I shake my head. “So basically, nothing’s changed.”
“Basically,” she giggles. “Now tell me you’ve done something fun. How’s Ella? She finally driving yet, or still refusing to get her license?”
“She’s good,” I say, smiling despite myself. “Got her license last month. And she just got accepted into Langport’s gifted program.”
Cami gasps so loud I have to hold the phone away. “Langport? Are you kidding? That’s huge!”
“Yeah, she’s thrilled.” I hesitate. “It’s an incredible opportunity for her… but it’s expensive, Cam. Even with the scholarship.”
Cami doesn’t miss a beat. “You’ll make it work. You always do. You’re Vi. You turn chaos into miracles.” Her faith in me hits like a small ache behind my ribs.
“Thanks, Cam. That means a lot.”
“Now that we’ve confirmed you’re still amazing,” she says, her tone lifting again, “let’s talk about me missing your face. When are we seeing each other?”
“Seeing each other?” I tease.
“Yes, Violet, like actual humans. Face to face. Without a screen or bad Wi-Fi between us.”
I laugh. “It’s been a while. I don’t know if I can keep up with you anymore.”
“Oh, please,” she scoffs. “You’re the most grounded person I know. You balance me out. Let me borrow that adult energy for an hour. Just coffee, promise. I’ll behave.”
I snort. “I don’t believe that for a second, but coffee sounds good.”
“Perfect! Tomorrow at ten. There’s a new café downtown. I’ll pick you up at the terminal.”
“Tomorrow it is.”
“Yay! I can’t wait, Vi. It’s been too long.”
“It really has,” I whisper before the line goes quiet.
When I set the phone down, something inside me feels lighter. Cami always has a way of reminding me life used to be bigger than bills and bedtime routines. Tomorrow won’t be just coffee—it’ll be a date with a part of myself I refuse to share with anyone else anymore.
Once Ella is out the door and on the bus, I grab my bag and hit the road to the ferry. I rarely go to New York these days, but something about the ferry always seems almost magical. The boat rocks gently as it pulls away from the dock, leaving the grind of New Jersey behind for something brighter, noisier, and wilder, as wind tangles my hair, and salt rises sharp in the air.
New York City has a way of punching you in the face the moment you arrive. It’s the crush of bodies everywhere. The sounds that never stop, and the energy that hums through the atmosphere — it’s unlike anywhere else.Where else in the world do people run into the traffic without fear and scream at cars as though it were an Olympic sport?The air fills with horns blaring in the style of a chaotic symphony. It’s madness, but it’s beautiful. I look at the skyscrapers stretching toward the sky, their windows glittering in the sunlight, while older buildings stand defiantly between them. Their stone faces weathered and alive.
And the food.God, the food.The smells of hot pretzels, roasted nuts, and sizzling halal waft rise through the air as we arrive at the dock.Stop by Prince Street Pizza on my way home.Ella loves it, and to be honest, so do I. There’s nothing like a Spicy Spring—it's the perfect blend of buttery crust, tangy sauce, and fiery pepperoni. I’ve had all kinds of pizza, but Prince Street in New York is something else. Even when we went to Prince Street in LA during college, it just wasn’t the same. I’m convinced it’s the water here that makes the dough magic. My stomach growls at the thought.
When I exit the terminal, I see her right away—Cami’s impossible to miss. She stands next to her signature black town car, sunlight catching in her gold hair, while her long legs cross at the ankle like she’s posing for a magazine cover. Every head turns when she moves. She’s that kind of beautiful—effortless, expensive, and entirely self-assured.
“VI!” she shouts, waving like she’s greeting royalty.
“Show-off,” I call, grinning as I walk toward her.
She laughs, yanking me into a hug. “God, I missed you. Come on. I’m overdressed for a ferry terminal.”
The café she takes me to is the kind of place where every table has a single flower, and the baristas look like models, accidentally wandering behind the counter.
“Okay,” I say as we sit, “what’s wrong?”
Cami blinks. “Excuse me?”
“You only suggest coffee before noon when something’s wrong. So spill.”
She smirks. “You still know me too well.” Her voice softens. “Dad called this morning. He’s retiring next month. Which means my allowance is officially done. No safety net. No more ‘Cami’s tab.’”
