32 Gemma
W hen I return to Kiara and Val’s apartment on Thursday night, the lights are off, and the entire apartment is covered with candles. Burrito is nowhere to be seen, and slow, classical music plays from the TV speakers. I’m afraid I’ve walked into some kind of sex thing when the smell of sage wafts to my nose.
“Gemma!” Kiara says, coming out of the bedroom. She closes the door behind her and throws her arms out for a hug.
“Watch your step,” Val cautions. “There are candles all over the place.”
“Were you guys about to have a date night?” I ask warily, just in case. “Where’s Burrito?”
“Burrito’s in the bedroom, underneath our bed,” Kiara answers. “He hates candles. And nah, it’s several days late, I know, but we’re about to do a New Year’s manifestation ritual. Join us!”
Sapphics are, stereotypically, a superstitious group, but Kiara is the most into the woo out of anyone I know. She’s been doing little rituals since I’ve known her, and Val always indulges her, even though she’s not a spiritual person, herself.
“It makes her so happy when I participate,” Val explained to me once. “So I can’t say no.”
Kiara places a yellow cushion on the floor for me so it joins the other two already there. But as I sit down, I realize I have no idea what I’m manifesting. A new job? I’m happy with my current one, and if this modern love project does well, it’ll hopefully make things even better. A new relationship? I’m happy with how things are with Celeste and me. Even though it’s temporary.
Stumped, I sit down on my cushion and stare into one of the candles.
Kiara starts by asking us to share what we’re manifesting.
“A promotion,” Val says. “They’re making me do twice the amount of work I signed up for, and it’s time I got better pay for it. Or find a better job, but I like working with you two, so… we’ll see. What about you, hon?”
“A better place in the Ticketmaster queue for Beyoncé’s next tour,” Kiara says rapidly, like she’s recited this multiple times. “Life’s been good lately, but I still haven’t fully recovered from us missing the Renaissance tour! As cool as the movie version was, I need to see my queen live and in the flesh!”
“Don’t worry, babe,” replies Val. “Next time, it’s going to be all hands on deck. I don’t care if we need to go on PTO to virtually stand in line or what, because we are getting the tickets before the scalpers drive up the prices.” She makes a determined fist.
I feel a twinge of guilt. Trying to get tickets for the Renaissance tour was yet another thing I missed while I was wrapped up in my life with James.
“I’ll help, too,” I say. “I’ll take the whole day off if I need to.”
“Aw!” Kiara wraps us both in her arms. “I love you guys!”
Both my friends then turn to me.
“How about you, Gemma?” Val asks. “What are you manifesting?”
I let out a nervous laugh. “Well, I was thinking about how everything is finally good for me now, too. I’m almost done with the project for Evelyn. And my thing with Celeste—”
Kiara gasps, cutting me off. “That’s right! How’s that going?”
“It’s been great,” I reply. “I’m really happy right now. I almost wish it didn’t have to end so soon.”
“Soon?” Kiara says with a frown.
“Yup. We’re only seeing each other until we finish this project. Afterward, Celeste is returning to LA and that’ll be that.”
Val leans back, folding her arms to her chest. “I know I’m the one who told you to go with the flow, but will you be okay when it all ends? You’ve been spending a lot of time with her recently.”
“Right,” Kiara says. “You seem to really like her, Gemma. And you’re so happy with her! This doesn’t have to be the end end, right? I mean, your parents live in SoCal, too! Maybe you two can do long distance!”
“Yeah,” I reply. “But I don’t think Celeste has any interest in continuing this. Or at least, that’s the impression I got from what she’s been saying.”
Val and Kiara exchange worried glances.
“Honestly, after what happened with my last relationship,” I continue, “I’ve been trying to stay in the present. I learned the hard way that sometimes it’s best not to worry so much about the future. And even if this thing with Celeste doesn’t go anywhere, I don’t think I’ll ever regret reconnecting with her. It’s been super healing and helpful, since we resolved a lot of things from the past.”
