But the idea did appeal to me ... a lot. To all of me, my head and my dick. My heart too.
“Drink up and enjoy your night,” Adam said as he circled his finger at the bartender for another round. “Wake up tomorrow and do something ’bout this shit.”
We drank like he wanted but my mind was elsewhere, concocting a plan. I was going to fucking fix it, all right.
At ten, I left and prayed my neighbor’s lights were on. They were, and I knocked softly. Then I grabbed Harriette and delivered her over there before grabbing a duffel and shoving shit inside.
By a quarter to eleven, I was on my way to the airport with one thought in mind.
I was going to fucking fix it.
Physically exhausted, I was running on adrenaline as I made my way to ground transportation at JFK. I needed a cab quickly.
Turned out, I missed the red-eye back east. It left at half past eleven, but the nice old lady working the counter took pity on me and put me at the top of the standby list for the first flight out in the morning. I ended up sitting at the gate for most of the night, too afraid to lose my spot.
By the time I landed in New York, I was wired on caffeine and Charli.
The air was damp when I walked outside, a light mist coating the sidewalk, the sky gray and the leaves in mid-change.
It wasn’t the kind of day I’d imagined for us. Back home, I was used to hummingbird-blue skies and hearing the ocean in the background. Maybe that was one of my main issues—I was a California boy at heart. The place had woven itself into my blood, and maybe subconsciously, I worried our love wasn’t geographically compatible.
If she wanted me to move here, I would. That’s what I decided as I slid into a cab and barked out the name of my regular hotel. I hoped to be surrounded by purple soon enough, but I needed a shower and fresh clothes. Even I knew that spending the night in an airport after drinking beers with buddies and then flying cross-country was no way to meet a woman.
“Crap,” I muttered as we hit bumper-to-bumper traffic on the Jersey side of the Lincoln Tunnel. “What’s happening?”
“There’s parade. Fashion Week.”
In September? I closed my eyes, thought hard, and came up short. They paraded around the street for Fashion Week?
“German parade,” the cabbie hollered, explaining.
Christ.I leaned back into the dirty seat and took a breath, counted to ten, and exhaled. I did that all the way to Columbus Circle. It took us over an hour.
At the hotel’s front desk, I begged for any room as long as it was ready. They took pity on me, which was unusual for New Yorkers. The minute I got to my room, I dialed room service, jumped in the shower, and was out in time for the knock on the door.
With coffee down my throat and toast in my gut, I tossed on jeans, a long-sleeved tee, and Chucks. Fuck it, that was me. She liked the old me.
In the lobby, I paused and texted Charli.
LAYTON: Hey! Happy Saturday! How goes it? I’m just back from a run. You?
She didn’t respond right away, so I decided to take a quick walk. Roaming Central Park South, I was convinced I needed a plan.
By the time I hit Fifth Avenue, my thoughts went haywire.
Finally, she texted back.
CHARLI: Hey, you. Curled on my couch, writing and drinking coffee. I ran on the treadmill this morning. It’s raining here.
No shit. The rain had stopped, but the skies looked like they were about to crack back open.
It should have been a warning.
My conversation with Adam turned in my head, mixing with my love for Santa Monica and my need to have Charli completely. My brain was like a washing machine on the heavy cycle. Thoughts whirred and swished around in one big tangled mess.
The skies parted just as I ducked into a fancy jewelry store and came out twenty-five grand lighter.
I didn’t realize how fucked up I was, or that there was more fucking up coming my way. Or that my heart was about to crack in half, like the dark sky above.
I was on a major mission, and nothing was going to stand in my way.
Definitely not New York traffic during a thunderstorm.
I darted into the street and hailed a cab, my free hand in my pocket, fingering my purchase. When a cabbie stopped for me, I jumped into the backseat and rattled off my destination in the Meatpacking District, then closed my eyes, thinking of what I wanted to say.
Water splashed as the tires rolled through puddles, a dull hum of Indian music flitted from the car’s radio, and I felt at ease.
I love you.
