“So, I’m a planner and you are a woman of adventure.” She giggles and sits back with a satisfied smile.
Katrina looks out the window again and says, “I hadn’t even dreamed how the opportunity to travel extensively would explode right after I moved to L.A. Now I only come back to my apartment every few months. Sometimes I’m here a week or two; other times it’s more like a few months. But, somehow, even after two years, L.A. doesn’t feel like home.”
I agree. “It’s not home to me either. But it’s home for now, you know?”
“Yes. I do. I feel a little nomadic. There’s no telling if or where I’ll put down permanent roots.”
“Well, we’re both young. No need to plan out the thirty-year plan – not on a day at the beach with the perfect weather and amazing company, right?” And she is the best company I’ve had in a long time.
She grins at me, her brown eyes full of warmth and playfulness. “This from the mouth of the planner. I like it. No need to look past this day for now.” I find myself contrasting her to Vanessa. If I have a type, Katrina is most certainly it.
We walk out onto The Strand from Shutters and rent bikes from Spokes ‘N Stuff. We ride on the beachfront sidewalk toward Venice, the city just south of Santa Monica. Venice is an eclectic place which was built to emulate the city of Venice in Italy. There are actually canals running between homes there. The sand is just to our right and houses line the sidewalk to the left. When we get to Venice, we park the bikes.
Katrina steps up next to me. I feel like holding her hand, but I’m not sure what she would do in response, so I head over to watch some people bodybuilding on the beach, while others play beach volleyball behind them. This really isn’t like me. I never spontaneously feel like kissing a woman or holding her hand. Katrina has impacted me differently since the moment we met.
A roller skater swerves around us, playing music on his speakers. Katrina smiles. “This is the consummate place to people watch, don’t you think?”
“It is. Where else would you see all this? Either New York, New Orleans, or L.A., right?”
She points to a guy doing a handstand on his skateboard. “I wish I had brought my camera. But, it’s probably good I have a break from it.”
“Can you use the one on your iPhone instead?”
“Yes, and it’s good; I just always want more than it offers. But, I’ll make do, of course.” I can tell how much capturing life through a lens means to her. She snaps some shots of the bodybuilders. They put on an appropriate show, flexing for her.
She turns and puts her head near mine and says, “Selfie!” I smile and she snaps a shot of the two of us. Then she says, “Goofy faces!” and she crosses her eyes while I stick out my tongue. We laugh and when she pulls away, I’m acutely aware of the absence of her touch where her shoulder had been up against mine. Katrina makes me feel light in places that have been heavy for way too long.
After we have had our fill of taking in the various characters near The Strand, we walk out toward the water’s edge. Katrina spontaneously takes off her sandals and runs towards the waves. “Come on!” she shouts. I follow her lead and join her. We run in and out creating a game where we try to get in as far as we can without the wave lapping over our feet. We invariably lose and end up with the bottom third of our legs soaked – including part of Katrina’s pants. One wave comes in faster and bigger than we expected, and Katrina turns to run. She bumps me and we collapse on the sand together as I break her fall. She’s lying on top of me now looking simultaneously adorable and embarrassed.
“Oh, my goodness. Jack! Sorry!” She scrambles off me. I wanted to hold her there and I have to get a grip on myself for thinking it. I don’t want to overstep whatever she thinks this is. I’m starting to realize I have feelings for Katrina. Of course I do. She has been on the back burner of my mind since I met her. Dancing with her last night was the highlight of my month – maybe my year. Anyway, I don’t want to frighten her with any rush of emotion, so I play off the whole fall, get up, and brush myself off.
“Let’s head up away from the waves and let your pants legs dry off.”
Katrina sits down and I join her. She starts mindlessly picking up shells and stacking them in a little pile. “So, are you excited about your trip to England?” I ask. “How long will you be there?”
“Yes. I’m looking forward to it. Since it’s a travel piece, I get some sweet accommodations and I will eat well, all the glam. Nothing like Africa. Though I’d probably take Africa over England any day.” I picture her traveling around with her camera interacting with all sorts of people.
“Do you have trips planned out after that?”
“I have some bids in for some jobs. A few feelers out there. I really need to visit my parents. It’s been a while since I’ve been back.” She doodles in the sand with her finger as she talks, and I find myself mesmerized by her gentle movements. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have brought up visiting my parents with what you are going through.”
“It’s totally okay. I love hearing about your relationship with your parents. Honestly, the grief has been excruciating since Mom passed. I can’t really put words to it. I don’t really talk about it with anyone. My closest friend here, Brett, is a great guy, but not really high on the food chain when it comes to empathy and feelings. My dad passed years ago, so Mom was alone. She moved into a smaller home – the one I just cleared out. Her passing just feels way more intense and final, you know?” She looks up at me with compassion. I want to pull her in toward me.
She reaches out her hand and puts it on mine. “I can’t imagine. I’m glad you are talking about it now. Those kinds of feelings fester if we hold them in too long. There’s no right or wrong way to grieve, but definitely support is a big key to moving through.”
“Thank you.” She hasn’t lifted her hand, and I almost want to hold my breath so I don’t do anything to make her remove it. Then she asks, “Are you happy here in L.A.?”
“I wouldn’t say I’m unhappy. I’m working at a coveted position in a firm doing management analysis. I like what I do, but I can’t say I love my workplace or my job. Everything just seems flat. Maybe that’s the grief talking. I don’t know. For the first time in my life I feel like I don’t have my five-year plan firmed up and laid out before me. To say that’s unsettling is an understatement.” I stare out at the ocean. Saying all of this out loud cements something in me.
She searches my eyes. “What would you do if you could have guarantees it would work out? Like if you could be sure there were no risk, all gain? I know that’s not how it works. I started my own business. I know the gamble. But say there were no chances of failing, what would you do next?”
I don’t hesitate. “Hands down, I’d walk into Joel’s office one morning and tell him I’m leaving for good. Joel’s my horrible boss. I’d hand him my two-weeks like I was serving up a five-course meal. Then I would bide my time and hit the road. Maybe I’d finally fulfill my dream of opening a coffee shop …” Wow. How did she pull all that out of me with just one question?