Page 12 of Maybe in Another Life

“I’m not upset,” I say back, but my voice is thin and high-pitched. Upset is exactly how I sound.

“C’mon,” she says.

I laugh. “It’s fine. He can do what he wants.” I’m glad I didn’t stay out late with him, looking to see if there was something between us. “I specifically did not stay out with him tonight because I didn’t want it to be a one-night thing. If it was anything. So there you go. Spares me the embarrassment.”

Gabby frowns at me.

I laugh defensively, as if the harder I laugh, the harder I can push her pity off me and out the window. “He’s a great guy. I’m not saying he’s not, but, you know, if that’s how it gonna be with him, I don’t need that.”

I look out the window again and then immediately back at Gabby.

“I like Katherine, actually,” I say. “She seems great.”

“If I may,” Mark interjects. “I don’t know much about the history between the two of you, but just because he’s sleeping with someone else doesn’t necessarily mean...”

“I know,” I say. “But still. It makes it clear to me that he and I are best left in the past. I mean, we dated forever ago. It’s fine.”

“Do you want to change the subject?” Gabby asks me.

“Yes,” I say. “Please.”

“Well, should we go to breakfast tomorrow while Mark goes into work?”

“Yeah,” I say, turning away from her and looking out the window. “Let’s talk about food.”

“Where should I take her?” Gabby asks Mark, and the two of them start rattling off names of restaurants I’ve never heard of.

Mark asks me if I like sweet or savory breakfasts.

“You mean, do I like pancakes or eggs?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“She likes cinnamon rolls,” Gabby answers at the exact same time I say, “I like places with cinnamon rolls.”

When I was a kid, my dad used to take me to this doughnut shop called Primo’s Donuts. They had big, warm cinnamon rolls. We’d go get one every Sunday morning. As I got older, we got busier. Eventually, a lot of my parents’ time was spent shuttling Sarah to and from various rehearsals and recitals, so it became harder to find time to go. But when we did, I always ordered a cinnamon roll. I just love them so much.

When I moved in with Gabby’s family, Tina used to buy the cans of raw cinnamon rolls and bake them for me on the weekends. The bottoms were always burned, and she had a light hand with the prepackaged icing, but I didn’t care. Even a bad cinnamon roll is still a good cinnamon roll.

“With a lot of icing,” I tell Mark. “I don’t care if it’s a day’s worth of calories. Gabby, if you’re up for it, I can try to find Primo’s, and we can go there tomorrow.”

“Done,” she says. “OK, we’re almost at the museum. Up on the right here. You can sort of see the lights now, just right there.”

I look forward, past her head, and I think I see what she’s talking about. We breeze through the green light, hitting a red in front of LACMA, and now I see it perfectly.

Streetlight after streetlight, rows of them, tightly lined up and lit. These are not the streetlights that you see today, the kind that shoot toward the sky and then curve over above the street. These are vintage. They look as if Gene Kelly might have swung on them while singing in the rain.

I look at the installation, staring with purpose out the window. I suppose there is something very simple and beautiful about it. City lights against a backdrop of a pitch-black night does have a sense of magic to it. And maybe there’s a metaphor here, something about brightness in the middle of... Oh, hell. I’m lying. The truth is, I don’t get it.

“Actually,” Gabby says, “why don’t we get out? Is that cool, Mark? Can we park and take a quick picture by the lights? Hannah’s first real night back in L.A.?”

Mark nods, and when the light turns green, he pulls up to the curb. We get out of the car and head to the center of the lights.

We take turns taking pictures of each other, round robin–style. Gabby and I stand between two rows of lights, and Mark takes pictures of us with our arms around each other. We wear oversized grins. We kiss each other on the cheek. We stand on either side of a lamppost and mug for the camera. And then I offer to take a picture of Mark and Gabby together.

I switch places with Mark, getting out my own phone to take the photo. Gabby and Mark tuck themselves together, holding each other tight, posing underneath the lamps. I back up just a little, trying to frame the picture as I want.

“Hold on,” I say. “I want to get all of it.” I can’t get far enough away from them to get the top of the lights in the shot, so I walk to the edge of the sidewalk. It’s still not far enough away, so I push the walk button and wait for a signal so I can stand on the street.

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