Katwalk

by Maria Murnane

  Katrina’s father raised his wineglass. “To Katrina. You’ve got new clothes, new jewelry, even a new exercise routine. Sounds like you came into your own on the East Coast, sunshine. Good for you.”

  Katrina crossed her legs under the table, careful to keep her ankles touching even though her mother couldn’t see them. “I did. Thanks, Dad.” She was grateful for the recognition, but also dreading where the conversation was inevitably headed. “It was a really good two months for me.”

  “You spent most of your time sightseeing, I imagine? There’s so much to take in there,” he said.

  She took a sip of water. “Yes, a lot of sightseeing. And I . . . I started painting again.”

  Her mother arched an eyebrow. “Painting?”

  “I got into the habit of taking long walks to explore the city, and if I saw something along the way that inspired me, sometimes I’d go back later and paint it.”

  “That sounds nice,” her father said. “You were always pretty good at that.”

  Her mother picked at her Caesar salad. “You and your brother are both talented—that goes without saying. Eric in particular has always had such a gift for drawing.”

  Katrina stiffened at the sudden memory of why she’d stopped showing her paintings to other people.

  Her mother continued. “Anyhow, regardless of how you spent all that leisure time in New York, I’m just glad you kept your wits about you and stuck to your promise to look for a job while you were there.”

  Katrina nodded but didn’t reply.

  Her father dipped a piece of bread in olive oil. “When do you start this new job?”

  Katrina swallowed. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you both about that.”

  “How so?” her mother asked.

  Katrina’s mind raced for her talking points.

  Opening observation about the restaurant and evening in general.

  It was a little too late for that now, but she decided to backtrack anyway.

  “I love this restaurant. I’m so glad you suggested we come here.”

  Her mother gave her a strange look. “Katrina, dear, are you feeling well?”

  “I’m fine, thanks. I . . . I just want to express my gratitude to you for choosing such a lovely place for dinner.” She swallowed. “And . . . for supporting me in my decision to go to New York, even though I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

  “Well, it’s not like we had a choice,” her mother said.

  “And you did find a job while you were there,” her father said.

  Katrina took another sip of water and tried to keep going.

  Main statement and supporting points.

  She cleared her throat. “So, anyhow, about the job offer . . .”

  Her mother quickly looked up from her salad. “Job offer? What do you mean? Was there a snag?”

  Katrina hesitated.

  Tell them!

  “Katrina?” Her mother stared at her.

  “I . . . turned it down.”

  “What?” Her mother glanced around the room, then lowered her voice and leaned forward. “You turned it down?”

  Katrina inhaled deeply and stared at her lap for a moment.

  Stay calm.

  She tried to imagine she was sitting in one of Shana’s yoga classes. A supportive environment. Relaxing and peaceful.

  This is your life.

  This is your life.

  She looked up at her mother.

  “Yes, I turned it down.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m moving to New York.”

  “What?” Her mother’s voice once again flared louder than she’d intended. She put a hand on her chest and looked at her husband. “Henry, did you hear that?”

  “I believe I did.” He blinked at Katrina. “Sunshine, did I just hear you correctly?”

  Katrina nodded. “I’ve decided to move to Brooklyn and open a yoga studio with my new friends Shana, Grace, and Justin. We have a business plan, a financial backer, and a location.”

  Her mother’s face turned ashen. “A yoga studio? In Brooklyn?” Katrina had never seen her look so aghast.

  “A combination yoga studio, coffeehouse, jewelry display, and art gallery, actually. Or my art, at least. And Grace’s jewelry. And Justin’s pastries. And Shana’s an incredible yoga instructor. But yes, in Brooklyn. Brooklyn Heights, to be exact.” Once she’d uttered the words aloud, a weight had lifted and her confidence returned. She calmly took a sip of water.

  Her mother looked at her father again. “Henry, say something! We can’t let her throw her life away like this.”

  “I’m not throwing my life away,” Katrina said firmly. Her voice was steady, but her pulse was still racing. She interlaced her hands under the table and squeezed them together.

  Her father shook his head slowly, a look of pity in his eyes. “You’re an accountant, sunshine. What do you know about running a business, much less a silly one like that?”

  “It’s not silly.”

  Her mother scoffed. “Yoga? Coffee and pastries? Please. That’s about as silly as it gets.”

  “It’s not silly. And my friends there know how to do it. They’re doing it already.”

  Her mother pressed her palms against her temples, her thin fingers spread wide. “I can’t believe this. All that education, wasted.”

  “It’s not wasted. I’m starting a business, and I’m going to use that knowledge every single day.”

  Her mother didn’t reply. Nor did her father.

  “I’m going to do this,” Katrina said. “You can’t stop me.”

  Her mother groaned. “I think I’m getting a migraine.”

  Her father put a gentle hand on Katrina’s arm. “You need to think about your future. Moving across the country, starting over, struggling financially. None of that is going to be easy.”

  “I know that, Dad. But this is my future.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” her mother said. “A terrible mistake.”

  Katrina took yet another drink of water and readied herself to deliver the final section of her prepared remarks.

  Closing expression of conviction and excitement for what lies ahead.

