Gaby stands by the mouth of the baggage carousel and watches as suitcases and backpacks come through. She waits for her blue suitcase to appear. Her mom tied a purple ribbon to it this morning before she drove Gaby to the airport in St. Louis. The ribbon has her last name 'Barba' embroidered on it. She thought it was overkill but didn't say anything, because she knew her mom would worry. She's going to miss her mom, she's her best friend. With her dad it's not the same. Her parents are divorced, and she doesn't see her dad that often. But she knows he's there for her, even if he works too much. He's happy she's moving to live with him in New York. It's going to take some getting used to, but she's happy too.
She checks her phone for the time, it's 3:35 in the afternoon. She hopes it won't take much longer for her bag to come because she's starting to get hungry, the last time she ate was at breakfast. It wasn't the biggest breakfast either. She had half a toast and some orange juice, but the orange juice was fresh.
Next to her, a couple is arguing in Spanish. She doesn't usually like eavesdropping on stranger's conversations, but it's so jarring to hear that she can't help herself. It's not even that interesting, they're saying something about hotels. Still, it makes her stop for a moment. She looks over at them, they're young, maybe in their twenties. Their accent is Chilean, she can recognise it. Her Tia's husband is Chilean. He's from Santiago, though, she's not sure where these guys are from. Maybe the south.
She looks away, turning her attention back to the circling baggage. She sees her blue bag with the purple ribbon. She grabs it and pulls it off the carousel. It's heavy and hits the floor with a thud. She pulls up the collapsable handle, looping it with her violin case. She didn't check-in her instrument. It would have been a disaster if she had.
She checks her phone again to see if her dad has texted her. He hasn't. She frowns. Maybe he's waiting for her at the arrivals area. She heads in that direction. She can't wait to get home, shower and change. She's dead tired. She got no sleep on the plane, too anxious to calm herself down enough for any rest. Not to mention, this nosy white lady sat next to her didn't stop talking the whole two and half hours. Gaby had eventually put on her headphones, but the lady was persistent. She talked about her sister who was a widow, and her sister's rescue cat. The cat was cute, to be fair. She wanted to know why Gaby was travelling to New York and how long for and which school she had gotten into. It was a relief when they landed.
Gaby stops in her tracks as she takes in all the people at arrivals. She searches for her dad but can't find him. She hopes the reason is because he got stuck in traffic and hasn't made it yet, but she knows that's unlikely at this point. She steps aside and gets her phone out with shaky fingers. She calls him.
He picks up after the third ring.
"Yeah," he says.
"Dad, I'm at the airport. Where are you?"
There's a long pause.
"Hey, Carmen is picking you up and dropping you off at home. I couldn't make it, I had court today."
"But you said you'd be here."
He sighs. "I know, I'm sorry."
"How far is Carmen?"
"She should be there any minute now, don't worry."
Her shoulders slump. "Okay."
"I have to go, I'll see you later."
"See you later. Bye," she says and hangs up.
She waits some more and keeps her eyes open for her dad's assistant. She likes Carmen. They've bonded over the years, it's nice knowing another black woman in the city. But it's annoying that her dad couldn't show up at the airport today. She'll see him later, though, and then they can talk if it's not too late.
She takes off her jacket and ties it around her waist. She spots Carmen waving at her through the crowds of people with a big smile. She starts walking towards her. They hug and she takes Gaby's suitcase.
"How was your flight?" she asks.
"Awful."
Carmen laughs.
Gaby smiles.
The car is waiting for them outside. Since her dad's an ADA, he gets a driver; a big guy in a suit with an earpiece. He introduces himself as Logan and puts the luggage in the trunk. They climb into the car, the aircon is on full blast and the radio is playing. A classic rock station. Gaby settles back in her seat as they pull off the curb and head out of the airport.
It's not too long of a drive to Brooklyn but the traffic is bad. Carmen talks with Logan for a bit. Gaby listens. She's not in the mood to join in. That doesn't seem to bother them too much. They're discussing work, anyway. She plays a game on her phone and wins. She texts her friends back. She tries not to think about school, which is in two weeks. She's starting classes at LaGuardia High School. It's competitive and she worries she isn't good enough. She knows that's stupid because she got accepted. But she does and it's irrational. At least she'll get to spend some time with family before classes start. She couldn't come to New York this summer because she had summer school and she missed them. But she'll be seeing them a lot more now.
They arrive at her dad's place. An older tenement-style building. Logan parks the car and gets Gaby's bags out of the trunk. Carmen walks inside with her and takes her up to the apartment. She unlocks the front door and helps with the luggage. Gaby could've done this by herself, but she appreciates Carmen's kindness.
She switches the light on in the hallway and walks into the living room.
"I have to get back to the courthouse," Carmen says. "You'll be okay?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Good, text me if you need anything."
Gaby nods and Carmen leaves, closing the door behind her.
The living room and kitchen are clean and tidy. Maybe a bit dusty. The shutters are open and light streams in from the bay window, brightening up the place. Gaby takes off her jacket and places it on a barstool. She thinks about what to do now that she's here.
