Page 101 of Sort of Seeing Someone

Finally, there’s the check. The loose floating check that’s landed on top of the duvet next to me like a maple leaf finding its new resting place on the sidewalk in the fall. I pick it up and my eyes go straight to the total: $250,000.

I sit up straight like I’ve found myself suddenly choking on a piece of bread and put my hand to my chest in an attempt to find my breath. This has got to be some kind of a mistake. My eyes must be miscalculating the number of zeroes, multiplying them into a sum that only dreams are made of. But no, it says what it says—and it’s exactly what dreams are made of.

The moment I stepped foot back into the 312 area code, the clock started. For a brief moment, I thought maybe Ollie could keep me here. I thought he was Esther Higgins’sthe one—the one you make a change of plans for. But the Ollie Experience has taught me otherwise. It’s taught me that rootsareimportant. And maybe, unlike what I thought when I left, I really had some good ones already going. With any luck, they’re still there, waiting for me.

Like fanning aflipbook, images of my old life pop into my head. The original cast of characters who defined my time in OB make appearances in my brain:Gerda, Betty, Cassie, Walter,Tres,Yas, Gavin, andBrody/Kevin—yes, even he makes the cut. Not lost on me in my own chaos isthinking just how simple a guyBrodywas. Over-analyzing things was definitely not inhisrepertoire. And that’s what sounds good to me right now. Simple. Sweet.

The day I realized Esther could have meant Ollie, I all-but forgot aboutBrody. But to this day, I still don’t have any proof she meant one over the other. Don’t get it twisted. I still believe in her gift. But I have it, too—and I know as well as anyone…even special people get it wrong sometimes.

So I pick up my phone and text Brody. By now, he’s probably moved on. He’s probably seeing another girl—or five.Does he ever still think of me?It’s a long shot that he’ll even answer, but there’s something on my mind. I have to ask Brody aquestion. My future happiness depends on it.

The butterflies descend on my stomach the moment I hit send. Was this a terrible idea, I wonder? While I wait for a reply, I fetch my laptop once more and do a quick search for which airline has the soonest direct flight to San Diego. There was a time I wantedBrody to come find me in Chicago, but now I’m convinced it’s me who just needs to show up there.

Seconds later, Brody replies to my text. He still has my number saved. He still wants to talk.

I read his reply again.

Sweet. Simple.

It’s official. I have a reason to head home.

28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

When the automatic doors at the San Diego International Airport open to the outside, I immediately feel that seventy-degree ocean air wrap its loving arms around me. Also there to welcome me is a familiar face, one that has only managed to get even more beautiful during the time and distance we’ve spent apart.

“Hi, Yas,” I say.

In the cupholders of her super cute, Tiffany blue Mini Cooper are two café con leches—one for her and one for me. They may not be from Joe n’ Flow, but still, the sight of twin coffee cups reminds me of the good old times with my dear old friend. I lean over for a long overdue hug then buckle my belt.

“Thanks for coming to get me.”

“No problem, mama,” Yas says as she shifts the car into drive. “But as your impromptu chauffeur, I need to know where I am taking you now. Any hints?”

“Brody and I reconnected,” I spill.

“Oh,” she says emphatically. “So we are going to Ocean Beach, I take it?”

“We are.”

Unashamed, I open up the conversation thread withBrody and show Yas our texts at the next stoplight.

“Sounds pretty promising, right?”

“It’s definitely interesting,” she says. “But I need more context.”

I go on to explain the photo he sent me, which is of the For Lease sign at the new Joe n’ Flow digs. I hadBrody take it and send it to me. See, after the letter arrived from Betty, coupled with the check from Gerda, my wheels started turning. I began to get a vision of what my future could look like living in OB once again.

That’s when Brody popped into my mind and I thought to text him. I figured there was a 95 percent chance that he was surfing in Ocean Beach, adjacent to where the old yoga studio was located. So the question I asked him yesterday while I searched for flights to San Diego was to see if he could snap a photo of the For Lease sign so I could get the number of therealtor off it and schedule a private showing. Of course, I was right about Brody’s whereabouts and he happily obliged by sending me the picture right away. Simple and sweet. Just like I said.

“The next thing I knew, I had a private tour of the space scheduled for today—which is where we are headed now,” I conclude.

“Girl, you had me thinking we were about to pull a John Cusack inSay Anythingoutside Brody’sdoor.”

“Do you see a boombox? Come on.”

As we arrive to the new structure, it takes all but two minutes for the realtors to casually ask if we’d be comfortable signing a waiver to be on camera for a pilot episode ofMillion Dollar Listing: San Diego. Yas tells them her days of wearing camera-ready makeup are long over and I pass simply because of my raging PTSD from the botchedWindy City Todaysegment. They seem bummed. I’m pretty sure they think Yas and I are an interracial lesbian couple—the stuff modern-day reality show dreams are made of.

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