Kiara smiles. “Well, I’m happy for you, then. And proud of you, too! It sounds like you’re in a good place.” She glances around at the candles. “Okay, I have an idea. Gemma, how about for you, we manifest a new, healthy, and happy long-term relationship! Not necessarily for right now, but for somewhere along the line. Whenever you’re ready!”
I make a face. “Can we do that? I thought manifesting was for things you wanted to happen in the near future.”
“Not necessarily!” Kiara says. “Things might happen quickly, or they might happen years later. You never know.”
Val nods. “Yeah, why not? If Kiara is manifesting tickets for a tour Beyoncé hasn’t even announced yet—a tour she may have not even planned yet—why can’t you manifest a new relationship you want at some point?”
Kiara giggles. “Everything happens in divine timing.”
“And Beyoncé’s, apparently,” Val quips.
“Bitch, Beyoncé is a goddess!” Kiara exclaims jokingly. “What are you talking about? It’s like that one Ariana Grande song. God is a woman, period.”
We all cheer in agreement and join hands to start the ritual.
On Friday afternoon, I exit through the doors of my office building. The city streets are loud and crowded, and, at first, I’m worried Celeste won’t be able to get to me. But then a white BMW zips through traffic and comes to a stop in front of me with its hazards on.
Celeste rolls down her window and waves at me. I have to admit it. Seeing her drive a nice car like that, especially in a busy city like San Francisco, is hella attractive.
The husky croons of an alternative rock singer greet me when I open the door, along with some percussive beats and futuristic-sounding guitar. Celeste taps her steering wheel to lower the volume and says, “Hey,” while I get into the passenger seat.
“Hi.”
As I put my bag in the back of the car, I don’t miss Celeste’s eyes giving me a once-over, and I get a slight satisfactory thrill when her eyes linger on my chest the moment I take off my faux fur coat. I specifically wore this blue sundress because of the cleavage it shows off.
“You look beautiful as always,” she says, only taking her eyes off me to pull her car back into the flow of traffic.
“You look pretty sexy yourself.”
Celeste is impossibly cool in her black leather jacket, heather-gray sweater dress, and white knee-high boots. Along with her blue aviators, she looks like she could star in a car commercial herself instead of being the person who’d shoot one.
“Felt like dressing up,” she says, keeping her eyes on the road. “Even if it’s mostly a work trip for me.”
I shrug. “There’s nothing wrong with working in style.”
Celeste nods in agreement.
When we reach the coastal part of the road, she presses a button above our heads to open up the moon roof. The salty sea breeze pleasantly chills the inside of the car as we continue our drive up north.
“Sorry,” she says. “I should have asked beforehand. Is this too cold for you?”
“No, it’s nice. I have my coat.”
I’ve finished putting my coat back on when we reach the Golden Gate Bridge. In the previous times I’d seen the bridge, it’d always been covered, either fully or partially, by the fog. Today, though, the majestic reddish-orange arches are in plain view, taking my breath away.
I take a quick video on my phone as we drive across, and Celeste slows down—or as much as she can in the flow of traffic—so I can fully capture the view.
When we’re off the bridge, I tell her, “Thanks.”
“No problem,” she replies. “Contrary to popular belief, not all professional photographers are condescending assholes who shit on Instagram.”
I laugh. “I noticed. Your account has so many followers.” The moment I say those words, I want to die of embarrassment. I can’t believe I admitted to Celeste that I looked her up on social media. But she’s the one whose cheeks turn red.
“You looked up my Instagram?” she asks, uncharacteristically sheepish. “Recently? What did you think?”
“It’s great! You have some very cool shots on it. And you have such great range, too. It’s no wonder you’re such a popular photographer. I got so proud just thinking about how you continued following your passion after college.”
“Thanks.” Celeste turns away from me and clears her throat. “Anyway. Sorry if this is rude of me, but can you do me a favor while I work?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
“Could you please find a good restaurant for us?” she asks. “I ended up having to do a few more things before I picked you up, so I didn’t have time to find a place. We can go wherever you want. And again, it’s on me.”
“Of course! I’ll be on my computer anyway, so it’s no problem.”
