First Born(53)

Pumpkins outside stores: large, medium and small. I guess Halloween is a big deal here.

The occasional waft of my perfume puts a spring in my step. An extra level of confidence. It’s Armani Mania. The scent KT used. I straighten my back and start smiling. I never usually smile when walking around like this, never.

Scott will be waiting for me outside Chelsea Market. Maybe he’s bought me a going-away gift. Maybe a book or a trinket, something he thinks I’ll take back with me.

The Avenue is longer than I’d expected and my pumps are getting more grimy with each block. But I arrive in time. Eight o’clock.

There’s nobody here.

No Scott.

I wait, and I circle round the block in case there’s another exit I missed. A row of four yellow school buses sit parked opposite under a metal fire escape.

The waiting fuels my anxiety but it also makes me excited. What are his expectations for tonight? A fifty-minute bowl of noodles then he runs off to drink tequila shots with his rowing buddies? Or has he carved out a few hours for me?’

And then I see him.

Walking towards me from the East Side, from Eighth Avenue.

He’s backlit by headlights and his silhouette is perfect. The breadth of his shoulders and his chest. The easy way he walks. The glow from his hair and the length of his legs. Suddenly I’m awkward, shy, grinning like a fool. He crosses the street and I can’t look him in the eyes. He comes closer and I look up and he is smiling.

‘Shall we?’





Chapter 29


It’s just like a real date.

Scott seems relaxed. He tells me he trained for two hours today. We are walking next to each other. Like a normal couple.

He holds the door open for me. The restaurant is called Co Ba. Vietnamese food.

We’re seated and people look at us as we pass their tables. The tall chiselled athlete and his date. A natural pairing. I smile and sit down. We’re not at a good table, not in the corner, not at the back of the room, no good lines of sight, and you know what, I don’t even mind. Who’s going to hurt me with Scott Sbarra right here? Nobody, that’s who.

He orders a gluten-free beer and I order water.

‘You don’t drink?’ he says.

‘I tried a glass of wine one time,’ I say.

‘You’re not much like Katie, are you?’ he says.

‘Same and different,’ I say. ‘She was the wild one.’

‘There’s a GoFundMe at school. We’re not sure what to do with the money yet. Maybe a plaque or an assistance fund for international students? We’re already up above fourteen thousand dollars.’

‘That’s great,’ I say. ‘You organised that?’

‘Me and some of the others,’ he says. ‘It wasn’t just me.’

I should really order plain white steamed rice. I should ask for a spoon. I should check out the toilets before I touch the food, just as I do in every restaurant I eat in for the first time. But I don’t. There is what I should do, and there is my own free will. That tension is there. Tonight, with Scott, I choose to be carefree, relatively speaking.

‘You like your pho spicy, Katie?’ His eyes widen. ‘Oh, shit, oh, no. I’m really sorry, Molly, shit, I am so sorry, Molly.’

‘Don’t worry about it.’

He shakes his head and I think he’s blushing. ‘My bad,’ he says.

‘Happens all the time,’ I say. ‘Really. Don’t worry about it.’

He looks down at the floor. ‘So weird at school with her not there, you know? Like, she was always there, studying in Butler Library, in John Jay, at swim practice. She was so public, so out there. And now there’s this vacuum.’

‘That’s exactly how I feel,’ I say. ‘A vacuum.’

He nods.

‘More than a vacuum,’ I say. ‘She was an extension of myself, if that makes sense. She wasn’t like a sister, nor was she part of me – more like an extension. Since the day we were born. And now it’s like walking around with no shadow.’

‘Must be hardest for you,’ he says.

‘I don’t know.’

‘I’m real sorry.’

‘It’s hard to explain,’ I say. ‘She was always there for me to text or to share news with, even the tiniest thing. Like my conscience.’

The waiter comes back with our pho. Hot steaming bowls of broth with flat noodles and spice and handfuls of fresh green herbs topped with thin slices of beef brisket. Scott asks if he can have more brisket.

‘I need the protein,’ he says. ‘Training.’

I dip my spoon in the broth and sip, waiting for the heat burn. But it’s not as spicy as I’d expected. It’s delicious. Warming. I slurp noodles and the noise is outrageous.

Scott smiles. ‘My mom eats like that.’

‘Your mum?’

‘She likes her soup,’ he says.

Spring rolls arrive at the table. Crispy deep-fried spring rolls, and according to the menu they contain grilled tiger shrimp and honey plum grilled pork, along with rice vermicelli, salad, herbs, and a chilli-lime dressing.

‘You have any brothers or sisters?’ I ask.

‘Two brothers,’ he says.

‘Older or younger?’