It's quiet. There's the hum of the fridge. She goes to open it. There's bread, eggs and expired milk. She throws it away. She could make an omelette. She likes cooking. She cooks with her abuela whenever she comes over. She takes out the eggs. She looks for a pan and grabs a fork from the drawer. She cracks two eggs, then whisks. She grabs the olive oil off the shelf and pours a spoonful onto the pan. It sizzles. She adds the eggs and cooks her omelette.
Once it's ready, she takes a plate and sits down on a barstool. She watches tv. A reality show is on. The omelette tastes good. But she's so starving she thinks anything would taste good at this point. She checks her phone and sends a message to her mom, letting her know she's arrived. Her mom calls her moments later. She picks up. They talk for a few minutes. Gaby doesn't tell her mom that her dad couldn't make it, she knows that would only cause more problems. She says he dropped her off and had to go back to work. Her mom doesn't question it. She says she loves her and hangs up. Gaby finishes eating and puts her plate in the dishwasher. She heads to her room to unpack.
It's small and there's not much of her stuff here. A double bed is pushed up against the window, the sheets are a soft lilac. There's a bedside table, and some shelves with books. On the opposite wall is a desk and chair. That's it. She unzips her suitcase and starts putting clothes away.
By the time she's finished it's dark out. She turns on the rest of the lights in the apartment and double locks the front door. She pulls her braids back into a bun. She heads to the bathroom, showers, puts on lotion, and changes into something more comfortable. Sweats and a hoodie. She goes to the living room to watch more tv. The news is on now and it's bad. There's been a series of rapes on the Upper West side and Jolene Castille, some celebrity chef, is saying she could've been the next victim. She shot and killed a black kid because of it. The trial starts on Monday and there are crowds of protesters outside the courthouse. Gaby bites the inside of her cheek, wondering if her dad is trialling the case. She's not sure what he does as an ADA. They don't talk so much about his job.
She changes the channel and puts on Survivor. She loves this show. She used to watch it all the time with her friend Jamal. They'd make bets on who they thought would get eliminated. This is a rerun. Midway through the next episode, the front door unlocks. She sits up on the couch and tries to see who it is. Her dad. He's home late tonight.
"Gaby?"
"In here," she says.
He steps into the living room, his briefcase in his hand. She gets to her feet and gives him a brief hug. He looks tired. There's tension around his eyes. He takes in her appearance and smiles, it's a sad sort of smile.
"You changed your hair," he says.
She shrugs.
"I like it like this."
"Thanks."
She sits back on the couch. She doesn't continue watching the episode. He looks at the tv and makes a face, like he hates the show. He probably does. He hates any form of reality tv. He likes sitcoms, he's got the complete Seinfeld box set sitting on a shelf in his home office. She remembers him quoting it nonstop when she was a kid. He walks over to the kitchen island and places his briefcase on a barstool. He loosens his tie, a plain navy blue one that matches his pocket square. He removes his suit jacket and carefully drapes it over the barstool. She wants to say something but she's not sure what. He rolls up his shirtsleeves.
She raises her eyebrows.
He opens the fridge.
"Did you eat?"
"I had an omelette earlier," she says.
"Ah."
He seems distracted.
He closes the fridge and sighs. She wonders what he was expecting to find, he didn't go grocery shopping before she arrived. He opens a cabinet above his head and digs something out with a grimace. He turns to show her the packets of spicy ramen that have been there for years. The ones which her abuela hates. Ramen for dinner. She doesn't know how to react at first. If that's all they have in the kitchen, she'll have it. It's fine. He knew she was coming to stay. He must be really busy with work if he hasn't had the time to buy food. She looks at him and it's obvious by his whole demeanour that he's barely keeping it together. It's a little off putting. She nods her head. She won't say anything. It's not a big deal.
He seems relieved. He goes about making dinner and calls her over when it's ready. She turns off the tv and walks to the kitchen. She sets the table, with the nice table mats, and he dishes them two bowls of ramen.
She takes a seat. He sits next to her. She watches him add more paprika. She tries using chopsticks but keeps dropping her food. He watches her, amused. She shakes her head and goes to get a fork. They're quiet for a bit. There are hundreds of things she could say but she's not sure how to start. The words get stuck in her throat. So, she concentrates on her dinner. The noodles taste alright, the spice makes her tongue tingle.
She thinks about the news. What happened with Jolene Castille is fucked up. This is New York City. People like that aren't supposed to exist here. It makes her feel sick that they do. She puts her fork down. She's not hungry anymore.
"What's wrong, mija?" her dad asks.
"The news, Jolene Castille."
He nods for her to continue.
She thinks about her next words, tries to figure out what she really wants to say. They don't usually talk about his work because he says it's inappropriate, but she's not thirteen anymore and this feels relevant to her. She wants to know about it.
"It's a Manhattan special victims' case, isn't it?"
"It is."
She hesitates.
"Are you prosecuting the case?"
"Yes, I am."
She stares at him. "Really?"
"Yes."
"Holy shit."
