Sugar McKenzie and August Wakefield couldn't be more different - Sugar, a meticulous, caring, but lonely paramedic and August, a charming former reality star still chasing his dream. But they've both closed themselves off emotionally from others...t...
"A person can replicate the past. Why would they though, when they've learned
and grown in the present?"
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April showers brought thunderstorms, flooding, made people and umbrellas became best friends, and created broken potholes. Weeks poured into one another, I pulled left, right, diagonal, and backwards to finish offering feedback on the film edits and touches. With doing all-nighters, my sleep patterns were messed up. My heavy joints and sore wrists, pressure leaning over the keyboards, headaches squeezed under my eyes and above my brow – I resorted to my gray square framed glasses. Contacts irritated my eyes. I had two solo interviews left . . . so did Sugar. I hadn't reached out to her.
After the incident, I pushed off meeting up as much as possible. My stomach clenched. Palms perspired, skin wrinkled, transforming into clammy.
What am I supposed to say? When is it even the correct time?
No time like the present, I could hear Min-ho say in my mind. Ugh, optimistic Min-ho.
I relayed the park situation to him later on the shooting day.
Min-ho eyes squinted. "Um – that's awful. At least, you didn't get sick on her."
I remembered him asking, "What else happened?"
"What do you mean," I shot back at me, "what else? Nothing else did."
Min-ho tilted his head. His teeth showed. "Uh-huh."
"I'm telling-"
"You don't have to tell me," Min-ho declared, cutting me off, "It's your choice. I like to hear it, but I won't force you."
Min-ho knew.
I kept my mouth shut. I protected my revelation – "ah ha moment" – because once I said it out loud. It'll be real.
I like Sugar.Her smile inspires me to tease her. The way she insists on documenting her grocery list. The way she bites on her fingernails when she's deep in thought. The way she's prepared: remembering my favorite salty snacks, walnuts, and handing me a monster and always saying, 'You can only drink one.'
She always committed.
Even if she was late, she was here.
Unlike me.
I frowned.
Slouching in my chair, my black coffee steamed out of the plastic cover hole. My hands were placed on my jeans. Phone stayed in my pocket. The baristas chatted and chilled, leaning against the counter. The steamer quiet. Blender cleaned and opened, ready for the next customer.
Mid-morning had a tiny pause between morning and noon rush. I stared at the empty chair across from me. The soft leather sunk in the middle; the color chipped, revealing white patches on the side.
