But when he did manage to dream these days, he always dreamed of Lily G.
He was dreaming about her now. The same dream as always. He was running down 16th Street, trying to get to Union Square park. Lily was waiting for him and he was late. The clock ticked as he pushed his way down the crowded sidewalk. He reached the park, sweaty and out of breath, and he could see Lily waiting for him on a park bench with her back to him. Her profile was vague, but she had brown skin and dark hair. She glanced down at her watch and sighed. He was only halfway to her when she stood and began to walk away, giving up on him ever arriving. Nick called her name, but she couldn’t hear him over the sound of street performers and skateboarders. He shouted louder to no avail. He sprinted forward, desperate and anxious. He finally reached Lily G. and clasped her shoulder, turning her to face him. And . . . she looked just like his neighbor from down the hall. That was new. Nick stared wonderingly at her pretty heart-shaped face. Her big brown eyes sparkled with joy.
“You’re here,” she said.
Her face broke into a smile and her obvious pleasure at his presence made Nick’s heart swell. Then she leaned forward, brought his face down to hers and proceeded to lick his cheek.
Wait, what?
Nick’s eyes snapped open, and a golden Pomeranian was sitting on his chest, licking his chin. It leaned away and stared at Nick with its round, black eyes. Nick’s head throbbed as he stared back, too confused and groggy to even begin to understand why a tiny dog was in his room and on his bed . . . Nick looked around at the flashy gold and bright pink bedroom decor. The fluffy white comforter that covered the queen-size bed. This wasn’t his bed, or his room. He lifted the comforter and discovered that he was completely naked.
Nick sat up in alarm and the dog barked at his sudden movement.
He looked at the dog again more closely, this time recognizing her glittery pink collar. “Ginger? But if you’re here, then I must be . . .”
“Good, you’re finally awake.”
Nick looked up and his neighbor Yolanda Rivera stood in the doorway, wearing a pink silk robe and matching fuzzy slippers. Her dark hair was set in curlers. She leaned against the wall and smiled at Nick.
“You sleep like the dead. I tried to wake you more than once,” she said. “We had some fun last night, huh?”
Nick blinked at her, his brain trying to compute exactly what this situation was. Did he have sex with Yolanda last night? No. Fuck. No. Yolanda was his friend. And that was important to him because she was unlike the various acquaintances he’d gathered throughout his life via his carefully practiced smoke-and-mirrors, everything-is-fine-here act. Back in March, Yolanda had spotted him moving into his apartment with nothing but a suitcase and his travel backpack. Realizing he didn’t own any furniture, she’d given him one of her old armchairs and then insisted he stay for dinner. Yolanda was the same age as Nick’s mother and often treated him like a son.
Nick hoped he hadn’t ruined one of the few friendships he’d managed to form since meeting Marcus at UNC almost ten years ago. More than that, Yolanda had a thing for Henry, who was also his friend. So what the fuck was he doing in her bed naked?
He tried to recall last night’s events. He remembered being on the elevator with Henry and his pretty neighbor from down the hall. He’d wanted to talk to her more and had been kicking himself about not doing so （was that why she’d shown up in his dream?）， when Henry had called him and said Yolanda agreed to go out on a date. They wanted him to come up to the nineteenth floor to help celebrate her half birthday. As soon as Nick arrived, Yolanda pulled out a bottle of expensive cognac. Everything that Yolanda owned was expensive because she had real money. She and her ex-husband owned a jewelry store in Houston that was frequented by big-name rappers. Nick didn’t like to drink. But Yolanda and Henry were so newly in love and happy, and Nick didn’t want to disappoint Yolanda on her half birthday （which was a legit thing to her, apparently）， so he’d had a sip, and that was where he planned to stop. But then one sip became two sips, then three. Somehow it turned into multiple cocktails. That was precisely why he didn’t drink. Once he started, he couldn’t stop.
A blurry memory finally rose to the surface of his mind. Henry had gone back down to his apartment, and Nick had stayed behind, feeling toasted. Yolanda had confided that she liked Henry a lot, but part of her had always been curious to date someone younger. She had a friend in California with a boy toy who’d just graduated from college, and she was having the time of her life.