By July first, Cara and I were the proud renters of a tiny two-bedroom apartment in New York’s East Village. We spent the next few weeks unpacking, settling down, and exploring the city together.
Strangely, she and Henry were through almost immediately. She discovered, pretty much right away, that their relationship worked better long-distance, and that Henry didn’t have time for a girlfriend. To be fair, she didn’t have time for a boyfriend either. Her agent was riding her to put together a collection of short stories, and she spent as much time writing as Henry spent saving people’s lives.
One weekend, while we were unpacking, she pointed to a stack of boxes that I had tossed to the side. “Do you want me to take these down to the Dumpster? I think this is the last of it.”
“Yeah, but will you make sure I emptied everything out of them?”
“This one still has books in it.” She pulled a stack of three books out of the last box. “It’s Jase’s book.” She looked at the bookmark tucked into the very end. “You never finished it?”
“Not yet. I’ve been so focused on my own book. Here, hand it over to me.” I took it into my bedroom and set it on my nightstand.
A little while later, Cara came back up, but she wasn’t alone. She was with a jeans-clad, bearded gentleman wearing suspenders, and both of them were carrying mugs. “Em, this is our neighbor, Kai.” She stood behind him and wiggled her eyebrows. “He offered me a cup of coffee, and it’s the best-tasting coffee I’ve ever had in my entire life.”
I got up and walked over to shake his hand. “I’m Emiline. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he said.
“So what’s your secret?” I pointed to his mug.
“Oh, the coffee? Yeah, I just make sure to always heat it to a hundred and sixty-four degrees, and I always use filtered water.” Cara had found herself a hipster, and she was glowing because of it. She was staring at him like he was some kind of celestial coffee being sent to her from heaven.
“Well, I’ll have to try that little trick, “I said. “So you live right next door?”
“Yeah,” Kai said. “Just little old me. I’m a graphic artist and I work from home, so if you ever need anything, let me know.”
“Great.” I smiled.
“What do you do for fun around here?” Cara asked.
“Well, tonight I’m going into Brooklyn to the Dropzone to see my friend’s band play.”
“Cara, you should go,” I said. “I have a bunch of stuff I still need to do here.”
THAT NIGHT WHEN Cara came home, she told me how Kai had introduced her to a husband-and-wife musical duo who also owned the coffee shop on the corner. Cara made friends fast—she always had—and she was excited about New York. I saw her fitting in and living here forever. I, on the other hand, felt lonely and more isolated every minute I stayed.
Over the next several weeks, Cara and Kai became inseparable, and I became more depressed. Cara said writers are supposed to be a little depressed, but I didn’t believe that. When I was down, I couldn’t write.
I talked to Jase every few days. When I told him how I was feeling, he said it was because I was still fighting it. I knew what he meant, but I didn’t let him press it. The old woman in the airport, and her words about fighting fate, were always in the back of my mind.
It was after a strange nightmare I had where I was looking in the mirror examining my old, wrinkled face that I realized it was time to finish the book. I could feel myself crying in the dream, but the old face wasn’t moving. I was so scared that would be me, just paralyzed by the fear, paralyzed in one moment of time while the rest of the world was moving on.
We can’t always control our circumstances, who our parents are, where we live, or how much money we make, but in those rare moments when we can shape our fate, when we do have the power to make our own happiness, we can’t be too scared to do it.
From All the Roads Between
Alicia led me into Jax’s house and into the living room. The old carpet had been replaced with wood laminate flooring, and there was a hospital bed set up facing the TV. I couldn’t see him at first, but I could hear an oxygen machine and the sound of a man’s labored breathing.
Leila had wandered down the hall to her bedroom, and Alicia motioned for me to go to him. “Wait,” I whispered. “Can I use the restroom?”
“Sure.” She pointed down the hallway.
I went into the bathroom. It had been remodeled in recent years, but the setup was the same. I thought about the last time I was in there. I was fifteen years old and Jax had just told me what Cal Junior had done. Jax found me crying in the shower. He held me, and he took care of me, even though he was the one who had been through something horrible.