Let’s Keep It RealA plain young woman with tired eyes, no makeup, and a side braid like a college kid trying to stretch every dollar. She smiled at her reflection and said softly, mostly to herself, “All right then, Marianne. Let’s do this.”
“Let’s see how people treat you when they think you’re just an ordinary woman with no money and no connections,” she added. Andrew was waiting for her near the station entrance. Beside him sat his old black Volkswagen Polo—well-used, scratched up, and clearly past its prime.
When he saw her, he smiled so openly and warmly that something inside her softened. “There you are,” he said, pulling her into a hug as if he’d been holding his breath. “I was starting to worry. Thought maybe the train got held up.”
Marianne leaned into him and answered in a quieter, less certain voice than usual, the way someone might sound if she were genuinely embarrassed. “Sorry. There was a delay, and I had to hurry.” He rubbed her back with easy affection, the kind that comes naturally to a kind man.
“Hey, you’re here. That’s what matters,” he said. Then he opened the car door for her, and she settled in, placing her purse carefully on her lap.
She stared ahead and thought that in another hour, everything would either settle into place or fall apart. There wasn’t much middle ground left. They drove toward his parents’ neighborhood.
Stores, intersections, and familiar streets slid by outside the window, while the same thoughts kept circling in her head. Andrew had no idea she hadn’t come by train at all, but by rideshare, and that her own car was parked safely in a private garage. For seven and a half months, Marianne had been living in two different realities.
Whenever Andrew asked where she lived, she gave the same practiced answer with an awkward little laugh. “I rent a room out in the suburbs. It’s about $900 a month, plus utilities. Tight, but I manage.” When he asked about work, she would sigh and describe a simpler life.
“I’m a receptionist at a small salon. I make around $3,200 a month, maybe a little more if things go well.” As for transportation, she always joked that trains and buses were her lane.
“A car’s a luxury. Not really for people like me,” she would say. And when she talked about her dreams, she kept those modest too. “Someday I’d like to save enough for a little place of my own. Nothing fancy. Maybe outside the city. Just something that’s mine.”
Every time, Andrew listened with such genuine sympathy that his voice would soften. “Marianne, you’re so grounded. So real. Not like those flashy city girls in SUVs, showing off their phones and acting like the world owes them something.”
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