The morning light spilled across the deflated landscape of my temporary bed, casting elongated shadows that seemed to play along with the uncertainty that filled the room. Alton's relaxed form beside me was a sharp contrast to the tension I harbored about my financial drought.
"Alton," I ventured, the word floating between us like a hesitant bubble, "what is it that you do? For work, I mean."
He turned his head, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he offered a lopsided grin. "A little bit of this, a little bit of that," he replied, the vagueness wrapped in a tone that suggested mystery rather than evasion.
"Must be some 'this and that' to afford living here," I said, trying to keep my tone light while my mind churned with curiosity. The rent in our building was a figure that made my wallet weep silently at night.
"Ah," he chuckled, stretching languidly. "I go to NYU."
"NYU?" My eyebrows arched. "Are you working on your master's?"
"Nope, undergrad. Business major." His admission came with an easy shrug.
"Undergrad?" I repeated, almost a whisper. He was 23, a detail that hung in the air, an invisible line drawn between experience and youth. I couldn't help but marvel at how New York was a city of contradictions, where students lived like executives and blow-up mattresses served as beds for those who once had it all.
The thought of the sleek coffee machine he'd gifted me, a machine that seemed too extravagant for a student's budget, flickered in my mind. But I pressed my lips together, tucking away the question like a note in a drawer meant for later discovery.
"Business, huh?" I said instead, rolling the word around my mouth as if tasting a new flavor. "That's practical."
"Practical and boring, some might say," he responded, a teasing sparkle in his gaze.
"Never underestimate practicality," I mused aloud, though the quip felt more like a reminder to myself—a mantra to soothe the itch of unease about my own impractical situation.
I lay there, the texture of the vinyl mattress clinging to my skin, feeling the pull of life's many directions. Accepting challenges seemed woven into the fabric of this city, stitched into every hurried step on the pavement and each dreamer's heavy sigh.
The city's hum seeped through the window, a symphony of car horns and distant chatter—a reminder that the world was awake while I lay adrift in Alton's blue-eyed youth. My heart skipped, then sank. "Twenty-three," I exhaled, the number ballooning in the small space between us. A decade plus two—a gap wide enough to swallow my certainties whole.
"Is something wrong?" Alton's brow furrowed, his concern genuine as he propped himself on one elbow, peering at me.
"Nothing," I managed to say, forcing a smile while my mind raced with arithmetic I wished didn't matter. Twelve years. It wasn't just an age difference; it was a lifetime of choices, a collection of paths taken or ignored. His life was a canvas with broad strokes of primary colors, mine a mosaic of hues, some shining, others faded.
"Jade, what do you do?" he asked, oblivious to the storm brewing within me. "For work, I mean."
I drew in a breath, the truth heavy on my tongue. But instead, I offered a sliver of it, wrapped neatly in optimism. "Came here for a fresh start," I said, painting over the layoffs and lost titles with a stroke of reinvention. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't quite the full picture either.
"New beginnings are good," Alton replied, his voice light, unaware of the weight they carried—the fear they cloaked.
"Absolutely." The word bounced around us, hollow but hopeful.
YOU ARE READING
Basic Neighbors
ChickLitJade Sullivan used to have it all. She had a high-paying corporate job, a comfortable life, and the security that came with it. But when she lost her job, she knew she had nothing left to use. With no family or friends to convince her otherwise, Jad...
