Page 75 of P.S. It’s Always Been You
I hold up my hands, surrendering that point. But I won’t stop trying. “Think about it.”
The cab pulls up to Sorvino’s on Sixty-Second Street and Fifth Avenue. The address tugs at my mind, but I’m not sure why.
When we get out of the car, I point to the building. “Does this address seem familiar to you?”
Her eyes turn playful. “Maybe it’s an old moon-pie factory?”
I snap my fingers, grab my wallet, and fish out the receipt from this morning. The frequency seems to change; the air starts to buzz. “The price of the sign was sixty-two dollars and five cents. And we’re on Sixty-Second and Fifth.”
35
Presley
The sky is raining caterpillars.
Bus tires are made of yarn.
Tree branches droop from the weight of titanium leaves.
And Pat fed us another clue?
The last feels more unlikely than the most unlikely of scenarios.
We’ve already figured out where the last letter was. So why on earth would he drop that detail? That random, pointless detail?
“It has to be a coincidence,” I say, trying to make sense of this new wrinkle as I stand on Fifth Avenue outside Sorvino’s.
“But that’s a helluva coincidence.”
“Yes, true. But how would he know we’d be here? And look, even if he did—maybe we mentioned it somehow—this place is not and never was a Broadway theater.”
“We didn’t mention the gala, Presley,” Hunter says, low and ominous. Cue the foreboding music.
“What are you saying, Hunter?”
His eyes swim with questions. “I’m saying something is up. It’s like when I’m out in the wilderness, and I can sense someone or something nearby.”
“But life is full of coincidences. We met in the first place because of coincidence. We happened to be in the same museum at the same time.”
“True.” Then he shakes his head, doglike. “Enough about Pat.” He takes my hand. “Let’s talk about all the things I’m going to do to your beautiful body on those long weekends when I’m back in New York.”
As we go inside, he whispers possibilities in my ear. My mind swirls with images of midnight encounters, stolen Saturdays, and Sundays lolling in bed with this man. We’ll wander through Central Park, and pop into art galleries and museums. He’ll have to leave for work, and I’ll put him on a plane, my heart heavy but also full, since when he returns, he returns to me.
Once we’re inside, a waiter circles by, and Hunter grabs two glasses of champagne then toasts to us. As the bubbly tickles my nose, I watch a woman with big brown eyes drop a kiss on a man’s cheek then swing our way solo, sweeping Hunter into a hug. She can only be his mother. She has the same eyes. Chocolaty, warm, inviting.
“Mom, I want you to meet someone. This is my date. Presley Turner,” he says, proudly. “Presley, this is my mother, Barbara.”
I clear my throat and straighten my shoulders. I’ve never met her before, and I want to make a good impression. I want to be worthy in her eyes.
She turns to me, her smile knowing. “Pleasure to meet you, Presley. I’ll have to introduce you to Jesse as soon as he’s done.” She gestures to the man she just kissed.
“It’s lovely to meet you, and I look forward to meeting Jesse too,” I say.
As Barbara extends a hand, Hunter continues talking. “Actually, Presley is more than my date. She’s the woman I’m in love with. I leased a place in the city so I can see her more when I’m in town.”
His mother squeals then covers her mouth. “Forgive my exuberance,” she says when she drops her hand. “Does this mean you’ll be cutting back?”
Hunter chuckles. “You’ll never stop, will you?”
His mother’s smile exudes hope, and she echoes, “Does it?”
I step in to answer for him. “I don’t know that anyone can pry him away from his adventures. Or that anyone should. I’m just glad I’ll get a little bit of him. But I’ll share him with you.”
Barbara casts her eyes toward her son. “I like her. Keep her.”
“That’s the plan.”
We make small talk about the event for a few minutes, then a tuxedoed man with brown skin and a dazzling white smile strides over. Vikas Winters claps Hunter on the back then pulls him in for an embrace. “So glad you could make it,” the older man says. “Did you narrowly race across a collapsing bridge before catching your plane?”
“No. It was a bridge on fire. But I saved the whole crew,” Hunter says.
“Not the neighboring town too? Slacking off, eh?”
“Clearly I’ll need to up my game.”
When they separate, Vikas cuffs him on the shoulder in that affectionate way fathers have with sons. Hunter was right. Vikas hasn’t replaced his dad, but he’s clearly become vital in his own right in Hunter’s life.
“You look strange in a tux,” Vikas says.
“You’re one to talk,” Hunter says.
