I finish unpacking my last bag, a Louis Vuitton Keepall Chantal bought me before I left. She said I should be going to New York with some style and was concerned that if I didn't look the part, I would be ignored. The room is smaller than I was hoping it would be, but it will do. I make a list of posters to buy so it feels more like home but realize it won't feel like home, at least for a while. I was fortunate to get picked by a fraternity with a big enough house that I have to share a room with only one other person for the first year. Next year, I might get my own room, and if I don't, I'll have my own room by year three. At least that's what my advisor told me.
I text back and forth with Chantal throughout the day. What's she doing, what am I doing, her internship with the senator, what my room is like—the kind of small talk that takes up the day. I send her some pictures to which she replies, "Quaint." She tells me it's small and tells me the bed is too small for two people and asks where she'll sleep when she comes. I tell her we'll stay in a hotel. She's two hours behind me, so she's eating a late dinner by the time I'm going to bed. She sends me some pictures of her food, an elk burger with some string sweet-potato fries, and tells me she misses me already, so I tell her miss her, too. I don't tell her Natasha is in town and I'm going to her photo shoot tomorrow. It's just better that way. She sends back a picture of her pretending to kiss the camera. "For you," she says. I send back a kissing emoji, then go to my closet to pick something out for tomorrow.
YOU ARE READING
The Heir of New York
General FictionNew York changes people, and not always for the better. Evan and Chantal have a life planned together, but when he moves to New York to attend University, things go off track when he runs into an old flame from high school.
