Page 38 of Santa Has a Six-Pack
We reach the street. “You going this way?” She points.
“Yup.”
I’m going whichever way she’s going. But I don’t tell her that.
We walk west on 32nd Street. Is it an insane thought to have that we walk well together? Because, fuck it, we walk well together. In New York City, not everyone you walk with is a compatible walker. Her strides and mine just seem to go together. Not too fast, not too slow. And totally in sync.
“You catching a train back to Brooklyn?” She nods toward Penn Station.
“No, actually, I live on 43rd. Gonna prep some roasted vegetables and head to Washington Heights for Thanksgiving with Eugene and his family.”
“You live in Manhattan?”
“You sound surprised.” I chuckle.
“No, not surprised. I guess I just assumed you lived in Brooklyn, close to your gym. Plus, Manhattan is?—”
“Super fucking expensive,” I finish the sentence for her. “Tell me about it! Though Brooklyn prices aren’t much cheaper these days. Years ago, I snagged artist lottery housing at the Plaza on 43rd. With rent that low, they’ll have to pry that apartment out of my cold, dead hands.”
“Artist housing? For a personal trainer?” Her brows scrunch together in confusion.
“Used to be an actor,” I say. “Lots of commercials and the occasional downtown play. I still do some print work and a fitness spot now and then to prove I’m still ‘in the business.’ Can’t have them coming after my crib!”
No idea why I just called my apartment a crib. Eugene’s right. I’m truly unhinged around this woman.
“Huh,” she says thoughtfully. “I had no idea.”
I gesture between us. “Former dancer, former actor. Maybe we have more in common than you thought?”
She smiles. “Yeah. Maybe.”
We hang a right on 7th Avenue and start walking Uptown.
“How ’bout you?” I ask. “Where’re you heading?”
“If you’re asking where I live…”
I hold my hands up. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“I’m in Manhattan too, but I’m heading back to Herald’s to do inventory.”
“On Thanksgiving?!”
“Simmer down, sir.” She chuckles. “Not everyone has an amazing family they want to share an epic four-hour meal with. Trust me, I’ll have a happier holiday at work.”
We fall into another silence that stretches for the next block.
When we stop at the crosswalk, I lean closer to her and say, “I don’t have the ideal family situation either. Why else do you think I need to tag along with Eugene to his?”
Her brown eyes lock with mine and go misty for a moment. It’s hard to tell if it’s from emotion or the cold breeze whipping around us.
“Cool if we change the subject?” Her voice cracks slightly.
Okay, it was definitely emotion.
“Of course!” We cross the street. “So? How did we do today?”
“You were… fine.”
