Katwalk

by Maria Murnane

“Which way are you headed?” Josh asked Reid. “We can cram you into our cab if you need a ride near the East Village. We’ll probably do one more beer somewhere on Second or Third.”

  Reid looked at Katrina. “You up for one more?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t drink another drop.”

  “Come on, Kitty, tomorrow’s a holiday,” Grace said, putting her arm around her. “One more beer won’t kill you.”

  “Tomorrow’s a holiday?” Katrina said.

  “For me it is,” Grace said. “I’m calling it No More Sucking-Up Day. I think it might go viral.”

  Josh put his hand over Grace’s mouth. “Okay then. I say we head over to Finnerty’s.” He looked at Reid. “You in?”

  Reid grinned. “Why not?”

  “I want one of him,” Grace said to Shana—and not in a quiet voice.

  No you don’t, Katrina thought. Didn’t anyone care about his wedding ring? She was too drunk to think clearly, but she still knew the best thing for her to do at that point was to say good-bye to everyone and put herself to bed.

  They piled into a cab and headed back to the East Village. The driver pulled over in front of Finnerty’s, but when Grace saw the crowd milling around outside the entrance, she raised a hand in the air, commander style.

  “Everyone here looks twelve years old. I’m calling an audible. How about we go to The 13th Step?”

  Josh rolled his eyes. “You look twelve years old.”

  She pointed at him. “Choose your next words carefully, Uncle Josh. So who’s in for The 13th Step?”

  Josh raised his hand. “I second the motion.”

  “Motion granted.” She turned toward the driver. “Change of plans. Will you drop us down at Tenth instead?”

  Shana tapped Grace on the arm. “How is two out of five a majority?”

  Grace pushed her hand away. “I’m Asian. Don’t question my math skills.”

  “If you guys are headed south, I think I’m going to get out here and walk home,” Katrina said, opening the door. “Sorry, everyone, but I’m hitting a wall.”

  “To be honest, I can’t believe you made it this long,” Josh said. “I’m impressed.”

  “Me too,” Grace said. “I thought your embarrassingly low tolerance for alcohol would have sent you packing hours ago.”

  “I’ll walk you home,” Reid said to Katrina, following her out of the taxi.

  “Be sure to drink lots of water,” Shana said with a wave as the cab pulled away.

  Katrina and Reid slowly began walking north on Second Avenue. “You okay there, soccer girl?” He put a hand on her shoulder.

  She hiccupped. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

  He chuckled. “I’ve noticed.”

  “I’m also not much of a soccer player. But it was so much fun to try something new, even if I was terrible. I hope I’m not too sore tomorrow.”

  “That might be the least of your troubles tomorrow.”

  She looked at him. “Hangover?”

  “Probably.”

  “Am I slurring my words?”

  “A little bit.”

  She looked straight ahead and shook her head. “I’m so pathetic.”

  “No you’re not. You’re adorable. To be honest, it’s a refreshing change to run across someone who doesn’t drink like a fish. You don’t find that too much in this city, at least in the circles I run in.”

  She felt a little guilty for it, but she couldn’t deny that it made her feel good to have a handsome man like Reid call her adorable, regardless of how inappropriate it was.

  They walked in companionable silence for a while, and soon reached Katrina’s block. It was dark and quiet here, in stark contrast to the chaos of Second Avenue. As they approached her building, she found herself getting nervous. When she’d left for the soccer game hours earlier, this was hardly the way she’d expected to come back. And it was light-years removed from her carefully thought-out plan not to see him anymore.

  Yet here they were.

  And then there were two.

  They walked up the steps of the brownstone in silence. When they reached the top, she dug in her purse for her keys, then forced herself to look at him, her pulse quickening.

  “Well, thanks for walking me home. I hope you had fun with my friends.”

  “Are you crazy? How could I not? I had a fantastic time.”

  She swallowed. “Good. Okay then, I guess I’m going in now. It was very kind of you to walk me home.”

  “It’s easy to be kind to someone like you.” He leaned close and kissed her on the cheek, but once he’d done so, he didn’t move. Instead, he lingered there, and she felt the heat of his breath against her neck.

  “Can I walk you up?” he whispered.

  She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “You’re so beautiful.” He lightly kissed her neck.

  “Reid, please don’t,” she whispered back.

  Leaning his body against hers, he put a hand behind her head and began to smooth her hair. “Please? I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

  She closed her eyes. His touch felt so warm, but she couldn’t let him walk her upstairs.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Do I really have to say it?” She kept her eyes closed.

  “I’m so attracted to you, I can’t help myself. You’re driving me crazy.” He kissed her neck again, and she tried not to think about how good it felt to be treated like this.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Why do you like me, Reid?”

  He laughed. “I don’t know, there’s just something about you. Is that so hard to believe? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, Kat. From the first night we met.”

  I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. For as long as Katrina could remember, she’d wished someone would say those words to her. And now someone had.

  Someone smart.

  And interesting.

  And attractive.

  And married.

  Why did he have to be married?

  He spoke softly into her ear. “You’re sweet and innocent and kind, and by coming to New York like you did, you’ve reminded me what it’s like to be spontaneous and just have fun, to let loose and enjoy life. Is that so wrong?”

