I couldn’t wait to dig my toes into the cold, damp sand or listen to the cry of seabirds dodging kites and fighting over french fries. I couldn’t wait to take one of those long walks along the boardwalk and listen to the many street musicians that called St. Nacho’s home. Truth be told, I couldn’t wait to see Thuong again, however that happened, because I knew it would.
It had to, sooner or later, because I believed Thuong was my destiny too.
The relentless longing I felt for Santo Ignacio was nothing compared to my desire for Thuong. But for now, if we only met on his terms, in his timeline, I promised to be content.
As the caravan of crap I’d decided I couldn’t live without pulled away from the curb in Galt for the last time, I glanced in the rearview mirror. My brother Mark was behind me in his truck, and behind him, Mom and Dad drove a U-haul panel van.
I couldn’t help the sigh that escaped me. Relief or apprehension? I had no idea, and I don’t suppose it mattered.
Four hours later, my new life began.
After a full day of hard work, everyone went home but Mark, who had taken a couple of days off to “help me settle in,” by which he meant, “party on the beach for a couple days.”
“Enough unpacking. Let’s get something to eat. I’ll buy,” Mark offered. “What’s good around here?”
“What do you feel like?” I got out my phone to access Yelp. “I don’t know the town that well yet, but it seems like they have most anything you could want.”
“Tacos.” His perennial favorite. “And tequila.”
“I know just the place. It’s close by, so we can walk.” I hesitated. “I’m supposed to avoid Thuong though.”
“Dude.” I’d told Mark all about my deal with Thuong when I borrowed his truck to bring the scooter here. How I’d fallen for him, obviously, and how he’d demanded I give him space for now. “Really? You have to check in?”
“I promised.” I remained firm, despite Mark’s exasperation. “If there’s ever going to be a chance—”
“When someone asks you for space, they’re not that into you. Have you considered that?”
That wasn’t the case. “Or they might be in recovery for heroin addiction.”
“Same difference.” Mark softened his gaze. “Is he likely to be at this place you’re talking about? Does he work there or something?”
“I don’t know.” We hadn’t been in touch since he’d delivered my food in such spectacular fashion weeks before.
“Well, if he’s there, we can find someplace else, but you can’t hide in your house just because you might see him. You’re here to start a new life. Live a little.”
“You’re right.” I glanced down at myself. “I need to shower and get changed.”
“Me too. You go first. I’ll break down these boxes and take them to the dumpster.”
“Thanks.” I headed to my room.
The apartment Ken Ashton found for me had been built in the thirties. It had a galley style kitchen with a nook against the front window for dining, a living room, a marvelous large bath with a claw-foot tub, and a small bedroom. The place was old, but it was clean. It had retro appliances.
The building itself featured six units, three downstairs and three up. Mine was the end unit upstairs so I had terrific cross ventilation and an ocean view. At night, I thought we might hear waves. I privately hoped for a foghorn.
Though I missed my house, I loved my new place.
I took my shower, then went into my bedroom to change so Mark could clean up. Since I had no guest room, he had to bunk down on the couch in the living room.
Mark was ready to go when I came out. He wore jeans, a collarless linen shirt, and a stylish brown shearling bomber jacket. Mark liked his labels, and he enjoyed dressing well. We were alike enough that we were obviously brothers, but that’s where any comparison always ended. I was always the geek whereas he was Mr. GQ.
Until now.
I never cared about clothes—exhibit A: that fanny pack. But I’d planned to start over in St. Nacho’s. In the interest of not bringing my old boring life with me, and because I had that windfall from the house, I’d asked Echo and Gayle to help me purge my wardrobe. They got rid of things they said they’d always hated and took me shopping in San Francisco. A couple thousand dollars later, they’d given me a whole new look. Maybe that had been a mistake because Mark burst into laughter when I left the bedroom.
“Oh my God.” He covered his mouth with both hands. “Dude.”
“What?”
“You.” He pointed, and when that wasn’t enough, he made this all-encompassing gesture as if he was trying to sell me at auction. “You look like the rich kid in a Korean drama.”
“What?” I glanced down at myself. As far as I could tell, there was nothing “rich” about me. I wore khakis and a button-down over which I’d layered a soft, blue V-neck sweater. Maybe the new boat shoes were nicer than my old Chucks. The navy peacoat had been expensive, but it was what Gayle called a wardrobe staple. You apparently spent more on things like that because they were timeless.
My brother laughed his ass off.
“Is it my ankles?” I stuck my foot out. “Gayle made me promise to wear no-show socks.”
He snorted and turned away. “Oh my God, you don’t even know.”
“Know what?”
After he finished laughing, he said, “The bag. Oh my God, is that what you’ll be using instead of a fanny pack now? A man purse?”
“Gayle gave it to me.” Apparently her mom sent her handbags for birthdays and holidays, but this one was too small for all her stuff. A slim leather rectangle not too much bigger than my fanny pack, it fit everything I needed to carry nicely. I wore it with the leather strap across my body so it hung just below my ribcage and pretty much forgot it was there. It was comfortable. It was supposed to be better. “Echo and Gayle both swore guys wear these.”
He visibly controlled his mirth as he bobbed his head up and down. “They do.”
“Okay. Then—”
“You know that probably cost three thousand dollars?” He bit his lip.
“What? No.” The bag had LV stamped all over it. Holy Christ, I knew that stood for Louis Vuitton. “It’s a knock off, surely?”
“Oh no, it’s real.” He poked at it. “Gayle loves nice bags. Some of hers are worth more than I could get for my truck.”
“Oh my God.” I stared at it, appalled. Why had she just given it to me?
“C’mon, boy band. Let’s go.”
“You did not—”
“Wait, I need a picture.” He whipped around with his phone and snapped one.
“Stop.” I couldn’t move fast enough to avoid the first one, but he didn’t get off a second, unless he took it from the back as I ran out of the apartment. I tossed him my keys. “Lock the door, will you?”
I was halfway down the street and breathless when he caught up with me.
“I like this new you,” he said, eyes appraising. “Nice clothes, expensive bag, jewelry—” I growled at him. “Stop that. You seem really happy.”