“Well, I for one am starved!” I stand up too quickly and have to reach for Seth’s shoulder to steady myself as the bus comes to a quick stop. His hand snakes around my waist, keeping me upright. He doesn’t release it when he stands—after the bus has ceased moving—and suddenly I’m tucked into his side and all I want is to bury my face in his chest and breathe in every inch of him.
Then he steps away, into the crowded aisle.
But his hand reaches back. And I take it.
Our fingers automatically intertwine and he squeezes gently, and I wish I could see his face, but instead I follow his broad back as he leads us down the winding stairs and out to the sidewalk.
There’s a moment’s hesitation when we hit the ground. Seth lets his hand drop and I have to shove my hands in my pockets so I don’t try to grab it back.
He adjusts his hat. “Where to?”
“You ready for a drink?”
“Fuck yes.”
“I know the perfect spot.”
We spend the next couple of hours exploring the Original Farmers Market, which butts up to the Grove, an outdoor shopping mall of sorts. The Grove itself is not one of my particular haunts, but I love coming to the farmers market, which is full of dozens of stalls serving everything from pizza to donuts to the best Brazilian barbecue I’ve ever had. Since it’s adjacent to the CBS studios, it’s also a good spot to low-key celeb-watch, which I most definitely partake in whenever I can. Even though I’ve had plenty of sightings bynow, seeing the rich and famous out in the wild still gives me a little thrill every time.
We eat a bit of everything and indulge in some local beers and wines, avoiding heavy topics and heavy looks and any hint of physical contact. I force Seth to buy one of those “I LA” shirts, telling him it’s a rite of passage even though no one else I know has one. He humors me and even poses for a photo in it in front of the old-school trolley that circles the area.
The earlier tension has dissipated, due to either the alcohol or the extended time spent in each other’s company, and I’m finally able to relax and actually enjoy being with Seth.
I wait until we both have a couple drinks in us before I attempt to dig in a little deeper. We’re sitting at a high-top bar table in the very back of the farmers market, a beer in front of each of us. As soon as we sat down, Seth spun his hat around backward, leaving his eyes unguarded and looking so much like his high school self I almost choked on my drink.
“How are your parents doing?” If I were completely sober, I know it would hurt to even ask. Not because of the question itself, but because I hate not already knowing the answer. Seth’s parents were the closest thing to a functioning family I ever had, and the loss of them in my life still hurts every time I think about it.
Seth pulls the cardboard coaster from under his beer and spins it a few times. “Good. Really good, actually. They both retired three years ago. Now they’re just busy livingtheir best lives.” He visibly softens the moment he starts talking about his favorite people. Seth and his family were always close in a TV-sitcom kind of way, their connection and love completely genuine and not codependent or weird. “Lizzie got married a few years ago and just had her second kid, so they help her out with childcare a couple days a week.”
I knew some of this from my occasional Instagram stalking, but I smile and nod as if this is all new information, all the while trying not to think about my life’s alternate timeline. The one where I was invited to the retirement party and planned Lizzie’s baby shower. The one where my ovaries squeezed every time I saw Seth holding one of his nieces. “I hope your parents manage to find some time for themselves too.”
He tucks the coaster back under his drink. “They do. They take a couple of vacations every year. Sometimes it’s just driving around and finding a new local spot, but at least once a year they leave the country and go explore somewhere remote.”
“Does your mom still host holidays for the entire neighborhood?” Thinking about the holidays I spent with the Carsons, the holidays I could have spent with them, pierces through me. Their home was always overcrowded with both people and love.
“Of course. Seems like we have more and more people every year. Sometimes I wonder where we’ll go when we outgrow the rec room.” A soft smile pulls on his lips and he leans forward in his seat, the motion bringing us closertogether. He clears his throat. “How are things with your mom?”
I’m tempted to blow off the question, but the alcohol has relaxed me enough that I don’t mind sharing. And the truth of the matter is no one else in my life truly understands my relationship with my mother. On the surface, it’s hard for others to fault a woman who set me up financially and devotes her life to helping others.
But Seth had a front-row seat to my childhood, and he knows. He gets it in a way no one else ever could.
“Mostly it’s more of the same. The last time we talked she was heading out to open another school. She called to let me know she was leaving and made sure to throw in a few career jabs while she was at it.”
Seth grimaces, hiding it with a swig of his beer. “I take it she doesn’t make the time to read your work? If she did she would know how great of a writer you are.”
“I thought you only read a couple of pieces.” I arch a single eyebrow at him in surprise.
“I may have stumbled across one or two others over the years.” Another flush colors his cheeks. “But anyway. I’m sorry things haven’t gotten better between you two.”
I shrug, turning my attention to the sticky tabletop. “At least we’re not living in the same city anymore. No one knows her out here, and I don’t have to hear all the endless praise, which is nice.” It was tough as a kid, to hear my mother lauded for all her accomplishments when I constantly felt abandoned and neglected.
Our server comes around and we pay the check, needingto head back to the bus so we can make our way to its final stop.
“My mom still asks about you, you know. Every few months.” Seth stands, stretching a little before turning to head back to the bus stop.
The words knock the wind right out of me.
Mrs. Carson—Linda—was always more of a mother to me than my own. The idea that she still asks about me after twelve years, still cares about my well-being when by any stretch I am fairly and rightfully just a figure from the past, means more to me than I could have expected.
