Page 11 of Five Years
Leah squinted, confused. “Is everything okay?”
New York was the fourth most populated state in the whole of the United States—it was by no means a small place.
“Uh-huh. Sorry. I’m just delirious. I rarely see past midnight these days,” Ariana explained.
She looked nervously through the full-length windows on the right. They were the type of windows that exposed every patronon the inside because of their sheer size. The outside was too dark to make out anything other than a distant street lamp.
“It was nice seeing you tonight,” Leah admitted. “When I moved to New York, I understood the possibility of one day bumping into you, but I honestly thought the city would at least allow me a few months to settle in,” she said light-heartedly.
“Ahh, well that’s your first rookie mistake,” Ariana said, placing a hand on Leah’s shoulder. “This city does whatever the hell it wants, when it wants. I guess that’s the beauty of it.”
Ariana took a step forward and wrapped her arms around Leah.
“I hope to see you again one day,” she murmured against Leah’s ear, her voice barely above a whisper.
When they pulled away, their eyes locked. Leah could still feel the connection they once shared, beating down the walls of her heart with unexpected intensity.
“I should go,” Ariana broke the silence. “Take care of yourself, Leah.”
“You too, Ariana.”
THREE
There were ten floors in Leah’s apartment complex. She resided on floor number eight, which allowed her a view of sorts, but New York wasn’t known for its low-rise buildings, and therefore a real view was often reserved for the residents willing to pay 25% more on average for a higher floor––she wasn’t. Despite her fear of missing out, she did love her apartment. On a clear night, between the skyscrapers, she had a distorted view of the Hudson River on her left, but directly in front of her, just a block away, was the real reason she chose the apartment.
The view of Washington Square Park was the ultimate selling point. Leah remembered summers spent in and amongst the tree-lined pathways, watching the street performers in awe. She found it peaceful to sit within the chaos—the irony of that still intrigued her. The popular arch appeared in many of her photos. It became the backdrop to countless New York trips, but there was a more prominent memory made within the park, one she didn’t like to admit still held a firm place in her mind’s eye.
The event changed from time to time. The more she pictured it, the more she convinced herself it wasn’t as magical as it seemed—but it was. She knew it. Deep down, the feeling that erupted so forcefully throughout her body six years ago was impossible to forget. She recalled the summer’s day in July like a movie playing in her mind. Every small detail was still pronounced—the gentle breeze, the saxophone player in the distance, the sweet smell of daffodils, and the dazzling, sunset-coloured tulips glistening all around her.
It was Leah and Ariana’s second trip to the city. The most recent heatwave had cast a humid shadow over the whole of New York. Locals and tourists were finding any opportunity to seek refuge from the sweltering conditions.
After watching many residents immerse themselves in the cool water of the Washington Square fountain, they too did the same. Ariana twirled and spun through the shallow waters, her laughter ringing out, her long chestnut curls falling around her shoulders, a twinkle in her green eyes as she playfully splashed the water in Leah’s direction. Leah captured the moment in one singular photo. The blur didn’t take away from the beauty of the moment. The camera captured the droplets of water dancing through the air, the green trees providing a canopy of shade, and the sun cutting across Ariana’s face at the opportune time. Her colourful sundress billowed in the gentle breeze, her bare feet kicked out of the water—and what was captured on the flipside of the lens was pure joy. Leah had never seen Ariana so carefree.
They danced in the fountain until their bare feet felt the wrath of the solid stone at the base. The connection they shared was evident, their movement fluid, and their laughter harmonising like a melody only the two of them could hear. Leah remembered the cool marble of the fountain’s edge as she took a seat. She was soaking wet, her body was perspiring and producing goosepimples at the same time, and amongst all the captivating chaos the only thing that remained in focus was Ariana.
It was the single most wondrous moment Leah could remember—and there were a lot of moments with Ariana, each of them more special than the last—but that day, the feeling in the pit of her stomach as she looked deep into her eyes was a moment she could never forget, despite years of trying. She hoped to spend the rest of her summer days dancing in the fountain with Ariana, but it wasn’t meant to be.
She adjusted a photo frame on her gallery wall. It was almost complete—a display of frames in various sizes and colours adorned the wall that ran from the entrance of her apartment to the living area. Her collection had grown significantly over thepast five years. Leah wasn’t much of a creative herself, but she admired the artistic talent that many possessed.
Instead, she honed her own talent, which had an eye for detail. Some people would assume that finding pieces of art—especially by street vendors in the cities of America—was a simple thing to do, and it was, to a degree, but Leah had a knack for finding the artists with less social presence. It had become a hobby of sorts.
She had rearranged her furniture twice since she moved in—once because the sunlight reflected off the television, and the second time because the sofa felt more inviting facing the entrance, as opposed to away from it. The plush emerald green sofa served as the focal point in the room. She slumped into her spot on the left side. The sofa was six years old. No amount of fluffing the cushions was going to bring it back to life, but she couldn’t part ways with it. Despite the shabby Leah-sized imprint, it was too comfortable.
She kicked off the array of decorative pillows, stretching her arms above her head, and pressing her body deep into the padding below. It took Leah months to find the perfect combination of texture and pattern for her cushion collection. Now, most of them ended up on the floor, dusting the hardwood with their cosy fabric. She stretched over and removed the glass of wine from her vintage cocktail cart. She purchased it with the intention of hosting impromptu gatherings, but in reality, she only used it to place her beverage on. The bottles of fancy alcohol and the crystal glassware were rarely put to use.
The cosy reading nook by the window featured a grey armchair draped with numerous throws, none of which she had any real purpose for when purchased, other than she liked the colour—or the texture—or both. Now, the combination of four different throws created a spongy snug that she avoided, unless her attention was to remain immobile for four hours. Once you got in, you didn’t get out.
The second day she arrived in New York she found a thrift store that had a stack of vintage books. The spines were shabby, and the pages torn, but amongst the 300+ dust-gathering clumps of paper, she found eight books worthy of saving. The owner gave her eight for the price of four, so clearly he didn’t think they were worth saving. The stack of books sat beside her chair purely for aesthetic purposes—she had no intention of reading a hundred-year-old book about farming in Canada. In recent months, Leah had ventured into the world of audiobooks. It was more convenient, and it enlivened all the dull tasks she had to do on a daily basis.
A glass of wine was her Friday night tipple. It signified the end of a long week, and the start of a work-free weekend. After she parted ways very swiftly with the homophobic girl band she met when she first arrived, she decided that navigating the city alone was the safer option. Every Friday night she called her best friend back in Michigan. Grace was happily married, a parent to the most perfectly proportioned one-year-old boy, and she also happened to be Ariana’s sister—which made her the first-class choice of person to divulge all the details of the night before.
“Hey, cutie,” Grace chirped.
“Hey, you’re right on time,” Leah sounded surprised. She had no doubt that having a baby changed everything—that included time management. Grace was available only when Ezra allowed her to be.
“Aren’t I always?”
“Erm . . .” Leah hesitated.
