Sami’s Sammie #2
My heart swells thinking of it all. “Still, I am really sorry I let it get that far after. For everyone. Especially when I
was—once I was, um . . . screwing you.”
He lets out a single, rueful chuckle. “I appreciate it. And for all you’ve done. For Irene, for the building. For me too.”
Something inside me releases.
“So we’re good?” I put out a hand to shake his.
He eyes it and hesitates before his warm hand wraps around mine comfortably. “We’re good.”
Once our hands shake, he doesn’t let go. And I don’t want him to.
“Mona.” His gaze crawls up my arm to my face. “I don’t want to go back to the world where I don’t know you anymore.” He inhales.
“I spent a couple of months there, and it wasn’t pretty. I even started catering to the condo guys. That was a joke.” His
eyes flash at me before roving down. “But after everything, I wasn’t sure if I could reach out or . . . Then when you were
helping Irene and she mentioned you seemed happier, I was glad, and I didn’t want to mess with you, but now seeing you . . .”
He sucks in a deep breath. “I mean, I’ve been spinning a little.”
I step closer to him, my hands gliding up his arms now. “Sami, I don’t want to go back to that world either.” His arms cup
my elbows.
“That’s good, then.” His pupils dilate. “So that means you’ll stop by for a coffee or something? I don’t know if you’re seeing
anyone, but maybe one day we can go for a walk or have dinner or . . .” He looks so nervous. “I never got to make you that
steak, and I kind of miss watching you eat my food, and I made this whole menu and all I could think about was if you’d like
it, and—”
I lean closer and he shuts up. The minute our lips touch, a surge of warmth runs down my back. Sami pulls me closer, deepening
our—
Across the street, the sound of glass crashing to the floor breaks us apart.
We both turn to see it: Through the front window of the diner, Abu is scrambling to clean up what looks to be a tray of broken mugs.
He looks back at us and quickly diverts his attention, pretending to be deep in thought, mouthing something to himself before turning and feigning surprise at the sight of me.
“That was quite the skit.” Sami sighs. “Well, shit, like I said, he’s out of his hole. I’ll have to go yell at him in a minute.”
I wave toward Abu.
“I have to get going too. But I’ll be back tomorrow to bring a few things to Irene.”
Sami holds my hands between his. “Good. If you don’t, Abu might shit on the floor, it seems.”
Try as I might to be casual, I can’t contain my grin. “So I’ll see you?”
“Only if you promise to behave yourself in my place of business,” Sami says, squeezing my fingers.
“Oh, Mona, what did the other guys say?” His voice lighter. “When you told them the news about the building, I mean?”
And just like that, my grin is tamed. “Oh, I don’t know if telling them is such a good idea . . . I think Irene should get
this one.”
“I don’t know, I think it’ll go better than you think. It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”
“I’ll think about it.” I grin.
It’s when I’m back on the sparsely filled, moderately sketchy train (if I choose to worry about the guy in the neon-yellow
jumpsuit staring straight at me with wide fucking eyes!), that my mind drifts to the other residents. (I’m choosing to ignore
the man, until he pulls out a weapon, or anything else, from his pants.)
A couple of hours ago was my celebratory visit with Irene and Ernest (I stopped at the convenience store for ice-cream bars).
And a few minutes after my second visit with Sami (the visit was overtaken by Abu, but Sami’s going to come by tomorrow evening and leave the diner to his staff so we can have a proper hang).
I pull out my phone and find myself opening the old Slack. Scanning the messages.
The last ones were filled with my instructions for the city council meeting we were so proudly rallying for. Even Carmen had
joined the thread to help prepare for it.
They were so grateful for my help. And then it all went to shit.
After their hopeful messages, the Slack went silent. I wonder if they made a new one that doesn’t include me.
But these aren’t my corporate friends. It’s not that I wasn’t “good enough,” it’s that I hurt them. I start typing and then
delete my words several times.
Finally, I just write: Good News! The building is going to be repaired!
I stare at my message floating on the screen for a good while with no reaction, before finally putting my phone down.
(Is that guy moving closer? I swear he was two seats back last time I looked. He catches me looking and I quickly avert.)
My phone lights up with a message. And then another.
Jane Brando, 8:09 p.m.: Mona! That’s great. Thank you for all you did.
Jane Brando, 8:11 p.m.: How’s Alice?
Carmen Thurston, 8:13 p.m.: HOT DOGGGG I’m going to be back
Another message comes in as I’m reading.
Lorna Frank, 8:13 p.m.: Me too. But the Geese must’ve been having a field day.
Jane Brando, 8:16 p.m.: Did you already watch that sexy thriller with the creepy priest on Netflix? Bunch of assholes.
Jane Brando, 8:16 p.m.: Sorry, it’s been awhile. That was meant to be a DM.
Norm Olivers, 8:18 p.m.: Thanks very much, Mona. I can’t wait to come back and see you guys.
Janine Chen, 8:19 p.m.: Happy for you all. Marcus and I have split. We won’t be back.