“No, oh no, it was a dream come true. No disruptions, no surprises, getting to unpack a suitcase and mean it . . . I loved it. Waking up and going to sleep in the same place every night was all I ever wanted.”

Nana felt the same way; once we arrived, we never left. We never even took vacations. (Why would we need to? We already lived in paradise.) It was a huge relief. And for college I didn’t even have to leave town because Santa Monica City College was right there. My first ten years were spent like a vagabond, and my next twenty were spent with my feet on solid ground, surrounded by comfort and routine, and I know which I prefer.

“What brought you to New York, then?” Bree wonders.

It wasn’t by choice, I’ll tell you that....

I force a smile. It makes my teeth ache. “I’m supposed to be writing a screenplay. Anyway, I’m boring myself so I can’t imagine how it feels for you.”

“I’m not bored, I’m fascinated! Where are your parents now?”

I signal for the check.

“That is an excellent question.”

* * *

Once Bree and I part ways, her Undersea DVD safely tucked into my laptop bag, I wonder if I should head to Café Crudité and scour more profiles. That would be the smart, productive thing to do.

But it’s Saturday, a small voice inside my head protests, and you go to the café every day. What if you broke the mold, just once? What if you pretended you were going to the café but instead of going inside, you put one foot past the door, just one extra step, and then another, and kept on walking?

I adjust my various bags and look inside Crudité as I glide past, trying not to make it obvious I’m scanning for someone in particular, the only person I’ve said more than two words to outside of work since I arrived.

Why is it I never saw him until the Biscotti Incident, and now I see him there all the time? Is he there right now, clicking away at whatever it is he’s trying to clack?

Gazing beyond my own reflection, I see the big table is empty. I could go in and grab it right now, but a victory without an audience is hardly a victory. If he’s not there to see me enjoying it at his expense, what’s the point? And by the way, of course he’s not there, I reprimand myself. It’s the weekend. He has a life.

No reason I can’t have one, too.

My bravado lasts precisely five blocks. The entrance to the subway beckons, like a gateway to hell.

I could go down those stairs, but what if I never come back out?