helped materialise my dreams to become a doctor, buying me my first toy stethoscope for my fifth Christmas.
That's why I'm here in New York. I'm a medical student, and I'd been accepted to a special medical research programme at Columbia for the summer. I'd have to get a waitressing job to pay for the rent of an apartment I would be sharing with a cousin of my college roommate in Midtown. I would be staying there until September when I was due back in Philadelphia.
Still staring at the imposing building in front of me, I decided to haul my bag onto my back and have a walk around. It was still early; I could perhaps grab a coffee and stall for about half an hour before I had to go to the apartment. I wasn't due to meet Teresa until five anyway.
I wondered why I was so nervous as I picked up my pace and turned into a street full of little cafés and delis. It's not like I'm not used to the big cities, I grew up in San Francisco, which is even bigger than Manhattan, and I had lived in Philadelphia for almost four years.
Maybe it was due to something that occurred to me the moment I accepted the place at Columbia's summer school. My mother grew up in New York and I couldn't help but wonder if I should track down my Mom's family while I was here. It was a whim really. I had never met them, but I really wanted to meet my Mom's parents, my maternal grandparents, before it was too late. The question of mortality was always bugging me…primarily because those close to me had the tendency to drop like flies.
I couldn't help but think that if I still talked to my family back home, I wouldn't even want to meet the Mancini's. Who was I kidding? What use would it do to meet up with them anyway?
Did I want to create myself a new family to make up for my avoidance with my old one? It's not like I didn't have some form of family back home. But I just couldn't ignore the fact that they live here, if I didn't make an effort, perhaps I never would meet my grandparent's. But what was I thinking? I mean, they didn't even come to Mom's funeral, so it wasn't like they wanted anything to do with my sisters' or me anyway.
I tried to get rid of these annoying thoughts that had plagued me for weeks as I walked around.
I was wearing Converse, a pair of denim shorts and an old Joni Mitchell tee shirt that the guy I had dated in high school had bought me after he heard me singing River during Karaoke. It was lucky that I had dressed for it, the mid June weather was stunning, although a little bit humid, but I hear that's nothing compared to what the temperatures reach in August.
After about half an hour of walking around taking in the sights, I found a Starbucks and ordered a cappuccino.
Once I got my coffee, I dumped my bag under a table and got out my laptop. I had two new emails. One was from my best friend Myra Reid, telling me that was still knee-deep in her plans for her wedding to high school sweetheart Scott Lopez and asked if she could come up and see me in NY during the summer to escape. Although Myra and I had grown apart after we graduated high school we still kept in touch, sharing a weekly email or the odd phone-call. She went to the University of Chicago and I got into Penn, but by the time Christmas of Freshman year rolled around the family row had happened. I didn't go home for the holidays, which meant that Myra and I hadn't seen each other in over four years. Despite the lack of hanging out, she still asked me to be her maid of honour. Strange to think that our friendship was stronger than the bonds I had with my family.
The other email was from Fliss asking if I was here yet and if Teresa had shown me her extensive shot glass collection. (Obviously I was going to have a wild time this summer).
As usual, I got the familiar pang of hurt and loneliness as I scanned my inbox for some sign of a message from my sisters. But that had been almost four years of stone cold silence on their side too.
I took a long gulp of my coffee, wrote a hasty reply to Fliss and shut down the Internet connection. Time to go and start my summer.
'God,' Teresa said the moment she took in the sweat that had beaded on my brow and the bag on my back, 'Lemme take that,' She heaved my bag off my shoulders, 'Why didn't you call down for me to help you?'
'I thought I could manage it. I didn't realise your apartment was on the ninth floor,' I gasped, and leant against the wall. I pushed the palm of my hand to put pressure on a stitch I had developed with the climb.
'Well, hey,' Teresa dumped my bag with a loud thud onto the hardwood floor just inside the apartment, 'It's nice to finally meet you Lily,'
'You too,' I said to her, holding out my hand.
She looked down at my hand, raised and eyebrow.
'I know Fliss said you were a little taciturn, but we're rooming for the summer so I think a hug's in order" And with a laugh she launched herself on top of me and gave me a squeeze.
When Theresa pulled away it was impossible not to match her smile…and also not to fall in love with her warmth a little.
We had spoken several times on the phone to sort out details, but this was the first time I had actually met Fliss's cousin. She looked older than 24 for one thing, and looked nothing like Fliss, who was small, blonde and a complete dead ringer for Reese Withersoon. Teresa Diehl was tall and curvaceous, with pale skin covered with freckles, a mane of thick dark brown hair and huge honest, blue eyes crinkled with laughter lines.
'Well come in and make yourself at home,' She led me into the apartment, talking animatedly over her shoulder as she went on about her last tenant. I ducked to pick up my bag before she went out of earshot.
