The answer to both was yes.
I carried my laptop and phone to my bed and typed a response to Charlie.
We made plans to meet for dinner at Sushi West on Hudson Street, one of the only casual sushi spots in the West Village. I tried distracting myself by tidying up the apartment. The minutes were crawling, and I couldn’t stop pacing. I threw on my coat and walked down to Bleecker Street.
The West Village was lit up with wreaths and white lights. I walked toward Pasticceria Rocco, an Italian bakery known for cannolis and sfogliatelle. I stepped in and ordered two of each, watching the teenager behind the counter place them in a white pastry box tied with red string.
I handed him a twenty-dollar bill and carried the pastries back out to Bleecker Street. I turned right to head toward Sushi West, stopping at the corner to check my phone.
“Thought that was you.”
I turned around to see Charlie. My stomach did a flip seeing his face for the first time since earlier that morning.
He nodded behind him. “I just got off at West Fourth.” He held out a CVS bag. “Your favorite.”
I pulled out strawberry Twizzlers. I laughed, realizing we’d both done the same thing to break the ice. I handed him the box.
“For you.”
We walked side by side toward Hudson Street. Charlie stopped at the next block and looked at me.
“How are you?”
I wanted to tell him that I’d spent the whole day convincing myself we’d made a mistake, but seeing him and hearing his voice was undoing all of it.
“I’m confused,” I admitted.
“Me too,” he said quickly.
He looked around. “Man, this is really the place to be this time of year. Should we just keep walking? Are you super hungry?”
I shook my head. “Nope. Walking sounds nice.”
We turned right on West Tenth Street. “This is the dream.” He marveled at the elegant brownstones with Christmas trees in the windows.
“I really think these three blocks—mine, West Tenth, and Charles Street—are the reason people move here.”
“And to find fame and fortune.”
He sat down on a brownstone step and motioned for me to join him.
“Think about all the people who spent their lives here,” he said.
“Who do you think lived in that one?” I pointed to a brownstone across the street. Perfectly frozen in time.
“Someone who really knew how to play the piano. And in their spare time, wrote great novels and all the sheet music that still gets played. And maybe even a poem or two.”
“Man or woman?”
“Both. The most prolifically artistic couple Manhattan ever saw.”
I smiled. “The toast of all the dinner parties.”
He looked at me seriously. “I don’t want to lose our friendship, Sam.”
I felt relieved thinking we were on the same page. But I also didn’t know if I could keep fighting the idea of Charlie.
I felt my breath catch in my throat. “I keep wishing we’d met after I figured out how to be happy.”
