“When I got back last night I found out about a job possibility back home.”
“In accounting?”
She nodded. “Senior accountant at a software company. I’d start right after I get back.”
He scratched the back of his head. “Hmm . . . given the pronounced lack of enthusiasm in your voice, is a good luck in order?”
She shrugged. “It’s a good opportunity.”
“Well then, congratulations, Kat.” He didn’t look convinced, but, to be fair, neither was she.
“Thanks.” She glanced around the room. “I know I haven’t been here very long, but I’m really going to miss this place.”
He tapped the counter with his palms. “This place here, or this place New York?”
She smiled. “Both.”
He handed her the scone on a plate. “Well, for what it’s worth, this place will miss you too. So, no wild nights out on the town in the Hamptons then?”
She laughed. “Oh, well, of course. That’s a given with me, you know. I barely slept, with the clubbing and all.”
He tilted his head slightly to the side. “You look different.”
“I do? How so?” She put a hand on her neck and ran her fingers over her necklace. It was the one Grace had given her, with two interlocking circles.
“I’m not sure. It’s like you’re the same but different.”
“I hope that’s a good thing.”
“It is.” He glanced over her shoulder at the growing line behind her. “I’m sorry, Kat. I’ve got to get moving here. Peter will bring you that latte, okay?”
“Sounds good.” She took a small bite of the scone. “Wow. I’d forgotten how yummy these are.”
“Best in town. That’s how to build a business, you know.”
“Making amazing scones?”
He smiled. “By offering something people want before they even know they want it.”
Chapter Seventeen
It had been only three days since her last yoga class, but Katrina couldn’t wait to get back to the mat that evening.
She’d had an initial call with the recruiter about the accounting position, and it had gone well—extremely well, actually. It had surprised her, but for the first time she could hear self-confidence in her own voice when speaking about her knowledge and professional experience, conviction in how qualified she was for the job. Next up was a phone interview on Monday afternoon with the company’s HR director. The position would be a significant step up from her job at the advertising agency, with a higher salary and more responsibility, of course. And if she took it, she’d be able to finish out her trip in New York without the constant pressure of what comes next? looming over her shoulder.
Granted, it wasn’t her dream job. Far from it, in fact. But at least she was keeping her options open, which would keep her parents momentarily satisfied.
She might as well do the phone interview.
No harm in that, right?
As she sat down on her mat, she tried to convince herself the answer to that question was yes.
She closed her eyes as Shana lit a candle and began to speak to the group.
“I’m not much of a sports person, but the other day my boyfriend and I were at a bar, watching a football game. There were only a few seconds left, and one of the teams was lining up to kick a field goal to win the game. Everyone was going crazy, and I couldn’t help but think how strange it was that in a few seconds one of the teams and all its fans were going to be elated, and the other team and all its fans devastated, simply because of a number on a scoreboard. I mean, when you really think about it, isn’t that silly?” She giggled. “I guess that’s why I’m not a sports person.”
Katrina smiled to herself.
Shana continued. “After the game, I kept thinking about the concept of keeping score. While of course it’s a part of professional sports, so many people keep score of their own lives by comparing themselves to others, and that is destructive. They marry the wrong person because all their friends are getting married. They buy a car they can’t afford because all their friends drive nice cars. They work at a job they hate because the title sounds impressive at cocktail parties. In your life, it shouldn’t matter what anyone else is doing, or what anyone else thinks. You are the only person keeping score of your life. All that should matter to you is what is important to you. If you make major life choices based on what other people expect from you, or what will earn the approval of others, you’ll never be happy.”
Katrina flinched. How did Shana always know?
Shana stood up. “Remember, you’re the only referee in your life. Now let’s all meet in downward dog.”
Chapter Eighteen
The phone interview Monday afternoon went smoothly, as did two more after that, and before she knew it, Katrina had a formal job offer in hand . . . or at least in her in-box.
And she didn’t have much time left in New York. How had it gone by so fast? She’d worked diligently through her list of things to see and do, but for each item she checked off, she had added a new one. She’d finally accepted the fact that she was never going to get through her list before she left and settled into a comfortable daily routine that began with a visit to the coffeehouse each morning.
After reading the paper there, she’d set out on foot to see the sights—some famous, some less so. Interspersed with the memorials and monuments was aimless, delicious wandering, her guidebook tucked away in her purse. By now the sites had largely become an excuse to wander the streets, watching life unfold around her. Her enchantment with the city and its streets grew stronger with each hidden park, gallery, boutique, deli, or corner store she happened upon.
She continued to paint, and had nearly covered the once-bare walls of her bedroom with her own artwork. She’d also bartered with both Grace and Shana for jewelry and yoga sessions. Shana’s favorite painting was of a young girl in a Catholic school uniform doing tree pose in the middle of a park. Grace’s was of a tilting stack of cardboard coasters on a shiny wooden bar.
