Page 93 of Just Ten Seconds

As we drive to Manhattan, we listen to Kidz Bop radio. Amanda sings every song, which, thankfully, are PG-rated.

The New York State Thruway moves quickly, and the view is lush with the scenic mountains and blue sky. My heart is warmed, and the laughs are easy. Then, we hit the George Washington Bridge, and I get my first glimpse of Manhattan. The cityscape is a stark contrast to the country we just came from. As we drive closer, my heart beats faster, and my stomach rumbles with anxiety. I wasn’t prepared for that.

“You hungry?” Dean’s eyes are on my hands gripping my stomach.

With wide eyes, I swallow. “Yes.”

“Me too! I’m starving,” Amanda beckons from the back seat.

He eyes her through the rearview. “I made you pancakes for breakfast. You ate five and had a banana.”

“I’m a growing girl, and I have a bone to heal.” Her shoulders drop with the sarcastic remark.

I’m waiting for the duh to follow.

Dean smiles despite himself. “Looks like my girls need to eat.”

From my phone, I secure us three seats to see Aladdin on Broadway. The show doesn’t start for a few hours, so we park the car in a garage and walk to Times Square.

I grew up in this city, my childhood home just a train ride away. My mom didn’t take me into the city often, mostly because of her schedule. If we came, it was to walk Central Park because everything else was so expensive. I learned that the hard way when I moved into a five-floor walk-up that cost more in rent than I care to admit. I was too busy working and auditioning that I didn’t enjoy the city as I should have in my early twenties. Then, I met Benjamin, and I lived a part of New York that people can only dream of. For the most part, that elegant lifestyle consisted of the Upper East Side residence and downtown hotspots. The tourist attractions were skipped over.

The congestion, the tourists, the vendors trying to sell you tours and comedy show tickets were too much for him. And don’t even mention the people dressed in costume as characters, standing on a corner for you to take a picture with. Benjamin would have a coronary if he knew I was standing this close to one right now. Or if he knew I was paying five dollars to have the eight-year-old girl I adore take a picture with Dora the Explorer.

As I’m showing Amanda her picture on my iPhone, Dean walks over to a hot-dog cart and holds up two fingers in question to me. I look at him, puzzled, until I realize he’s asking how many hot dogs I want. I scrunch my face as Amanda and I walk over to him.

“None. Thanks,” I answer politely.

He narrows his eyes and lowers his head to me. “Do you not like dirty-water dogs?”

I pucker my mouth at the mention of the nickname. He and Amanda are glaring at me with deep furrows on their brows. Clearly, I’m the odd man out here.

“It’s not that I don’t like them. My mom was always grossed out by them,” I explain.

“Have you never had a hot dog?” He hooks a brow.

“Of course. It was cheap and easy to make at home in the microwave.”

“The microwave?” Dean looks flabbergasted. “That’s sacrilege!”

“Don’t they explode?” Amanda looks up in wonder.

“No, sweetie,” I tell her and then look back at Dean with my hand on my hip. “Why is that such a big deal?”

“Because you’re from New York City. NYC is synonymous with three foods: pizza, bagels, and hot dogs. To not eat from the cart that is an iconic part of your city’s history makes no sense,” he explains.

I tap a foot. “Well, get over it because I am a dirty-water-dog virgin.”

“What’s a virgin?” Amanda is slick to ask.

“Nothing,” Dean and I say simultaneously.

He rubs his forehead with a smile, and I laugh before getting the conversation back on track.

“It’s not a big deal. I was too poor as a kid and too rich as an adult,” I explain, hating myself for it but it’s complete honesty. “It’s not like food trucks are that good.”

“Not that—” He places a hand on his heart and dramatically looks up. “You need to try one,” he insists.

“I don’t think so—”