He gives her a look, she gives him one back. He sighs. Like he regrets sharing any information in the first place. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. She waits for him to say what he wants to say. But he doesn't say anything. He just stands and puts their dishes in the sink. It's annoying when he does that. He tends to shut down conversations before they even begin. She wonders if it's even worth arguing over. No, not tonight. She pushes her stool back and stands up. She shoves the stool back into place, it screeches. She tells him she's going to call mom and heads to her room. He doesn't stop her. She can hear him in the kitchen, washing up.
She switches on the light and closes her bedroom door. She sits on her bed and calls her mom. Her mom's with Gaby's auntie tonight. They gush to her over the phone for a minute. They tell her they miss her and it's not the same over there. They gossip about neighbours and her auntie talks about a bad date. She's heard it before but doesn't mind for once. She's feeling a huge wave of homesickness suddenly. It's overwhelming. Tears well up in her eyes and she squeezes them shut for a moment. She doesn't want her mom to worry. She really doesn't want to talk about it. Thankfully, tears don't fall. She laughs at a joke her mom makes and she cracks her own. They say goodnight and hang up. She turns off her phone and tries to calm down. But she can't. Tears do start falling now and she wipes them away. She clenches her jaw. She doesn't like crying; she doesn't like how it makes her face go all puffy. But it's hard to stop. It feels too real and daunting, her living in New York. She won't be going back to her mom's in St. Louis until Christmas. And this room feels too bare.
In her other room she has posters on the wall. Her favourite musicians, her favourite movies. Books that she likes. The art that she painted, of sunsets and portraits of her friends. They aren't even that good, but her friends love them, so she does too.
She lays back on her bed and looks up at the ceiling. There are five spotlights. She reaches over and switches on her bedside lamp. It casts a warm glow over her bedroom. She remembers getting it when her dad first moved here. She was eleven and she wanted a light that stayed on all night, because she was scared of the dark. They'd gone to find a lamp together at IKEA. It has to be plugged in during the day to charge but lasts a couple of nights, the glow is bright and changes colour. She plays with the switch a few more times. Then she turns it off.
She sits up and closes her blinds. She always feels watched when they're open. She stands and walks back to the kitchen for some water. Her dad is working, he has his briefcase open, and files spread out on the counter. He's writing in a legal pad. She doesn't pay him any mind as she pours herself a glass of water from the sink. She also doesn't look at him. Because if she does, he'll see that she's been crying and then they'll have to talk. Which she really doesn't want to do.
She finishes her glass of water and rinses it. She places the glass on the drying rack. She looks at the picture of her dad and her smiling big at Central Park Zoo. It was her eighth birthday, and she was so excited to see the penguins. She remembers being sick afterwards because of all the ice cream she had.
"You spoke to your mom?" he asks.
"Yeah, she says hi."
"Oh, good."
She turns to him, leaning her back against the sink. He's stopped writing, fiddles with his pen instead. He has a pensive look on his face. She thinks he gets that look a lot when they talk about her mom. She never knows how to react to it. If she should say anything or not. But it almost feels like she's not supposed to see it. She turns away.
"She was with Nadine," she says.
"Nadine."
"Mom's staying over at hers."
He nods, not making eye contact. "That's nice."
She purses her lips. It's like he's purposefully not reacting. He gestures to his work, and she gets the message. She holds her hands up in surrender. She'll go, then. It's not a big deal. Even though it stings a little.
He starts working again and she scoffs. She doesn't mean to do it but she's annoyed. It's her first night here, and she knows he's got this case, but he could at least try and make an effort to talk with her. Maybe she's asking for too much. She wouldn't want to be called spoiled. But it stings. He hears her of course, because he stops and looks up. She waves her hands to the law files and crosses her arms. It's defensive but it's all she can do not to clench her fists.
"Do you really gotta do this now?" she asks. "It's ten thirty on a Saturday night."
He stares at her. "I have a lot of paperwork to do for this trail, Gaby."
"I know that, but still."
"We had dinner together. It was nice. Now I have to work."
She holds the bridge of her nose and groans. It was nice. That's nice. New York's nice. Carmen's nice. Expired milk's nice. Ramen is nice. Everything is fucking nice. Seinfeld is great. Survivor sucks ass. St Louis is shit and New York is nice. It's not a big deal. This is just how it is.
He holds the bridge of his nose. She watches him exhale. She pushes off the sink and starts heading out of the kitchen. She regrets even bringing this up. She wants to forget it and not talk about it again.
"It's fine, I'm gonna go to bed," she says. "I'm tired."
"Hey hey hey, hold on."
She stops, clenching her jaw. She turns around and faces him. He looks stressed. He looks like he's trying hard not to lose his shit. She can relate to that.
"What?" she asks.
"I'm sorry tonight wasn't great, I hadn't planned for any of this to happen."
"Okay."
He pauses, considering her.
"Buenas noches."
Gaby nods, throws him a thumbs up and heads to her room. She sits at her desk and looks at her violin case. She tries to remind herself why she's in this city. She opens her violin case and looks at her instrument. LaGuardia. Her music. Which is the most important thing to her. That's why she's here in New York. The rest doesn't matter, she thinks, even though deep down she knows that it does. She hopes it'll get better.