  She set down the glass.

  “Mom, Dad, I know it’s not going to be easy, that it’s going to be quite hard, in fact. But this is something I want to do, something that will make me happy. I’ve spent too many years living a life that makes other people happy. All that did was make me miserable, and I just can’t do it anymore.”

  “You’re miserable?” her father asked, a look of surprise on his face.

  “I was, but I’m not anymore. And I don’t ever want to go back to feeling like that all the time, so this is what I’m going to do now. I’m starting over, now.”

  “But Katrina—” her mother began.

  Katrina held up her hand. “I’m not finished. For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, I’m excited about the future. Maybe this will fail, or maybe it won’t, but either way, it’s something I feel I have to do. If you support me, then that’s great. But even if you don’t, my mind is made up.”

  Her mother stared at her.

  “I’ve never seen you like this,” her father said.

  Katrina touched her scarf and felt her lips break into a tiny smile as she realized that during the entire conversation, her foot hadn’t once begun to tap.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Six months later

  Katrina had set her alarm for 6:00 a.m., but she was so wound up she woke up on her own fifteen minutes before that. There was just so much to do to prepare for the big opening, and she wanted every detail to be perfect—or at least nearly perfect, which had become good enough for her.

  She opened her bedroom window and poked her head outside. The fresh morning air
was cool, but to Katrina it seemed practically balmy compared to the harsh weather she’d experienced—and survived—during her first winter in New York. Even at this hour of the morning, the sun was already shining, with summer just around the corner.

  After making her bed, she glanced at the calendar on her desk.

  A small black circle was drawn around Thursday, May 15.

  Today.

  It was finally here.

  She smiled at the calendar, then spontaneously grabbed a pen and drew a smiley face next to the circle.

  That’s more like it.

  She spent most of the day at the studio getting everything ready for the launch party, crossing items off her list one by one.

  Decorations, check.

  Music, check.

  Food, check.

  Drinks, check.

  Lighting, check.

  Nerves . . . still working on it.

  Grace and Shana arrived just after lunch, and Justin popped in and out throughout the day to make sure nothing needed hanging, hammering, or replacing. They’d hired Enrique the driver for a flat rate to lug anything that needed to be lugged, and they were getting their money’s worth. Ferrying boxes of everything from paper plates to champagne and decorative lanterns, his car was continuously on the move, often with a harried Katrina in the backseat.

  “I’m going to try to double-park, but this area can be tricky, so if I’m not here when you come out, I’m circling around the block,” Enrique said as Katrina hopped out of the sedan. They were in Tribeca to pick up a batch of miniature cupcakes Brittany had insisted on buying for the party. Though Katrina knew she could easily find similar ones for half the price in Brooklyn, she also knew that arguing with a force like Brittany over anything—especially money—was not a winning strategy. But Brittany had gotten hauled into an all-day meeting at work and couldn’t pick them up before the festivities started, so here Katrina was.

  “Got it.” She hustled into the bakery, checking her watch as she took her place in line. Deb’s plane landed in an hour, so, assuming the cupcakes were ready, Enrique would have plenty of time to drop Katrina back at the studio before driving out to JFK to pick up Deb.

  As she waited patiently for the teenager in front of her to purchase a cookie, she pulled her list out of her pocket and felt a sense of accomplishment when she saw how many items she’d already checked off. So far, things were right on track.

  “May I help you?”

  Katrina looked up at the woman behind the counter. “Oh, hi, yes, I have an order to pick up for Brittany Levin.”

  The woman smiled. “Oh, yes, of course. Let me get it from the back.”

  Katrina smiled back. Pick up overpriced cupcakes, check.

  Moments later, she exited the bakery carrying the large box. She didn’t see Enrique, so she turned and looked in the direction of oncoming traffic.

  What she saw approaching made her jaw drop.

  Or more to the point, who she saw.

  It was Reid.

  Reid Hanson, walking alongside an extremely pregnant woman.

  It was too late for Katrina to move, and she didn’t want to risk dropping the cupcakes, so she just stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, frozen. Reid looked equally surprised.

  “Kat, hi.”

  “Reid.” She was too tongue-tied to say anything more.

  Reid cleared his throat. “This is my wife, Amelia. Amelia, this is Kat, a friend of a friend.”

  “Hi,” Katrina said a bit awkwardly.

  Amelia gave Katrina what appeared to be a warm smile, which surprised her. “It’s nice to meet you. I’d shake, but it looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

  “Yes, um, cupcakes,” Katrina said.

  Amelia nodded toward the bakery entrance. “This place is amazing, isn’t it? I had the worst cravings early on, for chocolate peanut-butter balls, of all things. Ten in the morning and I’d hustle down here for half a dozen of them.” She put her hands on her bulging stomach.

  “I’ll have to try those sometime.” Katrina was thrown by Amelia’s friendliness.

  “Why are you still in New York?” Reid gave her a curious look. “Weren’t you here for just a few weeks?”

  If he was afraid Katrina was going to rat him out, he didn’t let on. He looked as unflappable as ever, and she wondered how many women in a position similar to hers were wandering around Manhattan.

