“New Zealand. Do you know where that is?”
He frowns again. “Of course.”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. I don’t imagine American kids learn much about New Zealand.
We lapse into awkward silence, me standing halfway up the staircase holding a pizza box, him sitting in the hall with his book and backpack.
“So, why are you sitting out here?” I ask eventually. I want to ask why he was crying but don’t want to embarrass him again.
“I’m waiting for Dad to get home. He’s running late.”
I feel a pang of sympathy. It’s nearly eight o’clock. He must be hungry. “Did you have dinner?”
He shakes his head.
“Well, if you want, I have way too much pizza here. Would you like some?”
His eyes drift to the box and he bites his lip. “I… shouldn’t.”
Well, I guess I am a random stranger offering him food in a hallway. Probably the right answer. But I can tell he desperately wants a piece and I know it’s safe for him to eat.
“When is your dad getting home?”
He shrugs.
“Hmm. Okay, I’ll be right back.” I pop down the stairs and into the apartment, putting a few slices of pizza on a plate for myself, then take the rest up in the box. I set it down next to him, pausing. “You’re not allergic to dairy or gluten or anything, are you?”
He shakes his head and I relax.
“Okay, cool. Well, I’ve taken all I want, so if you feel like eating some you can, and if you don’t that’s okay too.” I smile gently.
He looks at me, examining my face like he’s trying to figure me out. “What’s your name?”
“Alex.”
“I’m Henry.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Henry. I’m staying downstairs. I’m going to go and eat my pizza now.” I turn to go, then glance back. “Will you be okay here?”
His gaze wanders over to the pizza box and he nods. “Dad should be home soon.”
“Okay. I hope you feel better.”
He gives me a little smile, revealing a cute dimple in his cheek. “Thanks.”
I head down the stairs, wait for a moment, then peek back up over the top step. He’s devouring a slice of pizza and I grin to myself as I head back inside.
7
Americans are obsessed with Halloween. So many stoops on the walk back to Cat’s place tonight are crowded with pumpkins or plastic skeletons. Some even have masses of white cobwebs over the railing. But it’s fun.
I wish I could say the same about work. Well, today wasn’t so bad. Being Halloween, fewer people noticed the crazy woman on the street in a wedding dress. But otherwise, it’s pretty demeaning. It’s cold out and when I asked my manager if I could wear a jacket, she told me to “toughen the fuck up” or she’d find someone else. And a few days ago, someone threw a soda can at me as they drove past. It didn’t hit me, thankfully—their aim was shit—but it gave me a hell of a fright. I didn’t spend four years at university to do this.
I wander through the Village, crossing over 7th Ave and heading along Charles Street, crunching through the carpet of orange and yellow leaves. They smell sweet and musky in that way that fallen leaves do, and I let out a heavy sigh. I’m loving being in the city, but it’s been two weeks and I’m still sleeping on Cat’s sofa. And while I’m enjoying the cuddles with her tiny pug Stevie, I want my own place. I’m trying, believe me, but it just feels impossible. Every place I’ve looked at is either absurdly expensive or impossible to get because there are so many people looking. It’s a nightmare.
I know writing will make me feel better, but I haven’t been doing it. I wrote one blog post a week ago and that’s it. Between apartment hunting and surviving at work, I just have no inspiration.
I shake my head firmly, deciding that tonight, I’m going to write. Just the thought of that lifts my spirits.
My phone buzzes in my bag and I pull it out to see a missed call from Mum. Guilt nudges me in the chest and I pause on the sidewalk, my finger hovering over the call button. I haven’t spoken to my parents since arriving in the city. I’ve texted them, so they know I’m alive, but I know that if I talk to Mum she’ll ask a million questions—or worse, she’ll remind me what a mistake I’ve made. And given I’m working in a shitty job and still technically homeless, I’m worried I might just end up agreeing with her.
No. I can’t face her right now.
I jam my phone back in my bag and continue, shivering in the early evening air. I’m only wearing my white leggings and tank top under a thin jacket and it’s quite cold. The sky has turned a dark, slate gray, the air cool and thick with the promise of rain. Just as I turn down our street, the sky completely opens upon me, turning the streets to rivers in seconds. My jacket is soaked through, my clothes drenched as I dash along the pavement, dodging people in dripping Halloween costumes. Finally, I reach the building and push the front door open. I can’t wait to get inside, take a long hot shower, and settle down with my laptop.
“Hold the door!” I hear behind me as I duck in out of the rain.
I hold it with one hand, using the other to peel off my soggy jacket. I can feel my clothes sticking to me all over, my hair dripping down the sides of my head.
“Hi, Alex!” I look up to see Henry in a raincoat, giving me a bright smile.
“Hi, Henry.” I return his smile, rummaging in my bag for my keys, trying not to create a puddle in the foyer.
“Dad! This