She had no plan for what to do with the rest of the paintings when it was time to move back to California.
Yet.
One afternoon, after a long walk around Lower Manhattan and the South Street Seaport, she sat down at her computer and read the offer letter again.
Better salary, check.
More responsibility, check.
Good benefits, check.
Satisfied parents, check.
She furrowed her brow, trying to come to terms with the fact that soon she’d have to face real life again.
Then she made her decision.
It was time to move forward.
Later that week, at Justin’s urging, Katrina planned to spend most of the day walking across the Brooklyn Bridge and visiting the Transit Museum. Both had been on her list for ages, but she had yet to get to them.
The list . . . the endless list.
Despite having to navigate her way through throngs of tourists who also thought it was the perfect day to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, Katrina was glad she’d followed Justin’s suggestion. She’d seen the famous bridge many times from afar, but up close it was truly stunning, the stone towers soaring majestically into the sky, the entire structure enveloped by hundreds of wire cables spread diagonally from the summits to the deck in a protective web.
And that was just the bridge itself. The views it offered of Manhattan and Brooklyn, the Statue of Liberty, Governors Island, and the neighboring Manhattan Bridge, just up the East River, were some of the prettiest she’d seen during her entire time in New York.
And to think it had taken her this long to get here.
She stopped walking and gazed back at Lower Manhattan, studying the iconic skyline. It was her first look from outside the city since her ride back from the Hamptons, and her first ever on foot.
There was no doubting the city’s grandeur, but it was fantastic for her to realize that it no longer intimidated her.
When she reached the Brooklyn side, she followed the pedestrian exit and made her way east, grateful that the bulk of the camera-wielding tourists seemed to be turning around to head back across the span. She wandered through Cadman Plaza Park, which led to the steps of the venerable Kings County Courts building. She peered behind the pillars and wondered who was inside, standing in front of a judge right then, possibly awaiting a decision that would forever alter the path of his or her life.
She meandered south for a few blocks, stopping several times along Court Street to check out the sidewalk vendors and their wobbly card tables, which featured everything from trench coats and cheap sunglasses to Bibles and decorative cell phone cases. When she reached Schermerhorn Street she turned left and descended the steps marking the entrance of the Transit Museum, which she imagined must frequently be mistaken for a working subway station.
After spending a couple of hours learning about the history of the cavernous tunnels running beneath New York City, she asked a security guard to point her in the direction of the Brooklyn Promenade. Justin had insisted she check it out, calling it one of the prettiest spots in the entire city. She hadn’t heard of it, but by now she realized that didn’t mean a thing. She felt a twinge of insider’s pride, a sort of kinship with the locals, who knew that the neighborhoods offered more interesting discoveries than many of the tourist destinations.
And Justin hadn’t let her down yet.
Ten minutes later, she decided he was right.
Located at the west end of a historic neighborhood called Brooklyn Heights, the Brooklyn Promenade offered a spectacular view of Lower Manhattan—framed by the Brooklyn Bridge on one end and the Statue of Liberty on the other—that could have been pulled straight from a movie set. The towering buildings clustered on the other side of the East River, which she’d just passed through the day before on her way to the South Street Seaport, were now at least a mile away, but somehow they looked close enough to reach out and touch. The illusion was striking.
And profound.
And beautiful.
She thought about how much this view must have changed over the years, gradually shifting as Manhattan grew denser, the buildings taller, the skyline fuller. Although it was—and would always be—Manhattan, it was always changing.
The same, yet different.
She stared across the river and thought about how scared she’d been of New York just a few short weeks ago. Where had that fear gone? And what had taken its place?
She was the same person, yet different.
And soon she would be leaving all this behind.
For financial security.
For professional stability.
For an office.
It’s okay. I’ll be okay.
She thought of the offer letter, now printed out and sitting on her desk.
It was signed, sealed, and ready to be mailed.
Before she knew it, she’d be back in California.
It had been a tough decision, but it was for the best.
It’s for the best.
She balled her hands into fists, trying to ignore the churning feeling in her stomach, trying to convince herself that accepting the job was the right thing to do. She had to go back to Mountain View. If she didn’t, what would she do here? As much as she loved exploring the city, she couldn’t afford to do that forever. Her time here had felt like a dream, but this particular dream had to come to an end.
I can always come back to visit, right?
As she looked back across the East River, she suddenly wanted to capture the conflicting emotions she was feeling by painting the view in front of her. But her supplies were back at her apartment, and it would take her a good hour if not longer to bring them back. By that time it would be getting dark, so she’d have to come back another day.
Which reminded her of how few of them she had left.
