But then, on the ride from the airport, I could hear the sounds of the foghorns and smell the saltiness of the water, and to my surprise I felt a sudden longing to stand on the pier and look out over the Bay Bridge the way we so often used to do.
So that’s where we go.
First I take Teddy through the Ferry Building so I can show him the huge vaulted ceilings and rows of shops. It’s crowded with people buying coffee and flowers and jars of honey, browsing the bookshop and carrying bottles of wine. Teddy can’t resist stopping for ice cream, even though we just had some on the plane.
“Vacation,” he says, flashing me a smile as his cone drips onto his shoe.
Outside, the fog has mostly burned off and the air is sharp and cool. I pause for a moment to breathe it all in, and Teddy comes to a stop beside me.
“You okay?” he asks, looking worried.
“Yes,” I say, and for once I mean it. It feels good to be back after so long, like time has slowed and stretched, like all these years in between never even happened.
We walk over to the farmers market, where vendors in endless rows of tents sell berries and wine, cookies and bread. “Something smells really good,” I say as we weave through the stalls, and Teddy points at a tent with rotisserie chicken.
“Lunch?” he says, and I nod as we fall in at the end of a very long line.
He finishes his ice cream as we wait, and I hum, “If you’re going to San Francisco,” like some kind of dopey tourist, but I can’t help myself. I feel sort of giddy being back, and I’m in such a good mood by the time we step up to the booth that it takes me a few seconds to register that the woman behind the counter is trying not to cry.
“Hi there,” she mumbles, her eyes full of tears. “What can I get you?”
Teddy and I exchange a look. “Are you okay?” I ask, and she lifts her chin, pulling in a jagged breath.
“I’m fine,” she says. “Thanks.”
“Are you sure,” Teddy says, “because—”
“Fine,” she says again. She sets her notepad down and wipes her trembling hands on her blue apron. She’s young—probably in her midtwenties—and her dark hair forms a curtain over her face as she tries to collect herself. Over her shoulder, rows of golden-brown chickens are rotating slowly above a flame, and behind us a long line snakes out past the next booth, where they’re selling bunches of lavender.
“I just got some bad news, that’s all,” she says, blinking at us. “Sorry to be…here, I should really just take your—”
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “If you need a minute, we can wait.”
Teddy jabs a thumb at me. “Me and her,” he says with a sympathetic smile, “we’re pretty well acquainted with bad news.”
The woman’s face crumples at this, and she grabs a napkin from the stack beside the cashbox. The man behind us cranes his neck impatiently and I shoot him a look.
“Thanks…it’s just, I found out my mom has to go into hospice care, which we knew was coming, but on top of everything it’s so expensive, and I’m already working two jobs, and…” She trails off, looking suddenly horrified. “And I can’t believe I’m telling you all of this. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I say, shaking my head. “Really. I’m so sorry about your mom.”
“Me too,” Teddy says. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that he’s already pulling out his wallet, and I hit him with my elbow, because the least he can do is let her finish before we carry on with the business at hand. But she clearly notices too, because she uses the end of her apron to dab at her eyes, then sniffs once and straightens.
“Sorry,” she says again. “What can I get you?”
“Just an herb-roasted chicken,” I say, feeling terrible, and she grabs one of the brown paper bags the chef has lined up on the counter beside her.
“That’ll be fourteen fifty.”
Teddy passes her a twenty, waving her off when she tries to give him change.
“Good luck with everything,” I say, grabbing the bag and turning to walk away. Just before I do, I see Teddy slip something into the tip jar, a red plastic cup filled with coins and a few wrinkled dollar bills. When we’re far enough away I glance over at him.
“What’s your problem?” I say, failing to hide my annoyance.
“What?”
“You took out your wallet in the middle of her story, which is pretty much the universal sign forhurry up.” I shake my head. “I hope you at least left her a big tip.”
