42. Evelyn
42
Evelyn
W hen I first arrived in Hartsfall, I imagined a soundtrack to a romance I never expected to have. Honestly, it’s a soundtrack that doesn’t fit the one that I’ve found. But if it did, the current days would be set to the light interlude where time melts into a montage.
We take Quinn and Oliver into the city. It’s long overdue, but this way I can show them all the spots I’ve come to frequent. For the last few months, I’ve felt stuck where I am, but pointing out things like the yoga studio in Midtown I went to once and the taco truck with the best al pastor tacos I’ve ever had and I realize there was so much around me I never truly appreciated. I can step back and see all the pieces, even if I feel like I’m still missing a few. When we go to The Met, Garrett gets a T-shirt from the gift shop and changes into it in the bathroom.
“Are you trying to use novelty T-shirts to seduce me?” I ask.
He picks at the fabric of the simple black shirt with its red serif lettering. “That depends, is it working?”
“Completely.” Always.
I kiss him on a street corner, hard and long, to the point passersby whistle and call out to us. We still might be on some version of vacation but stepping out of Hartsfall and into the city solidifies our transition from daydream into waking reality.
Afterward, we go to a comedy show at a dingy little bar in The Village. The floors are so sticky that I stumble when one of my shoes gets stuck halfway through. Quinn looks at me with wide eyes and whispers, “I’m pretty sure we saw this guy bomb at a party once.”
“I think you’re right,” I say, recalling an unfortunate open mic night in college where we saw a variation of the act being performed now.
After I confirm this she turns to Oliver and he nods. I never thought a bad comedy show could ever make me feel so good, though the jokes have nothing to do with it. We’re back, not the same as before, but that was never going to happen. We’ve changed, but we survived it.
“What is it?” Garrett asks, and I explain, sharing more of myself with him, something inconsequential that means more because he’s the one who I get to tell it to.
As the days pass, Garrett and I continue to exchange calendar invites. When I have nothing to do or we’re in the middle of a drive, I scroll back through them.