Page 169 of Callan

I grab my stuff, and out of the corner of my eye, I notice the lights turning green.

“Goodbye,” I say, rushed, no longer looking at him while pivoting to cross the street.

Before I can do that, he extends his arm and wraps it around me, making me fall into his hug.

And just like that, he brings me back and kisses me in the street.

His fingers splayed over my hair.

His lips burning into mine.

“You can never leave like that,” he says against my lips before he quickly glances at the streetlights.

The lights turn green again.

“Go,” he says in a clipped voice, scanning the street quickly with concerned eyes. “Go straight home,” he adds before popping his collar, tilting his chin in a quiet goodbye, and swiftly turning around and pulling away.

His eyes still bearing the high waves of a winter storm.

26

MACKENZIE

The entire cityis ready for New Year’s Eve, and excitement beams in the air.

As much as I planned to stay home and not walk the streets of Manhattan, here I am, walking midtown to meet Kayla and a couple of her friends, whotraveled from Wisconsin and booked a hotel room here.

Their plan is to spend the evening in Times Square.

As much as Kayla insisted I should join them, I know I’ll go crazy if I have to spend the night with a million other people.

But I’ve said yes to having lunch with them not far from their hotel.

These past few days have been unusually quiet.

Shortly after arriving home that night––the last one I spent with Callan––I wasted about an hour writing, deleting, and writing again an email to Mrs. Goodman.

Reluctantly, I sent it, and she replied the following day, reassuring me that I was still on the schedule for a second jobinterview in a few short days and I probably would get an answer on the spot.

Her answer helped me not to stress over my bills these days, but it couldn’t pull my mind away from him.

He went silent and that was that. It was predictable.

I meet Kayla and her friends at the restaurant, and we have cocktails, pumpkin soup, and shrimp ceviche before walking into a French place and eating crepes with fresh strawberry sauce, ice cream, and dollops of whipped cream.

Time flies, and I say goodbye to the girls and call a taxi to go home at around six.

Traffic is fierce, so it takes me forever to get back.

Once we enter the streets of Brooklyn, things change.

Very few people are on the streets, and rarely cars roll by.

I ask the driver to drop me off at the park, only because I want to go there.

I wanted to do that all these days, but every time I was headed in that direction, I turned around and told myself I shouldn’t do it.

I’m convinced Callan came back to me the night he’d given me a ride and dropped me off not far from where I am right now because, firstly, he noticed the sadness on my face when I left. And secondly, he wanted to smooth things out with me.

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