Finn and Fenna. Fenna and Finn. They were inseparable. Two peas in a pod. Soulmates. The envy of everyone. Until that night in July when everything broke apart.
Fifteen years later, they live on opposite sides of the world. Finn is a talented photog...
"You should try the Pain au Chocolat," a woman says behind me in the line. "They're as good as the ones you get in France."
I turn around and see a petite woman wearing a blue pea jacket and a red beanie. There is a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and a tiny jewelled stone on the side of her left nostril.
"Seriously, " she continues. "You need to buy some. Oh! And the lemon tarts are so, I don't know, LEMONY!"
I chuckle but don't have the heart to tell her I haven't been a fan of lemons for about fifteen years. Now, I'm more of a strawberry man.
"The coffee is also really amazing here."
The woman looks at me with wide eyes, and I see her glance briefly at my left hand, to the finger, where, until a month ago, had a wedding ring on it. I get the distinct feeling she wants me to ask her to have coffee with me. I could, but I'm not really in the mood for conversation. I'm tired from all the travelling, and truthfully, I want to return to my apartment and call it a night. Besides, the idea of seeing other women seems weird. It's too soon, even though Sara left over a year ago now. Still.
I thank the woman in the pea coat, pay for my selections, and make a mental note to come back for bread sometime over the weekend. I sincerely doubt there is anything in this bakery - a little hole in the wall on 6th that was recommended to me by my cab driver on the way in from the airport - that isn't going to be delicious.
"Ya gotta go to La Fleur's," he said. "Best bakery in the whole damn city. Make an almond Danish that will make you cry; it's so good. My wife makes me stop there at least three times a week. Probably why we're both having to buy new pants this month."
When I leave the bakery, I have three almond Danishes, three Pain au Chocolate, and three maple butter tarts. It's the least I can do for Ben and Elyssa--who snagged me the apartment across the hall from them while I was still on the other side of the country.
I make my way down the sidewalk, clutching the box of baked goods under one arm and fish in my jacket pocket for my new apartment keys. And while the place is sparsely furnished--pretty much just a mattress on the floor, an armchair and a box of kitchen stuff, I know that after a good night's sleep, I'll be ready to start making the place home in the morning.
I wait for the light to turn green, then stride across the crosswalk, pulling my collar up around my neck to block the wind.
I'm halfway across the road when I feel it. It comes out of nowhere and hits me full on, and by the time I reach the opposite sidewalk, my heart is beating like a drum, and I have to collect myself before moving on.
What the actual fuck?
I stop outside a pizza joint and scan the street, watching, dazed, as cars pass me in a manic blur. Then I look up and down the sidewalk. A woman with a baby carriage. Two girls staring at their phones. A guy in running gear and a dude in a suit carrying a leather briefcase. Nothing strange here. Just people living their lives, heading home on a perfectly ordinary Friday.
But nothing feels ordinary for me. Because I'm standing on a sidewalk breathing in the smell of melted cheese and salami, feeling like I've just been run over.
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