Amalgamating data from Facebook, Instagram, et al.—the inductive augury/divination method of our day—Hadley is a vegan barre instructor at a boutique studio near the Salem Heights (the only Salem neighborhood meriting a definite article). Because of course she is. All those clichés about how junior-year study abroad can change your life are true. It doubled my college debt; it prevented me from holding my dying grandmother’s hand; and it cost me the only guy with whom I’d ever camped, slept, or exchanged I love yous. The snowfall has gone from snow-globe décor to nuisance. It’s hard to see, but possibly a blonde head is pulling back the curtain… …Heigh-ho, off to work I go. That mindfulness podcast insisted that you should take a moment to appreciate little things. So when I arrive at work, I don’t think about the runny-nosed pre-kindergarteners wiping surreptitious snot bubbles under the train table. I instead inhale the intoxicating aroma of wood pulp, fresh ink, and industrial glue, with notes of bitter coffee and wet parka. Ahhhhhhhhhhh. A line spirals toward the in-house Starbucks; Barbara, the manager, offers her best side-eye emoji impression as I hop onto the register. Dad’s voice in my head says: “How is that English major working out for you, Lauren?” (In real life Mom hissed, “Arthur, really,” and cut me an extra-large brownie.) Lauren and the Robin
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