'Thank God you're a girl is all I can say, the last person that roomed with me was your typical yuppie lawyer jock and he was the messiest person I've ever met. Honestly, I don't think he ever did the dishes or had a shower for that matter, and we roomed for six months. It took me ages to get rid of his boy frat boy smell. And don't get me started on the girls he brought back. He could've been a pimp for all I know, there were that many. Not that you can't bring guy's back, I'm not a nun I know what the kids are up to,' She added with a wink.
'No worries there, I'm clean to a fault and there's little chance of me bringing one person home, let alone a million,' I informed her.
'Then we're going to get on like a house on fire,' Teresa grinned.
There was something so great about her manner, so carefree and inviting. It was so different from the competitive arena that I'd been in for the last few years with medicine.
What was I worrying about earlier? I wasn't that shy, gawky teenager anymore; deliberately avoiding social situations in case I embarrassed myself. I had become a different person in college. OK, it may not have been for the right reasons, but making friends with people wasn't my problem anymore.
'It's so great to finally be here!' I breathed, following Teresa in wonder as she led me through the apartment. It was surprisingly spacious and airy, prevailing over all my previous conceptions of a shoebox with windows. The afternoon sun was flooding in through the large floor to ceiling windows that had a perfect view of the Manhattan skyline.
'Here,' Teresa smiled, leading me through a door at the back of the apartment, next to the bathroom, 'This one'll be yours'.
The room was beautiful. Decent size with a double bed and windows overlooking the street below. But I'd fallen in love with the bookcase. There was a huge oak bookcase built into the back wall to match a chest of drawers and an oak desk with drawers that was sitting in front of the window. I could already see myself getting lost in here for hours.
'What's the catch?' I asked, turning to grin at Teresa, thinking it was too good to be true.
She tilted her head back and laughed.
'There might be a few of Greg's Ritz crackers under the bed that the vacuum couldn't reach?' Teresa shrugged, 'Either that or condoms…'
'How on earth did you come by this place?'
'It was in my stepmother's family for years apparently. When I told her I wanted to move to New York to try out acting, she showed a rare flash of generosity and it's been mine at a cheap rate ever since,'
'Someone was born under a lucky star,' I said, 'If the guest room's like this, the master must be made out of gold or something,'
'Nah, marble, honey,' She laughed, 'Would you like a coffee?'
'Oh, no thanks,' I said, dumping my stuff onto the bed. 'I'm still buzzing from the coffee had one at the Starbucks down the street,'
'Scared about coming up?' Teresa asked, grinning.
'You could say that, yeah,' I admitted, going closer to the windows to look down at the New York street below in the lovely afternoon sun.
'Hey I think there's something in your hair,' Teresa said suddenly, coming forward to brush it out.
I recoiled immediately, my blood running cold.
'It's nothing,' I said, looking at my shoes, my stock answer blurting out, 'Just…I've always had it,'
'Oh I'm sorry,' She seemed to mean it, 'God, I always put my foot in my mouth,'
'It's OK,' I said, forcing a smile onto my face. The thing about my hair always made my uneasy.
Well, that clears one thing at least. Because she said that, I knew for certain that she didn't come from the magical world. It's law to shun those with a streak in their hair…or at least never mention it when in their company. That was a little bit of a relief. The first thing I found out when I was told I was a witch was that nothing was ever as it seemed. And that certainly was true. A year later I found out that my boyfriend and his family were witches too, meaning that a whole bunch of people I thought I'd known my whole life suddenly felt like strangers. Needless to say, going away to college and 'running away' from home had let me be me rather than a label. (I just wish I didn't have a physical label depicting my actions for all the world to see).
I followed Teresa into the kitchen, where she poured me a chilled Ice-tea and started talking about our plans for dinner.
'I was thinking about heading out tonight, it might be a chance for you to meet some people before you start work,'
'Where do you usually go?'
'We just hang out here in Williamsburg normally. Sometimes downtown if we're drunk enough…'
'I'll probably fall asleep by eleven,' I told her, 'the guy I was sitting next to on the train was snoring so badly it was hard to get any peace and quiet,'
'You'll be lucky if you get any peace and quiet here, I can tell you that,' Teresa rolled her eyes. 'Don't get me wrong, I love this city, but sometimes I miss Virginia so much I just want to pack all my stuff and drive there just to see some rivers and farm land,'
'Wow' I said, taking a seat on the sofa, 'I dunno if Fliss told you, but I grew up in San Francisco…and then moved to Philly when I started at Penn, so I'm sort of used to big cities. The idea of fields and farm land and open roads are sort of alien for me,'
'So you were prepared for NY then?' Teresa sat on the windowsill and gazed at me, the sunlight streaming in behind her.
A loud screeching noise began and a moment later the windowpanes began to rattle.
I looked at Teresa in panic, but she was rolling her eyes.
'Remember the cheap-rate I mentioned?' She yelled above the rising din, 'Subway!'