  She shook her head slowly.

  “Please . . .” he said again. He slipped his hands around her lower back and pulled her against him.

  Brittany’s words rang in her ears. Poor guy is miserable, she’d said.

  He was kissing her neck again, breathing heavily now.

  Was he really serious about being unable to stop thinking about her? About enjoying life again because of her?

  She couldn’t get involved with a married man, but maybe he was planning to leave his wife.

  Was that what was going on?

  Finally, she kissed him back. When their lips met she felt a jolt of heat spread through her body, and her knees almost buckled.

  Stop! a voice in the back of her head yelled, yanking her to her senses.

  She forced herself to push him away. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. Not yet.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “I think you should go now.”

  “I’m crazy about you,” he whispered. “Please don’t make me go home.”

  “It’s wrong . . . I can’t.”

  He nuzzled her neck again. She felt another spark at the contact.

  “I’m sorry. I . . . I can’t . . . I have to go inside. Good-bye, Reid.” She unlocked the door, then hurried inside and ran up the stairs without looking back.

  Chapter Nine

  “Oh my God, Deb, I kissed him.”

  “The married guy?”

  “Yes.”<
br />
  “When?”

  Katrina pressed a palm against her forehead as she walked along the waterfront. “Last night. I totally kissed him. Am I a horrible person? Oh my God, I’m a horrible person.” She glanced around to make sure no one could hear her.

  “Calm down, calm down. What happened exactly?”

  Katrina relayed the day’s events: the soccer game, the picklebacks, the kiss at the front stoop, everything.

  “Wait a minute. You played soccer?”

  She kicked a pebble. “Yes. I can barely move today. But yes.”

  “Wow. You really are a different person out there, aren’t you? First changing your name and then painting, and now playing sports and kissing married men. I can hardly keep up with the new you.”

  “Are you trying to be funny? I’m stressing out here, you know.” She looked out at the Hudson River and wondered how cold the water was.

  “Relax. You just kissed him. It’s not like you’re sleeping with him. You don’t plan to do that, do you?”

  Katrina shook her head. “No. Definitely not. I don’t even want to see him again.”

  “Then stop beating yourself up. You had too many drinks and you kissed someone you shouldn’t have kissed. We’ve all done that. It hardly makes you a horrible person.”

  “Are you sure? I feel pretty awful right now.”

  “Believe me, you’re not. You’re a good person, Katrina . . . or Kat, or whoever the hell you are.”

  Katrina couldn’t help but laugh. “Maybe I should go back to Katrina. Kat is getting me into trouble.”

  “The Kat thing is working fine for me. Just tell her to watch her alcohol intake.”

  “Believe me, I will.”

  “Hey, I’ve got to run now. Have a conference call in a half hour that I’m woefully unprepared for. Talk to you later?”

  “Sure. Thanks, Deb.”

  “Anytime, Kat.”

  Katrina tucked her phone into her pocket, then began pumping her arms to step up her pace. Regardless of how she was feeling inside, it was a beautiful day outside, so despite her aching muscles she’d decided to go for a walk on the west side of town. She’d just checked out Chelsea Piers on the West Side Highway esplanade and was now making her way toward the High Line, an abandoned elevated train track that had been converted into a public park.

  When she reached the entrance, she climbed the stairs and headed south along the walkway. She wasn’t moving very fast, but it felt good to loosen up her sore legs. She was eager to see the bustling streets of Manhattan from a different angle, hoping a new perspective might help her come to terms with her conflicted emotions. She’d spent last night tossing and turning, glad she’d sent Reid home but feeling terrible about having kissed him, however fleetingly.

  She also felt terrible about how good the kiss had felt.

  How good the attention had felt.

  She briefly covered her eyes with her hand and sighed.

  Yes, she knew it could have been worse—much, much worse—but still, she shouldn’t have done anything at all.

  I feel so guilty.

  Although I’m not married, right?

  Is guilty even the right word?

  Whatever she was feeling, it wasn’t good.

  Life can get so complicated.

  As she watched the scenery unfold beneath her feet, each block revealing a secret window into life on the streets below, she pushed Reid from her mind and began to focus on the week ahead. There were so many things she wanted to see, and with each passing day the list only seemed to grow.

  She’d also decided to paint more.

  After a visit to the Tenement Museum Saturday afternoon, she’d stumbled upon a tiny art gallery tucked between two hole-in-the wall restaurants on the Lower East Side. In the window hung a small painting of a single vibrant yellow tulip sprouting from a chipped clay flowerpot. It was a simple image, but she had been struck by the contrast of old and new—and found it beautiful, much like the church she’d seen next to Stuyvesant Square. As she peered through the window, she’d felt a pang of longing and thought I could paint that. Deep down, she’d always wondered what it would feel like to see her own artwork on display in a gallery, out there for anyone to enjoy—or critique—a tiny piece of herself to be shared with the universe.

  Then another thought had occurred to her.

  If that were ever going to happen, she’d have to actually paint something.

