Chapter 3: Dreams, Distance, and Disillusionment

Six years ago, in my sophomore year of college, I signed with an agency. At first I filmed short dramas, then web series. By graduation, I was at my peak—playing the maid to the female lead in a top-rated historical romance miniseries.

It felt surreal, standing on set in a velvet gown, reciting lines about forbidden love and secret letters. My mom watched every episode, calling me after each one to say how proud she was. I saved every voicemail.

After all the deductions, that show earned me a full $30,000.

I treated myself to a new phone and paid off my student loan. The rest went straight to my parents, who used it to fix the roof and finally buy a working dishwasher. We celebrated with takeout pizza and a cheap bottle of wine.

When I dialed Harrison’s number, my hands were shaking. I said I wanted to take him to New York, to stand in front of those magnificent floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. We’d order a mountain of takeout, open a bottle of wine, and celebrate.

I’d spent hours scrolling through Zillow, dreaming about brownstones and penthouses. I wanted to show him my favorite spots in the city—the bakery with the world’s best cinnamon rolls, the tiny jazz club in the Village.

When I became famous, I’d buy a huge house. Give him a study, a gym, a music room. The rest would be mine. The decor would be his favorite vintage style. There’d be a balcony for flowers and plants. He’s allergic to cats and dogs, always says he’s a light sleeper and has insomnia. So the soundproofing had to be good—I’d splurge on it.

I’d fill the walls with framed records and old movie posters. Harrison loved old jazz, so I pictured a corner for his vinyl collection. I wanted the place to feel like ours, but also like home.

No furry pets, so I’d build an eco fish pond and keep a few turtles—for luck and protection.

My grandma always said turtles bring good luck. I imagined Harrison rolling his eyes, but secretly loving the idea. It felt quirky, like us.

He laughed on the other end of the line. "If you put it that way, I’ll have to depend on you, Riley."

His laugh was warm, teasing. I could hear the smile in his voice, and it made me brave enough to keep dreaming out loud.

We did go to New York. Four years of long-distance dating in college meant every meeting involved connecting flights and trains. That trip felt especially precious. I remember it vividly.

We spent hours wandering the city, ducking into bookstores and coffee shops. Harrison always insisted on splitting the bill, even when I tried to treat him. We watched the ball drop in Times Square, shivering under layers of scarves.

I came from Savannah, he from Boston. We arrived at Midtown on New Year’s Eve.

It was cold, the kind of cold that bites through gloves. I wore my thrift store coat, patched at the elbows. Harrison looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine—effortlessly elegant, even in the chaos.

But—he was dressed formally. A tailored designer coat, a camel sweater draped over his arm, a bouquet of white lilies and roses in hand. Maybe that was just his daily life.

People stared as he walked by, and I felt invisible beside him. I tried to ignore the knot in my stomach, telling myself it didn’t matter.

I’d been struggling on the edge of the entertainment industry for two years, and I could now recognize how valuable those soft, well-fitted clothes were, how expensive those imported flowers.

Even the way he moved was different—confident, practiced. I watched him hand the bouquet to a street vendor, who grinned and thanked him. Harrison just smiled, as if kindness was second nature.

The damp neon lights melted into the thin mist—greenish and faint, block by block, like mint liquor over ice.

The city felt alive, humming with possibility. Taxis honked, steam rose from manhole covers, and the air smelled like rain and hot pretzels.

I waited for him under the traffic light, unable to smile. The delayed shock hit me like a heavy blow, making me dizzy. Even the joy of being hugged by him felt awkward and sharp.

He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. I tried to relax, but the differences between us felt too stark. I wondered if he noticed.