Page 15 of Grateful in Watch Hill
“No, we wouldn’t. I’m sorry about that.”
“I am too.”
Seth took his credit card from his wallet and signaled the waiter. “It’s funny how I used to live. I’d put things off and take moments in life for granted.”
“Yep.”
“Have you been thinking about that a lot?”
I nodded. “I’d tell myself that I’d see someone in a few weeks, or that I’d catch up with them later, and it didn’t really matter if I broke plans with them.” I looked down at my used plate and the crumbs of one of the best nights that I’d had in a long time. “If there is one thing this virus taught me, it’s that I can’t live like that. Tomorrow isn’t promised, and I shouldn’t live like it is.”
“No, we shouldn’t.”
I looked up and allowed my gaze to catch Seth’s. “Thanks for inviting me to dinner. You have no idea how much I needed it.”
“I can guess.”
“When I had to leave New York, it was really devastating.”
I gulped. This was a conversation I hadn’t had with anyone, not even my father. Since coming home, I’d been focused on two things—helping him stay away from the virus and paying for our monthly expenses. That hadn’t left a lot of room for dwelling on the fallout of what had happened to me.
“It was one of the hardest decisions that I ever had to make.”
“I can imagine it was.” Seth pursed his lips. “I know you got that promotion at American Dance just before this all happened. It had to have been hard to leave that behind.”
“It was.”
I winced as the memory of my last full day at the company surfaced. I’d gone to the practice facility as normal, ignoring the headlines blowing up my phone. There was a virus out there, and the cases were escalating by the hour, but I hadn’t thought that affected me in any way. I wasn’t on a cruise ship; I didn’t live in a nursing home. I was young, so what did it matter? But as soon as I arrived at work, I was called to the director’s office. “I’m sorry,” Frank Martin, the ADC’s executive director, said from behind his imposing oak desk. “I know this is going to be a hard thing to hear, but we have to cancel our upcoming season. The board met this morning and we don’t see how we can continue to fund it in the wake of this.” It took me a few moments to first understand what he meant bythis, and then to completely comprehend what the consequences for me would be.
It finally sunk in when they gave me three thousand dollars in severance pay. At least they’d offered me severance pay. That was more than most people I knew in the performing arts received. The money had been enough to pack up my apartment and move back home. I knew I should be grateful, but the shock still hurt.
“I have to do a lot of things in order to make ends meet,” I added now as I spoke to Seth. “It hasn’t been easy.”
“No, I imagine it hasn’t. Even though I had to close the nightclub, perhaps I should consider myself lucky that I didn’t have to move to a different state on top of that. I can’t fathom how hard that has been for you, Kendra. I’m sorry.”
I looked away, allowing myself to focus on the rest of the dining room at Sam’s Deli. It wasn’t crowded, a fact that still made me a little sad, a lingering reminder of all that had changed since the virus became part of our daily lives. The virus had raged long enough for people to alter their habits. Would I ever see a full restaurant again? It was a question I didn’t have a solid answer for.
“I know you know I’m working at FoodSwap,” I said. “I was embarrassed that you saw that.”
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
I returned my attention to Seth. “Maybe not, but I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve wondered if my life would be different if I had just done the sensible thing and gone to college instead of running off to New York to pursue my dancing dream. I would have had something to fall back on, and God knows I could have used that now.”
“Even if you had a degree, there’s no guarantee that would have given you the edge in the job search. Plenty of people are finding that out.” Seth laughed without humor. “I have an MBA from IU, and it hasn’t done me any good.”
“You do?”
“It’s tough out there. And I’m still lucky that a friend allowed me to work at his pizza joint.” He spread a hand. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve had a decent string of good fortune either.”
“You’ll get back in the nightclub business,” I said. “You will.”
Seth shrugged. “Maybe I don’t want to.” The server arrived at our table and Seth handed over his card without looking at the bill. “To be honest, I’m enjoying helping Kyle run the restaurant. He’s got a vision, and I think we will have a lot of success when we open the outdoor dining in a week or so. A lot of people around here will enjoy it.”
“That’s good.” I paused and thought about it. “Maybe that’s what this pandemic has done. It’s given us a chance to make a reset.”
“We could all use that sometimes.”
“You’re right.”