  Nearly an hour later, Katrina was two blocks from home, her hands on her hips, her breath a little uneven from all the exercise. She hadn’t eaten anything before leaving her apartment, and when her stomach began to growl, she was glad she’d tucked a twenty-dollar bill into her pocket. She bought a newspaper from the old man at the kiosk, then walked over to the coffeehouse.

  Justin was alone behind the counter when she entered.

  “Hey, Kat. Working out again?” He jogged in place.

  She held up her arms and pretended to show off her biceps. “Yeah, can you believe it? I played soccer for the first time yesterday, and now I just went on a brisk walk. Toss in two yoga classes since Friday, and that’s more exercise than I’ve had in the past year. I can’t believe I’m still in one piece.”

  “It suits you. You’ve got a nice rosy glow going on.”

  She put her hands up to her cheeks, which felt hot, and did a little curtsy. “Why, thank you.”

  “Skim latte and a blueberry scone?” he asked.

  “Actually, I was thinking I might do something different today.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

  She looked up at the chalkboard. “I was thinking about going for something a little more on the hearty side. Maybe one of your breakfast sandwiches.”

  “Hearty? You looking to beef up now that you’ve become an athlete?”

  “I’ve got a bit of a hangover. I thought that might help.”

  “Big night last night?”

  “Big afternoon. Beers after the soccer game turned into an all-day affair. My neighbors are crazy. Shots, pitchers, the whole deal. I couldn’t keep up with them. I hope I didn’t say anything I’m going to regret.”

  “Too much truth serum?”

  She laughed. “I’ve never heard it called that before, but it sounds pretty accurate.” If he only knew how her day had ended.

  He scratched the back of his head. “I can’t do the marathon-drinking thing anymore. When I was in my twenties, I could go all night, but somewhere along the way, I lost the talent for going nonstop. I can go, but now I have to stop pretty soon thereafter.”

  “I never had that talent at all.” She pressed her palms against her temples. “I wish I hadn’t caved to the peer pressure. My head would be feeling so much better right now.” She also wouldn’t feel so tormented by that kiss, which she was quite sure never would have happened if she’d been sober.

  “I learned a long time ago to ignore peer pressure. Too dangerous.” He gestured around the room. “I can’t be dragging if I want to keep growing my businesses.”

  She titled her head to one side. “Your businesses?”

  He tapped his palm on the counter. “This one, for example.”

  “You manage this place?”

  “I own it.”

  “You own this place?”

  “Sure do.”

  She was stunned. And embarrassed. “Do you . . . own the other one too?”

  “Which one?”

  “The one on the Upper West Side.”

  He nodded. “Yep.”

  “Gosh. I had no idea, Justin. You once said something about getting in trouble with the boss, so I just assumed . . .”

  He gave her a sly smile. “I was probably just kidding around when I said that. So all this time you’ve thought I was a career barista, slogging aimlessly through life?�
�

  She felt her cheeks turning red. “Hey now, don’t go putting thoughts into my head. Slogging is a pretty strong word. Is it even a word?”

  He laughed. “It’s okay. If I were you, I probably would have thought the same thing at the sight of a thirty-seven-year-old man making cappuccinos day after day. Or, in your case, skim lattes. The truth is, I have an MBA, but I didn’t like wearing a suit and tie every day, so I chose a career in which that’s not required. Now what can I get you?”

  She began to read the chalkboard but stopped halfway up and looked at him.

  “Wait a minute. You asked me which one.”

  “Huh?”

  “When I asked if you owned the other coffeehouse, you said which one. Do you own others too?”

  “Other coffeehouses? No.”

  “Do you own other businesses?”

  He pointed back up at the chalkboard. “We can talk about that another time. Now are you going to order a breakfast sandwich or what?”

  Before she could reply, he twisted his wedding ring, then nodded toward the back door. “Listen, I’ve got to run out to an appointment. April will take care of you, okay?” He pointed toward a barista Katrina had never seen before. She looked about the same age as Peter.

  “Okay, sure. Thanks, Justin.”

  “Congratulations, by the way,” he said.

  “Congratulations?”

  “On changing your order. I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

  He smiled, then turned and walked out the back door.

  Katrina couldn’t help but wonder where he was going.

  Chapter Ten

  Katrina spent the next two weeks immersed in a frenzy of sightseeing—and studiously avoiding both her job search and a conversation with her mother. She also didn’t hear from Reid, which allowed her to focus on wholeheartedly embracing her inner tourist. She dutifully crossed many of the must-sees off her list.

  Empire State Building, check.

  Museum of Modern Art, check.

  Times Square, check.

  Rockefeller Center, check.

  She also managed to plow through a number of Justin’s suggestions, which—if she were honest with herself—she enjoyed more than the standard guidebook fare. It surprised her to realize that when she ventured into lesser-known territory—be it for a slice of pizza in Queens or a stroll through an obscure museum in Harlem—she felt as though she had been given access to the real New York, the side most visitors never see, and she loved that. Plus she kept stumbling upon hidden gems all on her own, which she found just as exhilarating. A tiny art gallery here, a used bookstore there, a mom-and-pop ice-cream shop around the corner—it was all magical to her.