Page 13 of Last Letters to Ara
Looking at myself in the mirror, despite my best efforts, my reflection is a pretty exact representation of the rest of my life: mediocre and a bit sad.
The clock on the wall reminds me that it’s time to leave for work. I move to the great big windows, the feature which made me instantly fall in love with this place. My apartment is what HGTV would call shabby-chic, or what I like to call shitty-cute. Everything is a bit old and worn, but the neutral tones make it look like it’s on purpose.
I shut the blinds, blocking out the golden sunlight which filters in all day, keeping it bright while reminding me there is an entire world out there. Plus, it makes my fake plants look even more realistic since it’s an environment where real plants would thrive, if someone ever remembered to water them.
My phone buzzes with another alert, this time it’s a message from Dad’s attorney, informing me that he needs to meet with me urgently. No, thanks.
Grabbing my keys, I take another look at my place.
At the very least, I’m fortunate to have this little slice of heaven beside Hyde Park.
• • •
No matter how many times I drive to the airport just for work, I never get over the feeling of excitement, as if I’m about to head off on an adventure. My brain can never convince my heart that I’m not getting on a plane to New York, finally taking off to pursue my dream. It beats and beats and beats until I walk up to the café and see Karen looking at her watch. I already know that when she lifts her gaze to mine, it will carry nothing but undiluted disdain.
Karen is one of those people who is just plain unhappy and there is nothing the rest of us can do about it. I used to show up early, but all I would get was an irritated reminder that I was an over-achieving nuisance who won’t be paid extra for arriving before my shift. Now, I show up for my shift every day on the dot, which is accompanied by a grimace and some growling from her for cutting it so close.
“Good evening, Karen,” I say as I make my way past her. I receive no answer which is fine by me. Less is more where she is concerned.
Walking past the kitchen, the guys wave in tandem, and I give them a nod in greeting. Dan and Joel are good guys, friendly even, but like everyone else, I’ve kept them at arm’s length. Secretly, I think they’re great. They’ve worked here longer than I have, and I know they’ve covered my ass with Karen more times than I can count.
On my first day, I had made a massive mess in the back of the kitchen. I got ahead of myself and tried to carry multiple plates and ended up dumping them all over the floor, wasting the meal, and breaking several plates. The customers were angry about the delay, so Karen came back to find out who was to blame, and before I could say anything, Joel, the cook, stepped up and claimed full responsibility. I’ve never forgotten that.
I’ll also never forget the time where Dan, the dishwasher, came out to help me bus tables. There had been a particularly rowdy group who stayed well past closing after seeing someone off, despite my increasingly unfriendly reminders. The place was a mess after they finally left, and I knew I’d be there long after everyone else went home. Dan came out and stayed to help me until everything was spotless.
If I were to have any friends, it would be them. They always joke around together in the kitchen when Karen isn’t paying attention and I’ve alwayswantedto join in. But that darker part of me repeatedly ensures that I don’t, reminding me what happens when I start to care about people.
Our break room is situated behind the kitchen, painted a cheerful yellow, and has a nice little table with chairs. I stuff my purse into my cubby and hastily snatch my apron. No need to poke the grizzly by taking too long.
It’s a Sunday evening, meaning it will be pretty slow tonight. Low on tips and high on my patience. Karen likes to use these evenings to order me to do meaningless tasks. Before she gets the opportunity to badger me about anything, I make a beeline toward a table nobody has bothered to clean up.
A feeling passes over me, similar to when you can hear footsteps and know exactly who they belong to. This presence is one that I would recognize anywhere. I ignore it, hoping this awareness is being conjured by my imagination and will leave me untouched. Deep, heaving breaths reach me a moment later, and I can no longer deny it.
Any normal person would expect to turn around, finding an old man who has trouble getting around or a young boy racing invisible monsters. They would even expect to see fucking Usain Bolt standing there with his gold medals, because eventhatwould make more sense than who I know stands behind me right now.Theo.
What. The. Hell.
“Do you know how many places there are in Tampa Bay that can be classified as cafés?” he asks, finally regaining some of his breath as he reaches over and grabs a glass of water from the table. I open my mouth to warn him that it’s probably not very sanitary, but he’s already chugging it. “Think in thehundreds.”
I haven’t seen Theo in almost exactly one month, which I’ve spent trying and failing to forget about his existence. He’s plagued my thoughts and crawled under my skin, refusing to leave. Nobody has affected me this way, abducting my thoughts and disarming me with his smile. When Theo is around, everything else falls away, and it scares the living hell out of me.
The last time we met has played in my head over and over. Sometimes I even imagine how it could have played out differently had I stayed in the diner that morning. In a parallel universe where I have the power to overcome my anxiety, we could have talked until closing time, learning everything there is to know about each other.
“I made it toquitea few of them before I realized something obvious.” His babbling brings me back to the present, where I always choose to run. “I met you in the airport.”
He laughs incredulously, taking a deliberate step in my direction. “I met you in theairport!!!”
Am I processing this correctly? “You’re telling me... that you spent the lastmonthdriving around Tampa Bay...to findme?”
Theo nods shamelessly, no qualms in sharing this insanity.
“Now I definitely have to quit.” It doesn’t come out nearly as grumbly as I intended it.In fact, it almost sounds like that’s a hint of a smile in my voice?Am I holding back a smile?
A conquering grinspreads across Theo’s mouth as his unstyled curls cascade over his brow, a hint of perspiration leaving a dewy glow across his smooth, light gold skin. It does nothing to taint the clean smell emanating my senses, a mixture of fresh forest greenery that I can’t quite place with a hint of cinnamon, his chest still rising and falling with effortful breaths.
Stalking back to the kitchen before my jaw can fully disconnect from the rest of my face, I close the door behind me, resting with my back against it, sending Dan and Joel to a jarring halt. Water drips to the floor as Dan suspends a half-washed plate while a burger hovers over the grill, carefully balanced on Joel’s spatula, mid flip. They’re looking at me like I’ve been inhabited by an extraterrestrial.
“What?” I ask. They look at each other as if to confirm they’re not seeing things.
