Page 55 of Ewan

Overall, I look more like a guest than a server, but I’ll deal with it later if it becomes a problem.

I hope it won’t.

I toss one last glance in the mirror.

Yes, I’ll probably draw too much attention, and I’m not so sure it will be the kind that generates more tips.

It is what it is.

I spin around and scoop out a narrow belt from the back of an armchair. I fasten it around my waist, and without looking in the mirror, I brush my hand over my skirt and run my fingers through my hair, which only adds more volume to it, before sliding my coat on.

I debated with myself whether to take the train or not, and eventually, I settled for getting a cab to the train station and then another one in New York.

The car awaits me in the street when I walk out.

A cloud of white steam lifts from my lips, and the few drops of perfume I put on my skin explode into a mushroom of flavor in contact with the cold air.

Ten minutes later, I step out of the cab and walk onto the platform.

I used to work in Manhattan, so I know the train schedule by heart.

Before long, the train arrives, and I welcome the nice temperature inside.

Very few people travel on a Sunday evening, especially going to Manhattan. A week before Christmas, things slow down.

Excited that I haven’t ruined my shoes, I slide into a seat by the window and look outside.

I used to love these trips to Manhattan when I was little. I didn’t mind the chaos in the streets. The noise. The variety of things you could see and do.

It still holds the same fascination for me, but I no longer see myself living over there. As much as I envisioned my life unfolding in Manhattan and wrestled with the idea of living in Long Island, my big dreams of making it over there are slowly fading.

Besides, I love my life here.

I’ve lucked out with the private school I work for.

And I grew accustomed to having Mrs. Eisenhower as my neighbor despite her being the nosy self that she is.

With that being said, I still enjoy the tumultuous life in Manhattan, looking up at the high risers and imagining the excitement of a high-octane life.

Maybe I won’t teach forever.

Maybe I’ll reinvent myself in a year or two.

Or maybe I’ll end up like my friend, Amalia, who has moved to Connecticut and lives in a quaint town where she raises her twins and teaches exclusively online.

You never know what life has in store for you.

The swarming crowd in the Manhattan train station sobers me up. The space spins with me as my brain struggles to adjust to the dizzying pace the people move in and out.

Holding my bag close to my chest, I pace out of the station, find a cab, and head to the address Sammy has given me.

She, for instance, lives in New York and can’t stop praising it for what an exciting place it is, despite looking to buy a house in Long Island.

Perhaps, her working her butt off has to do more with buying something in Manhattan than in Long Island.

Although I can’t envision the kind of job that comes with that type of money.

I enter the place a few minutes before seven.

---