This luxurious apartment, with everything spotless and beautiful, was something I could easily pay for. I made enough money now to rent it and not have to worry about whether I could afford heat or food with my meager grad student stipend. All those years of wondering if I was doing the right thing by trying it in a world where people like me didn’t just have a hard time of it, but were practically nonexistent. Even though I still had tenure to worry about, I felt...proud of myself.

Right there and now for the first time since graduation and the grueling stress of the job market, it finally felt like this was real. I’d done this, I had finished a PhD in Economics from Columbia University. A kid who came as a refugee from Haiti as a six-year-old, had done that. Against all the fucking odds.

I glanced over at Easton, who was looking at me like he realized there was something going on with me. Then a really strange thing happened—I wanted to tell him about it.

I didn’t even know why. With Easton’s background I wasn’t sure if he could get the magnitude of this moment, but I decided not to make assumptions. I wanted to share this with him. Not because he was the only person with me right then, but because I wanted Easton to know how much this mattered.

He stood there patiently waiting for me to speak. “Sorry I’m acting so weird. It just hit me that I can actually afford this place.” I sounded astonished, and the way his eyes softened made me feel seen. Like he got it. “I guess I hadn’t really let it sink yet that I’m not on a graduate student budget anymore.”

Easton shifted like he was going to move closer, and I almost moved to meet him halfway, but in the end he stayed where he was. He smiled wide at me though.

“You should be proud of yourself, it’s an amazing accomplishment. I’ve lived in Ithaca almost my whole life and it’s not like I know everyone who gets hired up there, but I do know getting a tenure track position at Cornell is a huge deal.”

Those green eyes on me were like truth serum, because I just kept talking.

“Nesto and I shared a place with another guy in Harlem for the five years before he moved here. The rent was decent, but it wasn’t the nicest.” I shrugged feeling embarrassed about what I was thinking, but also like I really needed to share this. It was such a strange feeling for me to want to be vulnerable like this. “I’ve never lived alone. I’m not sure what I’d do with myself in a place this big on my own. It’s kind of crazy that you own it actually.”