  Katrina held up the box. “Change of plans. Looks like I’m staying for a while.”

  “Oh, cool. Well, hey, we’d better get going.” Reid put his hand on Amelia’s lower back. “It was nice seeing you, Kat. Maybe I’ll bump into you again sometime.”

  “That would be nice.” Katrina smiled.

  She knew she’d probably never see him again.

  For a moment, as she watched Reid and Amelia walk away, she was curious to know what was really going on inside their marriage.

  She was also delighted to realize that she didn’t care.

  “It’s magical, Katrina.” Deb tilted her head back to admire the light-blue ceiling of the yoga studio, which was sprinkled with a trail of bright silver stars leading to a half-moon on the far wall.

  “Who’s Katrina?” Grace appeared and handed them each a champagne flute.

  Deb laughed. “I’m sorry. I mean, it’s magical, Kat.”

  Katrina put her arm around Deb and gave her a squeeze. “You can always call me Katrina. I wouldn’t want it any other way. To be honest, I still think of myself as Katrina, at least right now.”

  Deb held up her glass. “Well, Kat, Katrina, whoever you are, cheers to this beautiful place you’ve created.”

  “What are we toasting?” Shana walked up.

  “Your engagement, of course,” Grace said. “Just like we’ve been doing for the last three months.”

  “We are?” Shana giggled and held her left hand up to her cheek, a diamond ring glittering in the soft light.

  “Barf,” Grace said.

  “What are you complaining about?” Katrina asked Grace, pointing to the other room. “Li’s at the coffee bar right now, probably missing you even though you’re only like twenty feet away.”

  “Who’s Li?” Deb asked.

  “He was Grace’s pretend boyfriend, but he’s not so pretend anymore,” Katrina said.

  Deb looked at Grace quizzically.

  “He came crawling back,” Grace said.

  Apparently, Li had been telling the truth about his feelings for Grace, and they’d rekindled their romance a month earlier. Li had finally turned the corner and was ready to commit, but now, as Grace liked to say, she was the one “wearing the jock.” This time around things would be on her terms—just the way she liked it.

  “Come on, I’ll introduce you.” Grace grabbed Deb’s arm and pulled her toward the front room.

  The four of them left the yoga studio, passing down a short hallway into a large open space with a coffee bar on one side and clusters of plush lounge chairs sprinkled around the room. Justin and Josh stood like footmen in front of the bar, Justin dexterously holding a platter of Brittany’s cupcakes, Josh carefully balancing a tray of champagne flutes and miniature cappuccinos. Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata played in the background. The coffee bar looked similar to Justin’s shop in her old neighborhood, just as Katrina had envisioned.

  Even more importantly, it felt similar.

  Warm.

  Inviting.

  Friendly.

  A Place for Yoga and Coffee was officially open for business.

  Katrina’s paintings, all for sale, hung on the walls. She’d recently completed a new series she’d done exclusively in Brooklyn Heights, after moving there. The subjects she’d chosen were simple, but she found them as inspiring and beautiful as the famous landmarks that surrounded them—if not more so.
Cobblestone streets, mom-and-pop storefronts, tidy brownstones, meticulously tended flower beds. With each piece, she paid homage to something she adored about her new neighborhood, including what was possibly her favorite discovery of all: the stoop sale. Part garage sale, part flea market, 100 percent social hour, the stoop sale was an integral part of life in Brooklyn Heights, and no lazy Saturday was complete without stopping by at least one.

  Or two.

  When she’d arrived earlier in the day, Katrina had been surprised to see that Justin had framed one of her earlier paintings and positioned it prominently at the entrance. Fittingly, it was the one she’d given him of the bench on the Brooklyn Promenade, a few days after she’d come up with the idea behind A Place for Yoga and Coffee. A far corner of the main room featured a pretty tree-shaped display of Grace’s jewelry—though given how many shops across Manhattan were now selling it, she hardly needed the exposure anymore. Grace was finally on her way, and Katrina hoped that one day she’d have similar success with her art.

  As her friends chatted, Katrina twirled slowly in a circle, taking it all in, thinking about what it meant. All of them working together to create something special, something their future patrons didn’t even know they wanted but that they would grow to love. Although not entirely certain how things would play out, she felt hopeful and optimistic.

  For now, hope and optimism were enough.

  The front door chimed, and Katrina turned around.

  “Hey, there’s Brittany.”

  “Who’s Brittany?” Grace asked.

  “She’s the one person I knew before I moved here.”

  Deb elbowed Grace. “You mean back when she was still Katrina?”

  Grace elbowed Deb back. “You mean back when she was rigid and uptight?”

  “I prefer words like organized and structured,” Katrina said with a tiny smile.

  Katrina grabbed a champagne flute from Josh’s tray and approached Brittany. In her black dress and heels—which put her well over six feet tall—she was as sensational as ever.

  “Hi, Brittany, welcome!” Katrina said. “Thanks so much for coming.”

  Brittany took the flute. “It’s my pleasure, hon. I can’t believe how cute this neighborhood is, and so close to Manhattan! How have I lived in New York for nearly nine years and never been here? I need to stop ignoring Brooklyn.”