2
As a nondriver subject to the whims of a limited bus schedule, I couldn’t easily travel upstate to where Andrea lived, so she had offered to drive the two hours to New York. We planned to meet in a café in the West Village so we could catch up ‘for real.’ I’d had to take the day off for the occasion – a possibility Andrea hadn’t seemed to have considered, and one I wasn’t comfortable broaching.
When I got there she was already seated, but she rose quickly and threw her arms around me the second I walked in. Then she pushed me back, gripping my forearms and staring at me hard. ‘My god,’ she said. ‘I still can’t believe it’s really you. Have you been in New York all this time? How could we have been so close without ever knowing it? What am I talking about? I haven’t been in New York all