A few minutes later, we arrive at a small harbor with picturesque bright white yachts bobbing up and down in the greenish-blue waters.
Two gorgeous— and very tall —models, a man and a woman, stand in front of one of the boats. They both wave at us as we get out of Celeste’s car. The man is wearing a white tux, like James Bond, while the woman is wearing a red evening gown and Louboutins.
“So clearly I’m not the target demographic for this commercial,” I remark as Celeste parks the car.
Celeste grins. “Don’t worry. I’m not, either. I’m just here for the job.”
When we get out of the car, I take in the beautiful scenery. White mist clings to the mountains behind us, while on the other side of the bay, faraway and faint but still beautiful, is the San Francisco city skyline. Seagulls perch on the waves that brush against the yachts floating on the water. As far as winter in SF goes, it’s a nice, relatively sunny day, with the perfect setting to match.
“There’s a coffee shop that’s a five minutes’ walk away from here,” Celeste says, taking out her equipment from the back seat. “I double-checked this morning before my errands since I wanted to make sure you had a place to work. Text me if you need anything. And come back around sunset.”
“Okay, thanks.” I grab my bag from the car.
Celeste gives me a hug before we go our separate ways. It’s more than a little chilly, so I linger in her arms a bit more than necessary.
Small trees and quaint storefronts line the way to the coffeehouse, making me feel like I’ve stepped into another era. The ocean breeze stirs up the skirt of my dress, and I have to hold it in place to avoid a Marilyn Monroe moment.
Fortunately, the coffeehouse is relatively empty, so I’m able to find a nice spot by the window with a beautiful view of the Bay. I order myself a mocha before turning on my computer.
The first order of business, of course, is to find a place to eat dinner, like Celeste requested. As it turns out, there are a lot of great food options in Sausalito, but one in particular catches my attention. Just a few minutes away from the yacht harbor is a fancy pizza place with beautiful nighttime views and a cozy-looking outdoor firepit. The vibes seem immaculate.
The barista calls out my order, and I get my drink before settling back into my seat. I save the restaurant on my phone and move on to my work. Sipping on my mocha, I get done as much as I can, answering emails, drafting a few write-ups, and going through recent submissions to Dear Karl.
When the sun begins to set, coloring the sky a vivid orange and red, I head back to the harbor.
Celeste is alone when I reach her, and as I quietly watch, she snaps a few photos of the horizon with her camera. I stop a few paces away and get out my phone to take a picture of her , since she looks especially beautiful in the bright colors of the early evening.
“Hey,” Celeste says when she catches sight of me.
“Hey, how’d the shoot go?”
“Not bad.” She snaps a few quick more shots, this time of the boats. “The models were great, and the wind was cooperative for once, so everything went smoothly. How about you?”
“I finished the work I couldn’t do back at the office.”
“Amazing!” Celeste says with a smile. “I’m glad to hear it. Did you have a chance to find where you want to eat?”
“Yup. There’s a great pizza place nearby.”
“Perfect. Let’s go.”
By the time we arrive at the unassuming bungalow front of the restaurant, the sun has completely set. The host leads us to the back, and I’m awed by the cozy atmosphere created by the golden yellow string lights hanging above our heads. The patio overlooks a smaller harbor with boats that look adorable and quaint compared to the behemoths Celeste was shooting earlier today. And beyond that is the other side of the bay, lit by bright specks of light from the houses lining the distant hills.
The circular firepit is already occupied by a large, happy family, so Celeste and I sit at one of the tables by the water.
When our waiter arrives, we choose a bottle of wine for the table. After a cursory glance at the menu, Celeste asks me, “Do you want to get the mushroom pizza? Is that still your favorite topping?”
“Yes, it is,” I say, blushing. It’s amazing how she remembers so many little details about me even after all these years. “But we can get something else, if you want.”
“Nah, I like mushrooms, too.”
After the waiter comes back and leaves with our order, she stares at me so intensely that I let out a nervous laugh.
“What?” I ask.
“You look gorgeous in this light,” she says, getting up from our table. “You’re glowing . I’ll be right back.”