When I reached a crosswalk and was forced to stop for a red light, I realized I was breathing quickly with the exertion. I frowned at my slacker cardio health and resolved to do better starting soon, but then felt the frown dissipate into a nervous smile when I realized where I was. Across the street, a red and turquoise sign was still illuminated above the striped canopy, though a small rectangular sign hanging on the front door proclaimed Howie’s closed for the evening.
I stood through an entire cycle of red-yellow-green, squinting at the café, wondering if he was there, wondering what he was doing, and wondering if I dared walk over and see. After a considerable amount of self-talk, I decided the chances of Kai being at work so late were very rare and thus, I did have the nerve to just walk over and peek inside. I stepped into the street when the light turned in my favor. I approached the glass, knowing that I just wanted to be close to a place that used to mean uncomplicated happiness to me. No angle, no Photoshop, no branding campaign. Just really good pancakes and Motown and the hope that the cute short-order cook might stop by my table.
I stopped in front of the center window, ran my fingers across lettering that proclaimed, YOU LOOK HUNGRY. BETTER COME ON IN. My eyes swept the room, the shiny countertops and floors, the neat stack of napkins and vintage red-and-white salt and pepper shakers at each table. The lights in the kitchen were off, but the Mason jar fixtures above each table were illuminated. In my periphery, I saw movement at the edge of the room, and I let my gaze seek out what it was. I gasped, then jumped backward into shadow.
Kai and Sunshine sat with their backs to me, their bodies taking up a small section of a booth that hugged the wall. Kai had his arm around Sunshine, and she was leaning into him. He pulled her close to him, and she let her head fall onto his shoulder. Her dreads splayed out along her back and onto Kai. I stood, fixed to the spot, mouth open and heart hammering. When Sunshine lifted her face, I saw such overwhelming tenderness on it, I stopped breathing. Kai moved in to kiss her cheek and I backed up, stumbling, unable to watch anymore. I ran into the street without looking and nearly got run over by a Prius.
“What are you doing, lady?” the cab driver said out his open window. “I could have killed you!”
I scurried around to the side door and flung it open, desperate to be inside and invisible.
“I need to go home. I can’t walk anymore,” I said, feeling my heart beat in my neck, my wrists, my chest.
“Okay, all right,” the driver said, his tone implying he’d worked with his fair share of deranged lunatics and knew that arguing would be of no use to anyone.
I gave him the address of my apartment and let my body slink down until I could barely see out of the windows. Forcing my eyes to focus on the opposite side of the street, I didn’t look back at Howie’s, or the warmth within, or the people sitting in the booth. I didn’t see anything but the blur of streetlights and the fat droplets of rain that had finally begun to fall.
27
THE following morning, I stood at the edge of my day and steeled myself for what it held. Avery and I were booked to appear on the morning news program, Rise and Shine, America, and while I did not exactly feel risen and shiny at present, I forced my face into a cheery expression. A nationally televised interview was just the colossal-sized distraction I needed to push out of my mind the image of Kai leaning into Sunshine. I’d keep to the party line, I’d do what I had promised, and I’d be one step closer to my long-awaited professional freedom.
The outdoor set of Rise and Shine, America pulsed with activity. Avery and I hovered around the edges of all the commotion. Vic and Margot flanked us on either side. A man in jeans and a flannel shirt was perched on a ladder in front of us. He fiddled with a light above the stage, an elevated platform set up on a lookout high above the city. The Space Needle soared in the distance, and the Sound beyond brooded in the struggling morning light. A pale woman with a skinny ponytail frowned at a small but elegant flower arrangement she’d placed on a low coffee table. In front of the stage was a large digital clock, its red numbers serving as a ruthless town crier proclaiming six minutes and forty-eight seconds remained until airtime. I watched all the action and chewed on the inside of my cheek until it started to hurt. Then I moved to my fingernails.
“Stop that.” Margot spoke to me through a smile she directed toward a man in a headset standing near the craft service table. “Look confident.”
I yanked my finger out of my mouth and glued it to my side. “This is so nerve-wracking,” I said, voice timid. “I’m just not used to the chaos and tension, I guess.”
Vic laughed. “What are you talking about? I’ve seen Thrill’s kitchen during a rush, and this is like an Enya concert by comparison.”
“Not the rush.” I willed my voice to be louder under Margot’s gaze. “The live TV. I didn’t realize how much I take the editing room for granted.”