Moving to LA, flashback weekend, part 3

I had a car coming in the late afternoon to take me, my many suitcases, and Kristin to the airport. I will never forget that ride out of Manhattan, through the decrepit streets that led from Kristin's office downtown to the Holland tunnel, and looking back upon the city from New Jersey for my last time as a New Yorker. The sun had already started to set in the late winter sky and I thought it was an apt metaphor for my own situation.

We arrived on time in LA, picked up the rental car from Avis, and I was secretly relieved to be driving at 10 PM, when the freeway was mostly empty and my chances of getting the both of us into an accident were minimal. Ted was supposed to have mailed me the house keys earlier in the week, but, being Ted, didn't. Instead, I had to climb up on my banister to retrieve the key from the roof, balancing on one foot in the dark for close to a minute before I found it.

We walked in, and the apartment was better than I had remembered. The walls had been painted, the carpets cleaned, and it was mine. It was twice the size of my New York apartment and it was all mine. Any annoyance I had felt over the keys diminished minutes later, when Kris and I explored the apartment and I saw that Ted had left us a bottle of champagne in the fridge, a note attached offering his congratulations. His legacy, really.

We popped the cork and, with little else to do, sat on the floor to watch a few episodes of The Brady Bunch before going to bed. I was officially a California girl.