26
MY BIG CHANCE
Ellie
The people-watching at Edge & Plow on the main drag in Venice is top-notch on a Sunday morning. I enjoy the view from an outside table, sipping a cup of tea, my pup in my lap.
Over there, a gal my age sporting a messy bun and cut-off shorts shows pics—I presume—on her phone to her friends. They’re all dressed in the ragtag attire of a morning-after post-mortem.
My heart clutches and I look away.
A few tables over from me, a man with a neat beard excitedly tells his buddies all about last night withlike, the sexiest guy ever.
Good for him, but I frown.
There could not be a more inspiring scene for my writing soul. This is the kind of background I could see in an episode ofThe Dating Games.
And yet, I’m too sad.
I’m alone. I’m not here with my New York girlfriends. Veronica has returned to Manhattan with Milo. Hazel has taken off for Europe.
I’m not here with my Los Angeles friends either.
I lift my black tea—because I can’t indulge in caramel iced lattes every day—take a sip, then set the cup on the iron table.
Even if Maddox or Rachel were here, what would I say? The guy I was falling for just walked away from me.
I heave a sigh, shoulders slumped. Gigi looks up, concern in her big eyes as her ears go to full bat-style.
My throat tightens and I stroke her soft head. “Of course, you’re my friend too,” I tell her. She leans into my hand, savoring the pets.
Then, I finish the tea, bus my table, and leave. I walk my girl to our new home, trying desperately to look forward to tomorrow.
To my big day, my big week, my big chance.
But it’s harder than it was less than a week ago when I pulled into town.
27
IT WAS OBVIOUS
Gabe
As I towel off from the shower, the scent of eggs and pancakes floats up the stairs of my parents’ house and wafts into the bathroom.
Damn, I’ve missed the smell of Dad’s cooking. Smells like home.
I dry off and then track down the pair of gym shorts and fresh T-shirt I left behind last time I spent the night in my old bedroom, aka theguest room.Still feels like mine even though it’s done up in pretty whites and blues now—gender neutral for guests, Mom says—and it no longer has any posters of my sports idols or favorite rock stars on the wall.
Shame.
I pad downstairs, determined to put yesterday out of mind. That’s a skill I’ve honed from decades as an athlete. Mental skills were always my thing way back in high school. I could block out the world. I damn well plan to do that now.
When I reach the kitchen, Dad is plating some scrambled eggs and pancakes. The welcoming aroma of fresh coffee curls through the air.
Yeah, this might help me forget Ellie too. C’mon, coffee. Work your magic.
“Smells delish, Dad,” I say.