Seeing Red [Story Preview]

Chapter 4: Emory

I've been in New York for just over a week. Thankfully, my new apartment looks like it did in the Craigslist ad. Except even smaller if that's possible. I'm living in an eclectic part of Chinatown, near the edge of Little Italy. The unit has original wood floors and bright windows. I can't believe it's all mine! I've never had a place of my own and I find myself wanting to decorate every square inch. Which, admittedly won't take long.

I don't know what it is about moving, but even if you only have two full suitcases, it's somehow still exhausting. I've got the bare essentials in place and send Melanie play-by-play pictures to entice her to come visit. I can't even imagine how excited she'll be, showing off her famous dance moves at all the clubs in New York. Maybe I could even convince her to move here, but I know that's a long shot.

I glance at the time on my phone and it's already 2:00 PM. I desperately need to find a coffee shop with Internet connection so I can submit my resume to the various jobs I've saved over the last few weeks. I was able to already put down my deposit and my first month's rent with money from my savings account, but I don't want to push my luck. I made a goal for myself to land a new job within two months of moving to the city.

I walk a few blocks before I come to a quaint looking coffee shop in Little Italy with the imitated old charm of Europe. It has striped awnings and dark paneled walls. The tables are small and cozy. I order an Americano, always the best bang-for-your-buck coffee drink on the menu, and fire up my laptop near the window. Before leaving Chicago, I'd saved several job application postings that I wanted to apply to, so it was just a matter of finalizing all the submission materials and clicking "send."

In terms of what I want to be when I grow up, I still have no idea. Even if I am already technically grown up. I didn't spend much time as a kid daydreaming or thinking about my future. No one had ever really asked me what I wanted to do with my life. The only real hobby I had invested in was drawing doodles and creating visual stories but as soon as I graduated from high school, I put down my sketchbooks and focused on math, which I was always naturally good at; I never really thought of art as something you could do for a real, adult job. I'd always been determined in a quiet sort of way and that had certainly kept me afloat when my dad's boxing gym gigs became more and more unstable. I first realized my strength in math when my dad used to place bets on different boxers in various underground and sanctioned rings. I'd help him calculate how much he needed to win back to break even. It was always about breaking even for him, he never made a profit. Studying accounting wasn't glamorous but it was reliable and satisfying when all the numbers lined up perfectly. But landing a job at a top accounting firm in New York would be a long and competitive process. When I reached back out to my college career advisor, letting her know I was moving to New York, she recommended I apply for executive assistant positions to get a good company name on my resume. Hence the ten open tabs for related jobs currently taking up space in my Internet browser.

After about three hours, I'm finally done. My eyes feel bloodshot from staring at the screen for so long, tediously adjusting my application for each specific position or application portal. I hear my stomach audibly growl and realize I haven't eaten a full meal today. I order some pasta to go and ask the young woman at the checkout for a nearby market to buy some basic items on my grocery list. Learning to cook would definitely have to be a new to-do on my list since I'd been living off of frozen dinners and takeout with my Dad for the past few years. My mom would cook occasionally, but no one in my family could claim themselves to be a chef.

I take my to-go container from the counter. "Wow, this smells amazing." I smile back at the woman and finish putting away my laptop accessories in my leather satchel.

"Hell yeah it is! Made it myself." She winks at me and before I can respond, she moves back into the kitchen as someone yells out loudly between pots clanging. This place may have to be my new go-to until I learn how to use my doll-sized apartment kitchen.