Rosaleigh, NY

“Julienne!”

I grumb, rolling out of bed following the pretty vivid nightmare that woke me nearly every morning. I’ve been awake for a while, laying and staring at the ceiling in an effort to re-center myself. But the sound of my roommate and best friend, Grace, calling my name is enough to finally drag me from my sheets. It's time to start the day anyway.

“What’s up?” I mumble, ruffling my already messy blonde hair. Grace is standing in our open kitchen, fiddling with a pot of coffee.

“Your phone just rang,” Grace hums, jerking her head in the direction of the round kitchen table – purchased by me, as much of the things in our quaint L.A. apartment were. Grace, much as I love her, is a student of life, to put it kindly. She barely rakes in enough to pay rent, much less buy furniture.

“Did you see who it was?” I ask.

“I didn’t care enough to answer it for you, did I?”

I sigh. Good ol’ Grace. She was the first friend I made at University of Southern California, the girl who lived across the hall that regularly saved me from my horrible roommate. Her friends took me in, and we’ve been close ever since. I never really had close friends back home in Rosaleigh.

I grab my phone off the table and tap the right string of icons to lead me to my voicemail. There is a message from two minutes ago, the number saved only under ‘Meyer Construction.’ My heart leaps, fingers fumbling to press play.

“Julienne, this is Mark Tennenbaum from Meyer construction,” a deep, vaguely familiar voice greets. “You did work with us on the project at The Grove, I’m sure you remember. Just so you know, my friend Joseph Lutz called me with a project from New York looking for young talent and I passed on your portfolio. Hope that was okay. He should be calling you later today, just a heads up. Good luck.”

“Oh my god,” I breathe as the voicemail rolled over to blank air. One of the biggest architecture firms in Los Angeles has just referred to me as ‘young talent.’ Talented enough to pass on to a big firm in New York. Oh. My. God.

“What?” Grace questions, pouring herself some coffee. “Did that guy from Saturday actually call you back?”

I glare at her pointedly. “No,” I seethe. “And I don’t want him to, anyway. He had pretentious facial hair. I can’t stand that.”

“You’re too picky.”

Grace, and the rest of our friends for that matter, are way too concerned with my love life. Or rather, my lack of love life. I've been going on dates for ages, but nothing ever really seems to work out. And I am definitely okay with it. It's hard to find a decent guy in L.A.; everyone is more concerned about making it somehow, somewhere, than actually meeting anyone. And that's fine. I'm one of those people too.

But my friends sure have a damn hard time leaving me alone about it. I guess dating someone all through college wasn’t enough for them. For Grace, the woman of perpetual boyfriends, it isn't enough. I need to be tied down to really start my life.

I narrow my eyes in her direction. “I gotta get ready.”

I disappear in my room, stripping out of my pajamas and into my best work clothes. Even though I'm doing anything glamorous for any big company today, I feel that maybe looking my best will be good vibes to get a call back. New York. I can't help but tut in perplexity. I’d lived in New York once. But I filed those memories far back in my mind, far away from anything I could ever immediately draw out.

“Julienne!” Grace calls again as I am just finishing getting ready.

“What?”

“Your phone just rang again!”

I sigh once more, pinching the bridge of my nose with my thumb and my forefinger. “Can’t you tell me it’s ringing while someone is still on the line?”

“I’m not your receptionist!”

I curse her under my breath, emerging from my room to discover her sitting on my couch with her coffee, watching an episode of Live with Michael and Kelly. “It’s your mom,” she hums with a coy smile.

Wonderful, I think to myself, crossing the room to pick up the phone and listen to the voicemail my mother is sure to have left. As expected, there is a minute and a half long message, complete with answerless small talk at the beginning.

“Jules, hi,” my mom’s voice comes to my ear, crackling a little on the line. “How are you? How are things in Los Angeles? Are you eating properly?”

I roll my eyes.

“Your father is working on cleaning out your room a little bit, with the move and all, and I just have to ask – do you still want all of your Advanced Placement test books? I don’t see any reason for you to want them…”

It is approaching time for her to actually get to the point of her voicemail. I brace myself for it, preparing to hear she had decided to plant a new tree she wanted to tell me about or some other ridiculous item.

“Anyway, I called to let you know some bad news.” Great. “This could be hard for you to hear… but they’re planning on demolishing Rosaleigh. Or at least a big part of it. And putting up some sort of corporate nonsense. A bunch of people from town are rallying around the idea of protesting and I think it would be really great if you could make it. Call me back. I love you.”

Immediately, I hang up. There is no way in hell I am going back to Rosaleigh. Not after everything that happened. You couldn’t pay me to go back to Rosaleigh.

“I’m leaving,” I mutter in passing to Grace, hoisting my design bag over my shoulder and heading towards the door.

“Don’t forget about lunch with the girls on Sunset!” Grace calls after me. “I need to know details about what that guy said!”

“It wasn’t that guy, Grace,” I intone as I slip out the door. “I’ll see you at lunch!” And as I make my way to my office, I keep my hand on my phone the entire time. I will not be missing that call from the firm. Just like I will not be returning to my hometown of Rosaleigh. Not under any circumstances what-so-ever.