Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,3
are a good chef, I just . . . I can’t have you in any of my kitchens.” Brad picks up his phone and starts talking with whoever is on the other end. He extends his hand to me and I take it.
“Good luck,” he whispers as we shake hands. He lets go of my hand, spins around in his chair, and continues talking on his cell.
“Thanks,” I say, picking up my backpack. I stand and make eye contact with the painting. I just nod my head. Yep.
I was just fired in the shadow of Britney Spears’s vulva.
2
Croque monsieur on country white bread, potato leek soup, a giant glass of cold water, and an old-fashioned doughnut
I’ve seen the movies: Small-town Girl with her “head in the clouds” moves to the Big City. There’s a makeover montage. There’s a tiny apartment with white twinkle lights; a lovably nosy landlord; and a brand-new group of quirky, irreverent friends. And the pièce de résistance: a scruffy-haired boy (usually named Logan) who adores Small-town Girl because she’s different and not like those “Big City girls.”
I counted on this mythology when I left North Star, Texas (population: 2,000), at eighteen years of age. I knew the lore. The movies. The books. I couldn’t wait to leave everything behind so I, too, could gaze into a Tiffany’s window in oversize sunglasses and opera gloves.
I was certain as I stumbled about New York that I’d soon be welcomed into the ever quickening fold. I’d invite my impossibly beautiful and stylish friends over for dinner parties that would last late into the night. My tiny, twinkle-lighted apartment would be a gathering place with me at its center offering another plate of braised pork or “down-home whatever.”
Still clad in my dark blue chef’s coat from the kitchen where I’d just been fired, I stand outside of Brad’s headquarters and grip my backpack straps. Tighter. Tighter. I know, without even having to look, that I am an unmitigated disaster to behold. I let the streams of people bob and weave past me on the sidewalk, choosing for once to just stop.
I can’t be the only one faking it. I’m not the only lonely small-town girl drowning in this big city. I’m not the only refugee feeling invisible and alone. I’m not the only one who wants to scream, “NOTICE ME! I MATTER!” Maybe everyone is faking it. Maybe they’re just better at it than I am. People walk around me on the street as if I’m not even there. It’s quite something. I left North Star because I was tired of every move I made being tracked and judged by a cabal of gossiping ladies. I oftentimes wished I could go unnoticed as I moved through my life in that tiny town and now here I am. Utterly invisible.
Dreams do come true, kids.
I walk toward Twelfth Street and duck into DiFiore Marquet Cafe. Maybe I’ll find momentary comfort in one of my favorite eateries. A place, by the way, I feel better about going to since I learned it’s just called Marquet. Yes, I’d like a table for one by the window. I pass clutches of studying kids, hushed couples leaning toward each other across wooden tables, and late-lunching New Yorkers stealing away for a moment’s solace. I order a croque monsieur, their potato leek soup, and the biggest glass of cold water they’ve got. I have one more paycheck coming and . . . I can’t think about money right now. I just want to sit and gaze out this window. Of New York, but not in New York.
My sandwich and soup arrive quickly and I dive in. My mind goes blank as the tastes and flavors slide over my tongue, comforting me and bringing pleasure, however transitory.
What am I going to do after I finish this sandwich? I’ve got no job and no place to stay. I bring the spoon to my mouth and try to let the soup soothe me again. Did I really come all the way to New York to work at a Dunkin’ Donuts in the Rockefeller Center subway station? Maybe this is an opportunity? I could take this as a call to adventure! A new city! A new life! A new shot at my elusive dream of belonging somewhere. A new chance at meeting that scruffy-haired boy named Logan. The sandwich begins to turn in my stomach. I take a long drink of my water.