Page 102 of Sort of Seeing Someone

“Take a brochure,” offers Realtor A, a guy named Sam with slicked back brown hair in a tight-fitting navy suit and pale pink tie.

“I’m not sure how familiar you are with the area, but it’s delightful,” says Realtor B, Kathy, a middle-aged lady in better shape than I am, who most men my age would describe as a MILF.

“We’re very familiar,” I say, taking a pamphlet. “I lived around the corner and actually used to work in this building. Well notthisbuilding, the one before it that got condemned.”

“The yoga place?” Sam asks, as if to confirm we know our stuff.

“And I practiced here. A ceiling tile once nearly fell on me as I was warming up my pelvis,” adds Yas.

“Well, I can assure you everything is up to code now,” Kathy interjects. “Feel free to take a look around.”

Kathy gestures broadly to the two stories.

“How can I be of assistance, mama?” Yas asks in a quiet voice as we step away from the realtors.

“Just be my second set of eyes. Let me know if you see anything interesting.”

“Just one thing so far,” she notes, pointing out the window.

It’s Brody, carrying his surfboard down Newport Avenue. He’s got the top of his wet suit unzipped. His hairless chest and puka shell necklace are on full display.

As my eyes soak him in for the first time in months, he happens to turn his head my way. He stops and sets his surfboard down. He tilts his head to the side to drain some water from his ear, his shaggy blonde hair covering one of his eyes. He flashes me a smile and offers a wave.

I want to say there are fireworks. I want to say that I’m looking into the eyes of a guy who would fully understand me; accept me. I want to say that he was the originalonethat got away.But I just...don’t see it. And that’s perfectly fine. Because I didn’t come here to get back together with Brody. Still, I smile at himand wave back before returning to our self-guided tour.

“Let’s split upto cover more ground,” I suggest to Yas.

She stays downstairs, I head upstairs—the original location of theFlowpart of Joe n’ Flow.

Surprisingly, the rebuilt digs don’t feel all too different from the place I spent two years working. If I close my eyes, I can still picture everything exactly where and how it was. While the flooring is all new, the fixtures are all updated, and it still smells like fresh paint instead of burning incense, I’m happy to see they kept big, soaring, ocean-facing windows a key feature of the space. How could they not?

I glance down at the pretty renderings in the pamphlet. They’ve mocked up designs for another fitness-type studio for up here and a coffee shop for the downstairs. No doubt, that combo would do well here—it’s already a proven concept. A part of me is tempted to text a photo to Gavin and say, “Are you SURE there’s no interest in coming back for a reboot?” but I checked his Insta. He’s fully entrenched in the hallucination life. Good for him.

I take a moment to soak in the space and let myself imagine what it would be like to be back here—the place I first felt found. Do I have it in me to start up a yoga studio all on my own? I’m not even a certified instructor, and I’m certainly not as good-looking or as charming as Gavin. The saying goes: “Build it, and they will come.” But what isit? What exactly am I building?

Next, I head down the stairwell to see what the first floor is all about.

“The steps are made oftriple-paned tempered glass,” narrates Sam, as if that’s supposed to mean anything to me. “And the banister comes from the country’s oldest naturally-downed Red Wood.”

“He’s full of shit,” Yas whispers to me as we pass on the landing.

Downstairs, I swear I can still smell the faint scent of coffee beans. I inhale a great, deep breath and can taste amatcha latte on my tongue.

“Any questions, ladies?” Kathy asks.

“Has there been a lot of interest in the space?” I ask, hoping for an honest reply.

“It’s been…steady,” says Sam, which feels like the exact right word to use in a situation like this. “To be frank, a lot of people are freaked out by the fact that the previous building on these grounds quite literally sunk into the earth, which is the reason we have an entire page in the pamphlet dedicated to explaining the ins and outs of this refined structure. It’s on page five, if you want to look. We’re also hosting a panel discussion tomorrow with some experts for interested parties to attend.”

“Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day,” I say, looking at the calendar app on my phone.

“And we’re confident we’ll have a deal by day’s end,” Sam says.

“Just come back here at 10am,” Kathy interjects. “We’ll have heart-shaped pastries and mimosas as well.”

“That sounds nice. I like mimosas,” says Yas.

“Anything we can do to bring a level of comfort and awareness to potential tenants, we’re doing it,” states Kathy. “Never in my twenty years of real estate have I had this much trouble getting someone to sign on for oceanfront, prime commercial space. I swear, you’d think this place is cursed or something.”

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