APRIL 11
ONE WEEK LATER
RECOMMEND LISTENING TO: 'MEANS SOMETHING' BY LIZZY MCALPINE
I walk with a coffee in hand. It's from my favorite coffee shop, but it tastes more bitter than it usually does. If I didn't spend so much on it, I would throw it away.
There's more street vendors than usual too. I glance at all the signs, but I don't stop at any of them. They line the streets, inching into my personal space in order to make me buy something random.
I pass someone in a lime green sweatshirt. The bright color draws my attention before I see the smile stamped on it.
For the past week I've had an uneasy feeling in me. I don't know if it's because Magnolia is slowly moving out of the office, or if it's that Ben is leaving for Washington State in a week. Everything around me is changing in a way I should've been prepared for.
Something inside of me wishes for the world to stop spinning in order for me to gather my thoughts, but this is New York. It's not stopping for anyone.
If only someone could tell me what I should do. Maybe I should go to a fortune teller. Not the one on the end of my street, but a real one. I need to know if my life is even going in the right direction because right now I barely know if I'm headed towards my actual apartment.
Strangers bump me around in the street, and I struggle to keep walking forward.
"Do you want Clay?" a vendor asks me.
I stumble out of the crowd next to their small tent. "What?"
"Clay." They hold out modeling clay for me.
"Oh." I shake my head. "No thank you."
I keep going with the crowd.
My apartment feels like a safe haven. Nothing has changed since I've last been here, and I find sanctuary in that.
I slip off my shoes and put on some of Sapnap's merch. I lay on my bed; my eyes search the ceiling for answers to questions that haven't been properly asked.
I know I need to do something, to keep my hands busy. I stand from my bed and walk back over to the kitchen.
Maybe if I just clean off the counter, I'll feel better.
I start with some mail and papers. I sort them into different piles for recycling or to be filed. Some of them need to be dropped off at the office, too. I stop when I come across an all-too familiar brochure.
My fingers brush the indents of the handwriting. "What are you thinking, Maggie?" I whisper.
I flip through the pamphlet like I have so many times. I read her little notes, subconsciously looking for an answer that won't be in there.
Why is it only Maggie's scribbles? I wonder. Where is my handwriting? Where's my bucket list?
I put the pamphlet down, trying to remember all those years, all those times Maggie talked of her dreams and aspirations to travel. Then, I try to think of where I wanted to go most?
I struggle to find it.
What was something that I scribbled about my plans in? What city did I push to go to first? How did I plan to decorate our apartment when we got there?
I come up with nothing.
I squint at one of the buildings of the skyline, realizing for the first time that somethings written along the side in thin marker.
Maggie Thatcher.
I read the name Thatcher and think of Ben. He's planning all these crazy trips just like she did. They're one in the same with these kinds of things, aren't they?
I like my place in New York. I liked my life in Florida. I like the calm, settled life that I've come up with. I like knowing where I'm going to be living next year. Moving was fun, but you eventually have to sit down with yourself and ask what you're running away from.
_ _ _
Ben and I walk along the sidewalk. We're holding hands, but neither of us has said a word. I want to say something. I want to tell him that I've had a rough week, and I don't know what to do. I want to tell him that I feel lost. I want to tell him life is moving too fast around me.
"I found some of Maggie's brochures," was what I eventually came up with, even though it's not what I wanted to talk about.
"Really?" he asks, "I just had my mom send her Washington ones to me. I found some cool stuff to do in there."
"Have you looked anything up for what you want to do?" I nudge him playfully, hoping to make the conversation a bit lighter.
"I trust her instincts." He shrugs. "I think I need the year to just be with her, you know?"
My steps falter at his words, but aren't those the same words I said before I moved here?
I want to tell him that she wasn't always right. I remember moving to New York and saying I was going to do everything on her list. Now, I would say that almost everything on that list was a waste of time; none of it captured New York.
The essence of New York isn't a crowded street, but it's the rushing feeling of trying to make your train on time. The essence of New York is nights on the roofs while the rest of the city fails to sleep. The essence of New York isn't the parties or drinking or the crazy life it's made out to be, but it's the quiet moments with the people you care about.
"y/n?" Ben has stopped on the sidewalk with me now.
I turn towards him, but I catch sight of myself in the store window behind him instead.
The person in the reflection has wide eyes as if they're scared to see me. They're stopped in the middle of the sidewalk like an idiot, staring into a window.
I don't even recognize myself in New York anymore. I mean, it's me right there, but I'm wearing someone else's clothes. I'm living someone else's life.
Who am I to be out on a Friday night? Who am I to not be watching movies on the couch with my friends? Who is this person I've become?
I can see Maggie's handwriting clouding my vision.
Her ideas.
Her bucket lists.
Maggie.
Maggie.
Maggie.
It was all Maggie. Maggie was the one who had all these crazy dreams to travel. Not me.
Maybe I wanted that a long time ago. Maybe that was my vision when I was sixteen, but I'm an adult now. I've changed, and it's time I've acknowledged it.
I have to stop living someone else's plan and live my own now.
"y/n?" Ben repeats himself.
I snap out of my trance. The streets are loud, and I'm being pushed around. There's a ringing in my ears.
"I'm sorry, Ben," I tell him.
His brows furrow. "What? What happened?"
I shake my head slowly. "I can't go with you."
"Oh." He sounds disappointed. "Well, that's okay."
"I'm sorry," I whisper, but I doubt he heard it.
He studies my facial expressions with a worried look of his own. "You can't go with me or you can't be with me?"
The words sting more than I thought they would, and I can tell they hurt him to say too.
I meet his eyes, and I think the same thing I had thought almost a year ago: Ben and I are very different people with a similar past.
We both miss someone who has shaped us into the people we are today, and I think sometimes we're using each other to feel Maggie's presence again. We are both very broken, but that doesn't mean we're supposed to get our pieces mixed together.
"I'm sorry, Ben," I repeat.
He just nods in understanding. "Let's get you home, then."
I don't know how he knew what I needed. I guess that's just because that's who Ben Thatcher is.
"Yeah, I think it's best I go back to my apartment."
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
hey guys! this story will be finished in the next 1-2 days!
my next story is going to be a georgenotfound x reader, and it will be out the day this story is complete so you won't have to miss a day of reading :)
it's called 'thirty-six hours with you':
"Absolutely not." My voice is lined with disgust.
"Oh come on," Dream is still trying to convince me, "It's just a car ride."
"Yeah, a thirty-six hour one." My eyes narrow at George in the passenger seat now. "Thirty-six hours with you."
George crosses his hands. "Don't think I'm thrilled about all this either."
(a story in which y/n is stuck on a thirty-six hour car ride with their online rival, George.)
have an amazing day <3