Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
And I really, really, need a little luck. So when I land a new job as a nanny, I take it as a sign that my leap of faith move to New York is finally paying off.
Until I show up for my first day only to discover there’s no baby.
That’s right.
Due to a mix-up, I’ve been hired as a nanny and placed with… a childless bachelor. A childless bachelor who seems to think this entire situation is charmingly amusing.
Trust me, I’m not amused. I’m broke.
And I’m keeping this job, baby or not.
*Central Park is a novella, approximately 100 pages
*Central Park was previously published in an anthology
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
They really should make it clearer that the reality of living in New York is nothing like it appears.
Before I moved here, all I had for reference was every movie and TV show ever made that showed this city as the most beautiful, magical place. I had visions of Sarah Jessica Parker strutting down the concrete sidewalks in her Manolos without a care for sewer grates. Or tripping.
Fun, glamorous, and packed wall-to-wall with gorgeous, well-dressed people. In the television version of this city, you’d be handed the New York starter pack upon arrival: a chic coat, a French Bulldog, a how-to guide for flagging down a cab, and an entry level office job that somehow allowed you to pay for it all.
I knew it wasn’t exactly like that, of course. My best friend Lauren moved here last year and she told me what to expect. We went to the University of Iowa together. Iowa, by the way, is exactly the way you imagine it is. Full of cornfields and the occasional Wal-Mart. There’s not a lot to do in Iowa City outside of football games and college bars. Unless it’s winter, in which case there’s absolutely nothing to do but stay inside and read with your pasty librarian friends. And look, I’m not shading librarians here. Or the snow, or even corn. I love reading more than I love breathing—it is, after all, why I am pursuing a master’s in library science—but a girl needs a little excitement in life. Living vicariously through heroines who chase their dreams is fantastic, but it isn’t enough, at least not for me. I want my own adventure.
I’d always had a bit of a crush on the idea of New York. And when Lauren moved here last year, and managed to make it work despite everything she went through, it gave me hope that the city could be magical for me too. She moved for her boyfriend, only to find out their relationship wasn’t exactly exclusive. Because he’d been cheating on her. But did she let that defeat her? Did she pack her bags and head back to Iowa? No. She found a job and an apartment and she survived in one of the biggest, most intense cities in the world. She also replaced her cheating ex with a very eligible bachelor. And then she married him. That’s Lauren. Fearless.
I wanted to be fearless too. So I applied at grad schools all over the country, but NYU was the dream. I mean, have you seen the New York Public Library? Swoon. And the bookstores, everything from the big chains to specialty independent shops. I could envision myself so clearly, sitting in the main branch of the New York Public Library, people-watching while studying. The idea of experiencing New York while getting my master’s, well, it was enticing.
So when I got in—and then Lauren eloped and vacated a spot in her apartment—I knew I had my chance. My chance to tackle the big city, to take a bite out of the Big Apple.
I know, I know. I was basically chasing every New York cliché known to humankind. I should have prepared more. I should have turned off the Sex and the City marathon and watched a documentary. Or studied the subway map. Something. But even if I had, nothing would’ve prepared me for living here.
Because New York? It’s not all Manolos and sexy taxi rides. And the apartments? Well. It’s definitely nothing like you see on TV.
“This is why we have bunk beds,” my roommate, Allison, explained when I first arrived. I mean, sure, Lauren had mentioned the apartment was small. She’d mentioned four girls were sharing a one bedroom apartment. I knew that going in. But I was still living my New York daydreams back then.
“You’ll get used to it,” another of the roommates, Bridget, had added, all while she fought with the ancient sink in the kitchen that was, essentially, a stone’s throw from said bedroom.
Look, I’m not the kind of girl who needs much. As long as I have a cozy place to read, decent lighting and a snack, I’m good. But it was still a shock.
At least, like I said, my roommates are great. Allison’s a fitness model, meaning she brings home lots of activewear and water bottles and shake mix samples that she’s happy to share with the rest of us. And Bridget’s a flight attendant, meaning she keeps us all entertained with endless stories about people trying—and often failing—to make it into the Mile-High Club. And Delaney makes jewelry that she pitches to boutiques, resulting in lots of cool pieces to borrow.
The real issue in New York is affording it.
Of course the prices are higher on everything. You expect it. A few dollars here, twenty dollars there. But it all keeps adding up. The rent for my bunk bed is astronomical, and NYU? Well, let’s just say their scholarship package wasn’t exactly generous. Meanwhile, my shitty job at Cups of Joe has not, apparently, heard of inflation, nor have they heard of human decency… but that’s not the point.