Page 3 of This Changes Everything

I had been in New York for a total of three hours, and I already felt like a different version of myself. I wasn’t sure how much of that had to do with my traumatizing night before, but I was different nonetheless. I didn’t know who this new person was yet, but I was free, scared, and excited. I also pretended I wasn’t instantaneously homesick and so overwhelmingly heartbroken that I could hardly catch my breath.

A wave of heat hurtled toward me and my dad on the staircase like we had been blasted inside a wind tunnel. Another train had come into the station below. The warmth washed over me and propelled me into a memory of Rory and me standing at my door, sixteen years old and flushed with nerves, excitement, awe, and fear. His brother, Cameron, and my best friend, Kara, were waiting for him in the driveway, ready to go.

“I don’t know what to do right now.” Rory carefully moved his forehead to mine. His sweet, shallow breath seeped into my bones.

“Rory, let’s go!” Cameron called out the Jeep’s window and honked.

I wanted so badly to lean in, skim my nose along his, part my lips, and see what would happen. I wanted so badly to move my hands into his dark-brown, loose curls, but I didn’t. I closed my eyes instead and felt his warm breath steadily coat my skin.

“Rory, they can see us.” I kept my voice small and quiet, and my words only for him.

“I don’t think I care . . .”

Cameron honked louder and longer this time. I could hear Rory’s lips pull into a smile, and we both started laughing.

“On your left!” A stranger bumped my shoulder, rushing down the stairs to catch the next train, slapping me back to reality.

“Oh, sorry,” I said instinctively, even though she was the one who hit me. I watched her work blazer flap in the wind as she clutched onto the railing with one hand, barreling down the stairs. Her other hand popped above her head, and her middle finger raised high and proud. I pulled my face back, surprised that someone had just randomly told me to “fuck off ” minutes after getting off the train.

My dad and I had taken the E train from our hotel, which sat near the Empire State Building, before I moved into a converted hotel-turned-apartment building called Grayrock on the Upper West Side. It was one of the very few buildings in the affluent neighborhood that had yet to be bought by a developer and renovated. Two beds sat in the middle of the tiny studio apartment, divided by a small nightstand. The walls were made of concrete, so that no one could hear my screams. There was a small fridge, an electric grill, and an oven at the foot of the beds that was considered unsafe for use but too big to move. The kitchen sink was also the bathroom sink. Oh, and there were most definitely what one would assume to be murder stains all over the gray carpet.

After I found the apartment on my own, my overprotective parents were on high alert and weren’t about to let me vet a roommate on my own. I had to agree to let them come with me to New York to help me settle in. It was the only way they would support my taking on this irresponsible (in their opinion), yet inevitable (in my opinion) adventure. I needed a roommate and a job, but because I was Canadian and only had a student visa, I promised my parents that I would find a roommate and take on internships to build real-world connections and work on a backup plan should I never catch that pesky little dragon. My parents and my sister were the realists. I was the asshole.

My dad cupped the back of my neck to pull me in and kiss the top of my head. “Okay. I’ll go. But before I go back down there”—my dad nodded down the stairs into the busy subway station—“and you’re off in the wind up there . . .” We both looked up at the enormous buildings blocking the late-summer, early-evening sky. “I love you.” I saw my dad shift his weight and prepare to tell me his next sentence. “Your mom’s flying back tonight.”

“What?” I almost fell over from whiplash. “We just got here! We literally just got here.”

“Your grandma had a fall—”

“What?!” My eyes twitched.

“She’s okay, take it down three notches. Your mom got a voicemail when we were on the plane, and we didn’t say anything until now because we didn’t want to interfere with your big night. But she’s not going to be there when you get back tonight, so that’s why I’m telling you.”

“She didn’t say goodbye.” I searched my brain for exactly what transpired when we left my mom in Bryant Park. Well . . . Now that I thought about it, she did seem to cry an unusual amount over her luke-warm afternoon coffee. She wished me good luck, and she squeezed my face between her palms with an intense look in her eyes that I had shrugged off as “Mom is nuts.” Come to think of it, she did scream “I love you, Ellie-Bee” so loud that everyone in the park stopped what they were doing to slowly look at the overly emotional crazy lady sobbing into her pain au chocolat.

“Your mom knew if she said a proper goodbye, she wouldn’t be able to leave, but all is good. I’m staying until we find your roommate, so it’s fine. It’s all fine.” My dad was trying to sound like he had things under control. He didn’t.

“You don’t know how to do that,” I declared accusingly. “You don’t know how to be a person like that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” my dad asked defensively.

“Life stuff is Mom. You’re here for the fun.”

“It’s okay, I have a plan. You find a roommate. I’ll humanize you by showing them you have a family, so they’ll think twice before killing you.” My dad grinned mischievously.

“This is just . . . a lot of information.” I blinked heavily. There was too much swirling around my mind.

Mom. New York. Orientation. Rory. No friends. Grandma. Roommate. Rory.

I looked down, feeling the weight of everything at my feet. Nope. Never mind. It was a rat. There was a rat on my shoe.

“Ahhhhhhh!” I screamed then booted the rat against the stairwell’s wall. As it scurried away back down the stairs, I looked at my dad with my eyes wide open, and he doubled over with laughter.

“Okay, honey.” My dad kept chuckling. “I can’t wait to hear about how it all goes tonight. Also, your mom wanted you to have this. Please, I’m begging you, read it when I’m gone. You’ll see what I’m talking about.”

My dad handed me a letter and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before turning back to catch the next train.

I may have failed at concealing my cry as I choked out “Dad?”