She had to see him. She had to apologize.

Wearing a bright, flirty dress, she took the subway uptown. The doorman at Gabe’s prestigious building would have orders to block her access, so she loitered down the street, sipping a paper cup of coffee she’d picked up on Madison, trying to look casual, unobtrusive. It was almost seven now. The town car would be arriving any minute to shuttle Gabe to his downtown office. Perhaps she should approach Oleg first? The driver liked her, even understood her. He could be an ally in her quest to access Gabe. On the other hand, Oleg was the hired help. He may have been asked to be a gatekeeper, even a bodyguard. No, she would wait until her former lover emerged and go to him directly. Tentatively. Carefully.

She had been standing there for over an hour when she suddenly realized it was Saturday. Fuck. In her fug of grief and alcohol, she had lost track of the days. Gabe might have gone away for the weekend. If he was in his apartment, he could be inside for hours, might not emerge all day. And what if he exited with Violet? Could Nat approach the pair without seeming like a deranged stalker? Gabe would never engage with her in front of his daughter. She decided to give up and go home, return on Monday. But after the large cup of coffee she’d been nursing, she would have to pee first.

The coffee shop where she’d so recently purchased a latte refused to let her use their restroom without a purchase. Annoyed, she left and went to a vegetarian breakfast place next door. She hadn’t eaten more than toast and crackers for days, and she was suddenly famished. Ordering a tofu scramble and gluten-free toast, she used the facilities and then returned to the booth. But when the plate arrived, her stomach revolted. The crumbled tofu was a poor substitute for eggs, but she wouldn’t have been able to ingest the genuine article, either. She was still too desolate, too disappointed, too destroyed to keep food down. Still, she sat there, nibbling some toast (if you could call this sawdusty item toast) and sipping a bitter cup of coffee. Her studio apartment, once her haven, now felt sad and lonely. Returning home would mean more crying, more drinking, more wallowing.

And that’s when the girl walked in.

Nat recognized her right away. The dark hair, the pierced septum, the striking bone structure. What Nat hadn’t expected was her demeanor. A girl with Violet’s looks, money, and pedigree should walk with confidence, with the air of someone who had the world at her feet. But Violet’s energy was dark and heavy; somehow hostile and vulnerable at the same time. Gabe hadn’t lied. His daughter was troubled.

She was accompanied by a pale girl, a little heavy, with artfully shaved blond hair, a prominent lip and eyebrow ring. Nat watched the pair slide into a booth just ahead and across from her. Moving her tofu around on the plate, Nat watched Gabe’s child peruse the menu. When their young waitress approached, Violet and her friend asked a lot of questions about the food. Their words were not discernible, but Nat assumed they were inquiring into the ethical harvesting of the soybeans, the use of chemical fertilizers on the tomato plants, the wages paid to the fruit pickers. Nat ordered another cup of coffee and watched the girls drink green tea, embroiled in a deep, serious conversation. When their food arrived, they ate heartily. Clearly, this restaurant passed muster with their dietary requirements.