On the way to the subway, she wandered through Brooklyn Heights, admiring the picturesque brownstones lining the quiet streets. Each one was prettier than the one before it. Unlike her neighborhood, which was a motley blend of pristine and downright dirty, this area was uniformly well manicured. It was exactly what she’d envisioned when she thought of what living in New York City could be like, back when the idea of living a more fulfilling life was just a fantasy.
She turned onto Montague Street, which was clearly the neighborhood’s main drag, and drank in the small-town feel of it. Though she spotted a few chain stores, most of the establishments seemed to be of the mom-and-pop variety, including a small hardware store that looked as if it were straight out of the 1950s. The space next door to it was boarded up, with a “For Lease” sign taped up on the front window. Katrina wondered what had been there before, and why it had failed, or whether it had failed at all. Maybe the owners had just decided to move on? Try something different?
Maybe they’d packed up and moved to the West Coast for an adventure . . . or a new beginning.
Just before she reached the subway, she felt the urge for coffee and ducked into a Starbucks. It was the first time she’d been inside one since she’d left California. While she waited for her drink, she had a flashback to her former life at home, to picking up her coffee at Starbucks every morning, to bringing it to her quiet cubicle in the office.
“Nonfat latte for Kat!” the barista called out.
Katrina turned around, momentarily surprised to hear herself referred to as Kat. She’d never ordered a drink at Starbucks as Kat before. In fact, she’d never referred to herself as Kat at all. She didn’t mind when her friends in New York called her that, but she hadn’t yet made the transition herself . . . until she’d ordered this latte.
The next time she visited a Starbucks, it would most likely be in Mountain View.
Would she become Katrina again there?
What would happen to Kat?
She looked at the name on her cup and realized how much she didn’t want to lose her.
It was just a name written in pen on a coffee cup, but it was so much more than that.
It was a different life.
Kat’s life.
She sipped her latte and thought about Shana—kind, gentle Shana, who had made Katrina feel welcome from the moment they met. And Grace, of course. What would things be like without spunky Grace around? And sweet, good-natured Josh. She was going to miss him too.
She thought about the coffeehouse, and how much she was going to miss having a friendly place to sit quietly and read the newspaper before tackling the day. And talking to Justin, who always made her feel good about herself, no matter what. She was going to miss that. She was going to miss him.
She’d even miss Peter.
Though she hadn’t known them for long, she felt more connected to this group of friends than to anyone except Deb at home. She wasn’t sure how or why it had happened, but they knew a side of her that others back in California didn’t—and she feared never would.
And the yoga studio. She was going to miss having a place to collect her thoughts, to reflect on what was important to her. To feel healthy inside and out.
And her walks.
The aimless wandering.
The boundless learning.
She was going to miss all of it.
She left Starbucks and slowly began walking to the subway. Her legs were heavy, her head a bit fuzzy. She was distracted, almost sluggish.
She was . . . sad.
Sad at the thought of what her life would soon be like again. Back in Mountain View, back in a place where . . .
Halfway to the subway stop she froze.
Back in a place where . . .
Oh my gosh!
She turned around and looked back down Montague Street.
<
br /> She had an idea.
A big idea.
She had to talk to Shana and Grace.
But first she had to talk to Justin.
She tossed the rest of the latte into a trash can, then quickened her pace and descended into the subway station. As she was about to swipe her MetroCard, she heard the unmistakable sound of an approaching train. She hurried through the turnstile and toward the platform just as a Manhattan-bound train pulled to a stop. She stepped inside and took a seat as the doors closed behind her, already mentally mapping out what to tell Justin.
She’d reached the subway at just the right moment. She hoped that was a good sign.
Twenty minutes later, Katrina resurfaced in the East Village and made her way toward the coffeehouse, her mind racing as she walked.
Opening observation about your New York experience.
Main statement and supporting points.
Closing expression of optimism for the future.
Just before she reached the entrance, she stopped walking and closed her eyes. If Justin liked her idea, her life would change on a dime. Was she ready for that?
She balled her hands into fists.
It’s time to stop being afraid.
You can do this!
She took a deep breath and pushed the door open, the now-familiar chimes announcing her arrival.
The place was about half full. She scanned the room for Justin but didn’t see him. Peter was behind the counter, chatting with an elderly male customer. As soon as Peter handed the man his coffee and the gentleman walked away, Katrina stepped forward.
“Hi, Peter. Is Justin here?”
He pointed over his shoulder. “He’s in the back.”
“You think I could go talk to him?”
Peter shook his head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Are you sure? It’s sort of important.”
“He’s talking to his wife.”
Katrina’s eyes opened wide. “Really?”
Peter nodded.
“Why?”
He shrugged. “She came in here to speak to him about something, I’m not sure what. He didn’t want to do it out here, so they went in the back.”
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