“I know,” I say. I get to my feet. “I appreciate you letting me see it again before I decide.”
“No problem,” Micah says. “Speaking of deciding, though…”
“Yeah.” I’ve already pushed the deadline about whether to sign the lease once and Micah’s been very patient.
“As I said, I do have someone else interested in the space, if you’re not going to take it.”
“I know,” I say again. “Can you give me the weekend to think about it? I promise I’ll give you an answer on Monday.”
Micah looks at me for a long moment. Maybe trying to suss out whether I’m bullshitting him or not. I’m not, but I have no idea how to make this decision. I should have made it before Costa Rica. But if I had, it probably would have been no.
Probably.
Stupid, stubborn hope. I don’t know why I keep torturing myself like this.
Micah finally shrugs his shoulders. “Fine. Monday, then.”
“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”
I leave Micah to lock the space up and turn down Tenth Avenue. It’s still windy and I wish I’d worn a hat or scarf. Every time I come back to New York after L.A., I forget about the variability in the city’s weather.
I stuff my hands in my pockets and quicken my pace to keep warm. I weave my way around pedestrians—not as many as there will be in a month or two—and before I know it, I’m at West Thirtieth and taking the steps to the High Line two at a time.
I love this park. I love how a group of people got together to advocate for the preservation of an elevated rail line on the West Side and turned it into this. It’s a hundred percent the triumph of community and persistence over apathy and government bureaucracy. And I’m not making some highfalutin comparison of a decaying and dilapidated railroad line metamorphosing into one of the most beautiful and popular parks in New York City to how my relationship with Jason has evolved over the last fifteen years.
I find an empty bench in front of a patch of dried native grasses and take my phone out.
I’m in New York. Got in this morning. I didn’t call you because I didn’t know what to say and I still don’t but I’m sitting on a bench on the High Line and I’m thinking about you and I have a decision to make by Monday and I don’t know how to make it without knowing if…
I stop. Read back the message.
I delete it.
I’ve never asked Jason for anything. I’m not sure it would be fair to start now. I don’t even know how to start now. Nothing’s changed about the reasons Jason and I aren’t together.
And maybe that's the answer. Maybe the fact that I can't even send a text means I already know how this ends.
I put my phone back in my pocket and walk back to my apartment.
I sleep in late on Saturday. Jet lag catching up on me, I guess. I go for a run. I do a series of sun salutations to stretch afterwards. I don’t consciously think about the decision I have to make but it’s hanging over me and the day drags on in that particular way of days when you’re simultaneously avoiding and trying to make a life-changing decision.
I’m also not thinking about the text I almost sent Jason.
I wake up feeling more rested on Sunday. I’ve still got one more day before I have to call Micah but I take my phone out and look at it in my hand. I could call him today. He’d answer.
I might as well call him today. I should just end this agonizing. Tell Micah thanks, but no thanks, give the lease option up. Maybe look for space in L.A.
I don’t know if I can put down roots here, with Jason on the other side of the East River as what? Co-parent to a grown daughter? Casual fuck buddy? Friend?
When the phone vibrates in my hand, I almost drop it. It’s not Micah, though. It’s Kelsey.
“Hi, Kels, how was the honeymoon?”
“Hi, Daddy. It was so great. We did practically nothing after you all left. Just lounged around by the pool, got some massages, and…well, never mind what else.” Her voice trails off with a slight giggle and I smile even though she can’t see me.
“Glad it was…relaxing?” I offer with a teasing note in my own voice.
“Yeah,” Kelsey says, with another muffled giggle. “That’s exactly what it was. Relaxing.”
