Seasons

The golden window trim framed the view outside of Balthazar as if it were a painting. Snow coated cars, roads, and restaurant seating tents, while snowflakes fell and flickered in the winter sun, a blend of blue and pink glitter against the clouds and rose gold sky. It reminded Margo of some holiday cards she had seen before; too dreamlike to be pretty, too perfect to be cheerful. And yet, outside, the snow was real and hopeful.

“I had never seen snowfall before. Not, you know, in person,” Margo chirped. She was seated in a booth, facing Noah. To her right, two girls photographed themselves with their phones. 

“First of the season,” he replied, his face glowing. “I can’t believe we’re here.”

A month before, Margo had exactly $450 to her name, an amount which most likely would have stayed the same until the next payday. Generally, Margo remained guarded about any spending, which seemed redundant since her disposable income was almost nonexistent. However, while browsing her email, a bold subject line caught her eye New York roundtrip $56.

Margo had been dating Noah for almost a year at that point. They met at a particularly odd moment in her life, her snap, as she liked to call it. After a particularly dark winter and an impending eviction from her longtime apartment, she quit her job and moved back in with her parents. She started working in the family restaurant as a waitress and harshly dodged any head-tilted ‘What are your plans?’ inquiries from relatives and friends with a shrug and the occasional dirty look.

On a seemingly ordinary afternoon, during her midday break, she looked up from her coffee to find a stranger staring at her with a pained expression.

“Hello, I don’t mean to bother you but are you Margaret?” 

Removing her earphones, she wondered why men could not take a hint. Theatrically, she glanced down at her name tag and then back at him.

“It’s Margo. Do you need to be seated?”

“Oh, n—Why, yes. I guess I do.” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. The wood flooring squeaked. “I know Talia. We used to work together. She has a picture of you two on her desk which is how I recognized you. My name is Noah.” His words came strung together by a casual melody as if he had rehearsed this particular line before.

Instinctively, her shoulders tightened at the mention of her former roommate. Margo thought about letting him know what happened, maybe letting him down gently, but she had no sympathy to spare. She flashed a smile while grabbing a menu and walked him to an empty table at the far end of the restaurant. A quick run of the specials and a glass of water later, she went back to her own tables and forgot all about Noah until later that week, when he returned to the restaurant and pointedly sat on her section.

When she opened the email, the graphics showed a stylized map with little dollar signs and airplane emojis. She scrolled down to the rates and links, finally settling on the ‘Weekend Getaway’ button which shockingly listed three hotel nights and roundtrip airfare to New York City for two at $434.50. It would deplete her little cushion for the next week but she could take the bus and defer any grocery shopping until later. She could manage.

She told Noah about the trip on his birthday, presented the tickets to him as a gift, and strongly declined when he offered to pay her back for them. He was stunned and ecstatic. He had never been to New York before, but always wanted to. He wanted to see everything with her, he said, alarmingly serious.

“Everything but the Statue of Liberty. That ferry is hell.” Margo poked. She had been to the city before, to visit Talia during her summer internship some years ago. On their ferry ride to Ellis Island, the sun melted everyone’s deodorant away it seemed, and their clothes reeked of sweat and seawater for the rest of the day. Margo shook the memory away. “I’m game for anything else, but know I have made some arrangements already.”

Shortly after landing and getting settled on their hotel, which turned out to be a new building in a sketchy area up by the Bronx, they made their way to Balthazar, a chic but huge restaurant with red leather booths and elegant rusted mirror interiors all the way in SoHo. Margo was no longer a waitress back home, but she continued to feel like one. She marveled at the many servers gliding around the main hall. She knew the more waiters on the floor, the fancier the restaurant.

Wearing a stiff white shirt and tailored black pants, their server approached their table. Margo politely ordered all courses at the same time, knowing the ceremonial dance of bringing drinks, then appetizers, and then food was dreaded by waitresses everywhere during peak hours. Pastries, breakfast entreés, French hot chocolate, and coffee made their way to the table on an enormous tray. Their poached eggs and quiche were plated so beautifully that they complimented the table far better than any ornament could.

Noah turned his head towards the window in delight.

