And when those who couldn’t entered the train, we banded together in our own, silent way as though we were forming a phalanx with our bags as shields and winter hats as helmets. We survived this way, and it was an odd sort of comfort as I hunkered down with my cello between my legs and waited for the time to pass.
I only looked up once—a mistake I rarely made. The man sitting across from me was young, with a dark sweep of hair expertly styled, a thick sweater, jeans, and bright, wide eyes. He was unabashedly staring at me, and I had the urge to hold his gaze until he looked away, but I wasn’t brave enough.
I wasn’t in the position to pick a fight. I wouldn’t have won no matter how lucky I got.
Instead, I pulled my cello closer and ducked my head until my stop arrived. It was easy to get lost in the crowd after that, and when I glanced behind me, I didn’t see him among the throngs of people exiting.
Taking a breath, I made my way to the surface, breathing in the air that smelled like the strangest mixture of car exhaust, fresh air, and something baking. My street didn’t boast a lot of warm, welcoming places, but there was food at least. There were homes and families, and there was a mood to the area like once you were in it, you wouldn’t want to leave.
I wasn’t quite there yet, but maybe with a bit more money and the ability to move somewhere that wasn’t in some subterranean hovel, I would.
That thought, oddly, put a smile on my face. It reminded me of growing up in the city. And then of school before Nicolai. Before all the isolation and the arrogance, which had me tripping over my own shattering ego. I’d had friends who were almost as close as family. We’d spent nights bashing around London, having a piss-up at the pubs that didn’t bother asking us how old we were.
We’d take bets on who could get back into the dorms without waking up our house head, and we’d smile all the way through detention because we were too damn drunk not to get busted in the too-quiet halls.
They were the moments I felt free, like my whole life was ahead of me.
They were the people who laughed at my nerves and made me feel like although I was a bit of a neurotic freak, it was something about me they could love. Cutting them off had been the most painful thing I’d done, but the worst of it was that I hadn’t felt regret until the moment I realized just how alone I was.
Slipping into the little bodega not too far from my building, I snagged one of the handbaskets with a squeaky handle and rested it against the crook of my arm.
There wasn’t much to actually shop for, and there was no hope of finding proper tea, but I found a cheap box of Lipton that looked only slightly worse for wear, and the place had a small refrigerated section, so I grabbed a half gallon of milk, some butter, a loaf of bread that wasn’t moldy, and then as many ramen packages as I could.
I was getting dangerously close to the edge of my budget, but I told myself it would be worth it. I did my best not to wince as the total went up and the tired looking cashier bagged everything, but I swiped my card and said a little prayer, breathing easy when it went through.
The bag weighed heavier on my arm with the weight of the responsibility that this food had to feed me until God only knew when, and I trudged down the street and into the sad little lobby before heading down the stairs. As my eyes adjusted to the darker space, my heart gave a massive thud in my chest when I realized my apartment door was open.
Panic hit like a second wind, and I almost stumbled backward, but then a familiar face appeared.
My uncle. He stood there looking older, and a little thinner, than the last time I’d seen him but otherwise the same. It was a strange and sudden thought that I was now more familiar with his face than I had been with my own parents’. There would come a time where I’d known him longer, and that made my stomach hurt.
“Will you be coming and going very much?” he asked as I walked closer.
“Uh, I don’t know. No more than anyone else does probably,” I said, feeling strangely guilty, though I didn’t know why. I hefted my cello a little higher on my back as he stepped to the side to give me room so I could make it through the narrow door. “It’s nice to see you, Uncle Raymond.”
He grunted, his customary hello. As usual, there was never any real kindness to him, just obligation. “I took the liberty of bringing you a few things.”
I glanced around the apartment, but nothing looked changed until I saw one of the kitchen cabinets hanging open. There were a few more plates on the bottom shelf and cups on the top. I set the bags on the counter, then rested my cello against the wall before I turned to face him.
In the kitchen light, I saw a few more wrinkles along his forehead, a few more whisps of grey hair around his temples.
He looked a lot like my mother and nothing like me. I was cursed with brown curls that never behaved and a face that looked perpetually like I was contemplating murder.
“I’m glad you stopped by,” I finally said, reaching deep for my sense of manners. “I was hoping I’d be able to thank you in person.”
“You don’t need to thank me for this,” he said. His lip curled up in a faint sneer, which told me he knew this place was a hole. “It’s all I could do for your…budget.”
Right. My budget. As in zero dollars a month.
“All the same,” I told him with a shrug. I felt the inexplicable urge to reach out and hug him only because I hadn’t been hugged in so long, but that would most likely get me thrown right into the street. “I did want to let you know I secured a job today.”
His brows shot up. I wondered if he knew anything about Nicolai and the way he’d managed to blackball me from anything worth anything on his side of the ocean, but I doubted it. Raymond wasn’t the kind of man who gave a shit about anything except his business.
“Is it full-time?”
I shook my head. “Part-time music instructor for private students,” I explained. I glanced at the bags on the table. “Would you, uh, like some tea?”
He huffed and shook his head. “No.”