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so proud of you! That’s great news, it really is.’
    â€˜So you really think it’s a good opportunity? I know we talked about it, but they didn’t even give me a chance to decide. She just assumed that I’d want the job.’
    â€˜It’s an amazing opportunity. Fashion isn’t the worst thing on earth – maybe it’ll even be interesting.’
    I rolled my eyes.
    â€˜OK, so maybe that’s going a little far. But with
Runway
on your résumé and a letter from this Miranda woman, and maybe even a few clips by the time you’re done, hell, you can do anything.
The New Yorker
will be beating down your door.’
    â€˜I hope you’re right, I really do.’ I jumped up and starting throwing my things in my backpack. ‘Is it still OK if I borrow your car? The sooner I get home, the sooner I can get back. Not that it really matters, because I’m
moving to New York
. It’s official!’
    Since Alex went home to Westchester twice a week to babysit his little brother when his mom had to work late, his mom had given him her old car to keep in the city. But he wouldn’t be needing it until Tuesday, and I’d be back before then. I had been planning to go home that weekend anyway, and now I’d have some good news to bring with me.
    â€˜Sure. No problem. It’s in a spot about a half-block down on Grand Street. The keys are on the kitchen table. Call me when you get there, OK?’
    â€˜Will do. Sure you don’t want to come? There’ll be great food – you know my mom orders in only the best.’
    â€˜Sounds tempting. You know I would, but I organized some of the younger teachers to get together tomorrow night for happy hour. Thought it might help us all work as a team. I really can’t miss it.’
    â€˜Goddamn do-gooder. Always doing good, spreading good cheer wherever you go. I’d hate you if I didn’t love you so much.’ I leaned over and kissed him good-bye.
    I found his little green Jetta on the first try and only spent twenty minutes trying to find the parkway that would take me to 95 North, which was wide open. It was a freezing day for November; the temperature was in the midthirties, and there were slick frozen patches on the back roads. But the sun was out, the kind of winter glare that causes unaccustomed eyes to tear and squint, and the air felt clean and cold in my lungs. I rode the entire way with the window rolled down, listening to the ‘Almost Famous’ soundtrack on repeat. I worked my damp hair into a ponytail with one hand to keep it from flying in my eyes, and blew on my hands to keep them warm, or at least warm enough to grip the steering wheel. Only six months out of college, and my life was on the verge of bursting forward. Miranda Priestly, a stranger until yesterday but a powerful woman indeed, had handpicked me to join her magazine. Now I had a concrete reason to leave Connecticut and move – all on my own, as a real adult would – to Manhattan and make it my home. As I pulled into the driveway of my childhood house, sheer exhilaration took over. My cheeks looked red and windburned in the rearview mirror, and my hair was flying wildly about. There was no makeup on my face, and my jeans were dirty around the bottom from trudging through the city slush. But at that moment, I felt beautiful. Natural and cold and clean and crisp, I threw open the front door and called out for my mother. It was the last time in my life I remember feeling so light.
    â€˜A week? Honey, I just don’t see how you’re going to start work in a week,’ my mother said, stirring her tea with a spoon. We were sitting at the kitchen table in our usual spots, my mother drinking her usual decaf tea with Sweet’N Low, me with my usual mug of English Breakfast and sugar. Even though I hadn’t lived at home in four years, all it took was an oversize mug of microwaved tea and a couple