“I can’t believe it! We’re in New York, baby!” He popped the ‘b’ sound on his lips. They went over the itinerary: Breakfast, a visit to The Met, a quick prayer at St. Paul’s Cathedral, coffee from Ralph’s, a walk around Central Park, dinner at Minnetta’s Tavern, and lastly, a drink and dessert at the Palm Court. Snow

“Can’t forget the fountain,” Noah added, referring to the infamous fountain at the Plaza Hotel, the one where Scott and Zelda had once drunkenly splashed around. “Jam-packed day.”

Margo was a planner. Not necessarily a planner in life, which until recently, had morphed so drastically she could barely recognize it as her own, but a planner in trips. She accounted for and procured everything from Uber pricing estimates and alternative metro routes, to museum tickets and play schedules into their itinerary. She often wondered how this methodical and organized —even optimistic— approach to their journey came so naturally to her now, when only last year she had struggled to see a future in anything at all. 

She remembered her first weeks with Noah. The awkward exchange of phone numbers, the flirtatious and scarce messages between working days, and the increasing frequency of their dates. At first, they saw each other strictly on Fridays or Saturdays, which, in Margo’s opinion, kept things casual and noncommittal. Slowly, Margo started to long for Noah during the weekdays she didn’t see him.

Noah worked in journalism. According to everyone who had ever met the man, Noah was brilliant, sharp, and kind to a fault. He had majored in Finance and Statistics in college, and had previously worked as an analyst for two of The Big Four, but moved on to journalism just after making a name for himself in the financial industry. Back then, Talia, a young analyst herself, had worked with Noah for most of her career and regarded him as a good friend and mentor, even though he was just a couple of years older than her. Having grown close in their time working together, Talia felt nostalgic on Noah’s last shift in the office and promised earnestly to stay in touch. That night, she mentioned something in passing to Margo at their shared kitchen; babbled about this nice guy she worked with, too smart for that company, too good at what he did, but too nice to stay in the finance world.

“So why are you staying, Tally? Are you not nice?” Margo chuckled.

“Oh no, no, no.” Talia purred. “I’ll eat these people and spit them out. I’m in it for the money.”

“The only honorable reason to stay.”

Six months later Talia was dead. She was 31 years old.

Talia died on August 29th, but before she died, she just didn’t make it home. Margo, who was used to hearing her friend’s five a.m. alarms and running into her flushed face in the kitchen after a morning workout, was surprised to wake up to her own alarm at 8:30. She was even more surprised to find Talia’s bed untouched from the night before. It was odd for her to disappear like this. Talia was firm on her habits, her rules, and her schedules. She brought structure and order into Margo’s more eclectic tendencies. They had met in college and proved that opposites made lifelong friends.

Margo texted, then called. By three p.m. she was alarmed to have no response. By seven she was panicked. She called her work, who hadn't heard from her since the day before. She called her parents, her cell phone again, and finally the police all to no avail. At ten, Margo received a call from Talia’s mother. She was with Talia, but Talia was no longer there, no longer anywhere, really.

The next couple of months Margo hardly fought the fog that had settled around her: A fog of arms and legs, rushing in and out holding Talia’s belongings; a fog of voices asking her how she was doing; a fog of flower bouquets and their fumes, rotting away in a place that was once her home but now didn’t feel tethered to herself. Finally, unable to make rent and exhausting all avenues to avoid work, she handed in her resignation with no notice and terminated her lease.

In a lucid moment, while packing away her dishes for Goodwill, Margo jumped at the sound of a whiskey bottle thrashing against the tile floor. The bottle was empty, which first relieved Margo, but then repulsed her. Finally, the realization washed her away and knocked her off her feet.

On the floor, she felt claustrophobic in her skin. Heaving, she scratched her arms, and pulled her hair, trying her hardest to escape the feeling of shame, a feeling that seemed to seep deeper into her than she could handle. Margo was disgusted at herself and her own blindness, her self-centered, self-serving, selfish, selfish, selfish ignorance. Her stomach turned thinking how blissful it had been before she knew of Talia’s illness, and how confused she was finding out about it with everyone else, even though she saw her the most, even though she knew her the best. Her insides felt sealed shut, but she couldn’t tell if this was shock or indignation.

The second time Noah stepped into the restaurant, he knew better. He didn’t wait for any greeting and walked towards the table he had first seen her at. He hoped that was her section and beamed when she popped out of the kitchen and immediately noticed him. She was a bit taken aback by his presence but felt something close to relief.

“Noah, right?” She teased. 

“Yes.”