I laugh. “Perfect.”
We eat sandwiches. I get turkey with brie and Alex gets a club with avocado aioli and we split them, each taking half.
“You love stealing my food, even when you aren’t hungry.”
His expression turns quizzical. “How did you know that about me? I’m a terrible food thief. It’s not one of my finer qualities.”
I shrug. “Must be intuition.”
After lunch, we walk up Fillmore, passing seafood restaurants and peering in the windows of upscale boutiques with displays of headless white mannequins in sleek European styles. The street is lined with trees, the breeze tickling the leaves above us. I shiver and Alex steps closer. We have to stop at one point when we find a bathroom because I’ve been holding it for three blocks.
When I emerge a few moments later, I think I’ve lost Alex, because he’s not among the random people meandering the Fillmore early on a Monday morning. I start walking back toward the bus stop to see if he’s waiting there, but then halt in my tracks.
He’s walking out of Athleta.
“Here.” He hands me a black zip-up hoodie that probably cost more than my psychic reading. “For the ride back. So we don’t get chilly.”
“You didn’t have to,” I say, but I take the garment anyway. He bought me a sweater. I was cold and he bought me a sweater. I guess I shouldn’t have expected any less from Alex.
His smile is lopsided. “I wanted to.”
I meet his eyes. “Thank you.”
His smile grows. “Shall we?” he asks, motioning toward the bus stop.
We stay on the bus all the way over the Golden Gate Bridge, the air colder and more aggressive than it was within the city. I lean my head back, gazing up at the burnished red arches, the fog threading its way through the cables, the tower disappearing into the mist above us. We sail underneath the monolithic structure and Alex leans his head next to mine.
On the other side, the bus veers off the main road and eventually stops to turn around at Vista Point.
We have about twenty minutes to look around before the bus leaves again, so we get off to stretch our legs.
“You said you’ve done this before? With your sister? When was that?” he asks. We’re leaning against a rock wall facing the Golden Gate Bridge. Tourists roam around us taking pictures of the bridge and the bay and the cloud-covered vista.
I stare out over the choppy, slate-colored water, the waves a reflection of the ashen sky, the wind biting my cheeks. “It was when we first moved out here from Virginia. It was like, oh, five years ago now. So it’s been a while.”
“Does she still live here? You’ve never talked about her.”
I hesitate. Alex and I have had this conversation before, but of course, he doesn’t remember. “My sister is Eloise Stewart.”
“Eloise Stewart.” His expression clears. “Wait, the actress?”
“Yep.” I sigh. “She lives in Palo Alto right now. She’s taking a break from acting to go to Stanford.” I blow out a breath, looking up into the fog and hugging the new sweater around me like a shield. “We haven’t talked in a while. I’ve been avoiding her. Like I do with most things that make me uncomfortable, not realizing avoiding it makes it worse.” I shake my head. “But that’s not entirely true. I do know I need to confront the issue, I just choose not to because I think staying in a little bubble will keep me safe.”
He watches me as I talk, listening intently, considering my words, doing that Alex thing of rolling with my thoughts no matter how strange or random they seem.
“That’s the thing with bubbles. They’re easy to pop.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
Eloise and I fought, months ago, because she told me the truth and I became defensive. She saw that I was miserable, and she was trying to help me, but I wasn’t ready to hear it. So I yelled at her. And she left. And we haven’t spoken since. “I’m going to talk to her though. Soon. I need to just do it. I’m going to do it.”
This invisible wall between Eloise and me is one of my own making. Eloise can’t help who she is any more than I can make time move forward.
And still, I’ve been holding it against her.
His hand reaches over, covering my hand. “You will. You always impress me with your ability to do things even if you’re scared of them.”
I smile. He’s told me this already.
And he’s not wrong, exactly. There have been plenty of times in the past I’ve wanted to run away and avoid everything and yet I didn’t. But only with the little things. The easier things. Presenting at work when there’s no other choice, forcing myself to make small talk with acquaintances I can’t otherwise avoid, overcoming fear of a crowded train. But when it comes to the larger, more important confrontations, I still do everything in my power to run away. I haven’t spoken with Eloise or my parents, and I’m still evading the truth about myself. I’m not brave. Not really. Not as Alex sees me. I wish I were.
My heart wrenches in my chest, the organ pressing relentlessly at my breast bone.
“You aren’t nervous around me, are you?” He tosses me a sly grin.
Well, we have spent basically months together and I know what your lips feel like and I’ve memorized the gold flecks in your eyes and the feel of your hands. But I can’t tell him that.
“I’ve always liked you, Alex.”
His smile spreads across his face, and the heat of it melts my insides as if he’s the sun shining through the fog. “Hey listen, I’m in a band. We have a gig tonight. I mean, it’s not a big thing, we’re the opening act and it’s at the Saloon, but you should come.” He straightens and his expression clouds.
