If Ever(47)

It's really happened. I'm here. And he's here, and we have a whole day together, other than his two shows. I smile and head toward him. He pushes off from his spot and meets me halfway, greeting me with a kiss. Ah, the familiar touch of his lips. His hair flutters in the breeze and the morning sun sparkles in his blue eyes. A city bus roars by in a cloud of exhaust.

"Welcome to New York," he laughs.

There’s an excited nervousness between us. We’ve waited for this moment for so long, but what now?

"How did the interview go?"

"It's sort of weird. The hosts talk like they know me."

"You made the semifinals. You're a celebrity."

I cringe. "Hardly. If I'm what people consider a celebrity these days, that's pretty pathetic."

Tom gestures with his head to a couple of tourists taking our picture.

"They must be here for you," I say.

"It's all you. People only recognize me when I'm standing outside the theatre immediately after a show. Twenty minutes and two blocks away, I'm a regular shmoe just like everyone else."

I lean in and whisper, “They look like they’re going to come over here. What do I do?”

His arm goes around me. “Do you want to talk to them?”

I turn my back to the strangers. “I want to slink away, is that rude?”

“Nope.” Before the onlookers make their move, he guides me down a street away from Times Square. "I thought we could catch a late breakfast. Are you hungry?" he asks.

"I am. They served a breakfast sandwich on the plane, but that was almost four hours ago. My internal clock is messed up. I only slept for an hour or so. I was too excited."

"I know all about that." He smiles.

We walk a few blocks and stop at a red light. The breeze is brisk. The cold air on my legs is unexpected. I pull the neck of my coat tighter.

"Cold?" He removes his scarf and wraps it around me, smiling as he tucks the ends into my coat. "It's not too fashionable, but it should help."

It smells exactly how I remember him from his last visit—a mix of cologne, fresh air, and something that's pure essence of Tom.

He taps the tip of my nose with his finger and smiles. "Your nose is red."

"I'm not used to this cool weather. I grew up in the Midwest, but after not really experiencing a normal Fall in L.A., this cooler weather is going to take some adjustment."

He holds me close enough to shield me from the wind as we walk. We pass restaurants, souvenir shops, and a couple of theaters with huge marquees. I'm trying not to act too much like a tourist, so I don't point or stop to take pictures, but I'm wide-eyed and soaking up every detail.

We walk a couple blocks to a less congested street. He opens the door into a cozy cafe with a stone floor and butcher-block tables. Every wall is floor to ceiling bookshelves packed to overflowing. We order at the counter, collect our coffee, and take a table by the front window.

I slip off my coat and set his scarf over it. "This place is amazing."

"It's a good spot to come disappear when I need some peace and quiet."

"It reminds me a little bit of a coffee shop I went to in college."

"So you went to college in Iowa City? Why did you pick there?"

"I wanted to get away from the town where I grew up."

He blows on his coffee and takes a sip. "Why's that?"

"My mom had been gone for a long time, and my Grandpa too. I needed a fresh start." The truth is there wasn't much left for me there after my best friend moved away summer before senior year. College was a good time for me. I loved the structure and stability that I lacked during high school, and I finally began to put my life back together.

He holds my hand from across the table. "I'm sorry about your mum. That must have been horrible."

"It was, but it happened a long time ago."

He tilts his head and considers me. "I can't imagine you ever get over something like that."

"No. I don't suppose you do," I say with a wistful smile and sip my coffee. Not too many people ever talk about my mom, because they're afraid it will bring me down, so Tom's concern touches my heart.

"What was she like?"

"Mom was great." I smile thinking of her. "She did everything she could to give me the best life. We took a big vacation every summer, she supported my obsession with books—I have a picture of her, want to see?"

"Absolutely." He sets down his coffee.

I dig the photo out of my wallet and glance at Mom's loving eyes. I've stared at this image a thousand times over the years. The edges are worn and the photo fading. I hand it to him. "This is from my thirteenth birthday. It was the last picture of us together before she got really sick." I watch as he studies the old photo.

"She's beautiful," he says studying her face.

My heart swells with pride. It was only a few weeks later that she began to lose her hair and over the months wasted away.

"And look at you with braces and such an adorable smile."

I move to grab it away from him, but he holds it away. "That was my gawky stage."

"You look just like her."

"You think so?" I lean over and peer at the picture.