Page 37 of The Seven Year Slip

My heart clenched, because he was so lovely, and I was so relieved—happy, even—that he understood.

He returned to his chair, took his fork, and asked me about my favorite paintings. Why van Gogh? Where did I like to travel? What was my favorite snack? If I could have dinner with anyone, past or present, who would it be and why? And he made me laugh over the rest of the lemon pie, and we drank wine, still with the taste of his lips on my tongue, the memory of the kisses that, for all intents and purposes, never were.

13

Back to the Grind

When I woke up,the bed beside me was empty, and Iwan had left a note on the counter that read:

Fresh coffee in the pot. — I

He must have already left to see about that dishwashing gig again—I hadn’t even heard him get up. After we finished the bottle of wine the night before, we went to bed, fingers laced together and foreheads pressed against each other’s, the moonlight sharp and silver, painting soft lines across our bodies, and we talked some more. About his sister, about his grandfather’s dream restaurant, about my parents and their soft, routine way of life. He asked about the scar slashed through my eyebrow, and I asked about his tattoos—the bunch of cilantro on his arm for his grandpa (they both had that gene where it tasted like soap); initials on his torso, mysterious and faded; a whisk behind his ear because he thoughtit was funny, among others. We talked about where I’d traveled, where he’d never been.

“You’venevereaten at a Waffle House?” he’d asked, aghast.

“My aunt and I passed a few on the road trip we took that one time, but... no? Why, am I missing something?”

“WaHos are the best. They never close, and when they do? You know a natural disaster’s on its way, so you better get the fuck out of there. Their hash browns are either the best things in the world or so soggy they’re soup. It’s only the greatest modern tavern experience in the world.”

“That can’t be true.”

“I promise,” he replied firmly, “nothing is quite like a Waffle House at two in the morning.”

I wondered, vaguely, as I slipped on my blouse, where the closest Waffle House was to me. Would I get amazing hash browns, or greasy soup? Would I find him there, haunting the booths? It made me wonder where he was, really, right now. Seven years later.

“I’ll see you later,” I told the apartment as I grabbed my purse and keys, and left. Earl was at the front desk reading another James Patterson, and he tipped his hat to me as I hurried out the door.

Now that I was out of the apartment, the city pushed on around me, ever moving forward, and it was so discombobulating at first.

In my aunt’s apartment, it almost felt like time stood still.

I was so lost in my own thoughts, between my aunt’s apartment and Strauss & Adder, I didn’t notice Drew and Fiona in the elevator beside me until Fiona said, looking a bit bedraggled, “You look like sunshine and unicorn farts.”

I patted my flyaway bangs down. “I do?”

Drew said, “You’rebeamingwith it.”

“It’s irritating,” Fiona added, jabbing the close-door buttonbefore more people could jam their way into the elevator. It was already ten strong, and we were scrunched near the back.

My cheeks went pink as I thought about Iwan. And Iwan’s mouth. The way he tasted. “I spent all weekend painting, that’s all.” Not quite a lie.

“Ooh, painting what?” Drew asked.

“That new New York City travel guide that Kate worked on?” I said.

“Oh! I saw one on the freebie shelf. You took it? What did you paint first?”

“Bow Bridge,” I replied, and studied the two of them. They looked like the walking dead. “I take it you two didn’t have a good weekend?”

“Understatement of the year,” Drew muttered, looking at the ceiling. “Wespent all weekend getting the baby corner ready. And bywe, I mean I did. This one ‘supervised.’ ” She put the word in air quotes.

“You did great, sweetie,” Fiona replied and kissed her cheek.

The elevator opened on our floor, and we fought our way to the front and out into the lobby. Drew split off to her desk while Fiona and I went to the kitchen to fix our morning coffees. It was only when Drew was out of sight that Fiona stepped closer to me and whispered, “I wasworriedabout you!”

I gave her a strange look. “Worried? Why?”

She sighed in exasperation and grabbed a coffee cup from the dishwasher. “You didn’t respond toanyof my texts this weekend!”

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