A single woman eating alone in the city is akin to a rare animal at the zoo. It’s not like either is going anywhere--they’re readily available to be seen--but people always seem surprised when confronted with one up close and personal. As I read my book and drink my mocha, the family next to me is quite obviously perplexed by my presence. I notice sidelong glances and an occasional interested peek. The father outright stares. Careful, don’t poke the glass. She’ll spook. What do you think she’s doing? Why? How interesting…

Occasionally I’m the ape that places its hand on the glass wall of the enclosure; every so often, I turn and smile pointedly at my audience and in turn, they’re either embarrassed or they’ll ask what it is that I’m reading. Always reading. Today it’s an interconnected narrative: friends who meet at a camp as children grow up, as humans tend to do, and cling to their adolescent understandings of one another even as time, distance, and responsibility force them into new roles and complications.

I like these stories. I like the inherent futility in the human desire to shed our own skin and yet retain former intimacies. The truth of the matter is, no matter how many reinventions we’d like to think we control or undergo, we retain pieces of our youth and in some ways will always be that which we are constantly seeking to escape. The transient nature of personality makes it even more upsetting when we settle on a place in life we’d like to hang on to. There’s a desperate pleasure in knowing that’s never going to happen. It’s not unlike the anticipation I feel every time my phone buzzes.

Communication is a two-way street, but no matter the number of cities I’ve traveled alone, times I’ve moved my life just for the sake of satisfying a wandering spirit, or professional achievements I’ve compiled, I will never be the first to phone someone I’ve just met. Because in every way and no way, I am still the young woman whose heart opened too quickly and was then forced close for far too long. Deep into the final dregs of my mocha, independently living in a city I’ve chosen, eating quite the fantastic brunch from the diner a few streets from my place, I’m still just a girl obsessively checking her phone and wishing the vibrates belonged to someone other than they who run the ESPN notifications app.

---

"It's been less than 24 hours. Stop checking your phone. There is no way corner store guy was that cute."

Jo checks the oven and then sits on the couch opposite me in the living room.

"I wasn't! I was checking work email."

"Liar. But even if you were telling the truth, you shouldn't do that either. They call it break for a reason."

Sometimes I feel like Jo exists because Jiminy Crickett is not actually readily available to act as a physical conscience. Most times, I'm grateful for her frankness; other times her additions to conversation much more closely resemble the devil on my shoulder I'd like to smack. Tonight, she's treading the line.

"So...?" Jo props her feet up on the coffee table.

"Ugh," I sigh and give in. I've never been able to hold thoughts in my head. It's what made my sister start taking bets on how long I'd speak before taking a breath as kids. Annoying, but you have to give her style points. "He was though, Jo. He was. Do you ever meet someone and just KNOW that their skin has heat? That if you touched it, it would burn, but like in a good way?"

"No. Because that's weird. I don't set out looking for my men to be the one of the Fantastic Four that would also torch my kitchen when he's pissed."

"That's not what I mean. I can't explain it. He touched my fingers, you know? For about a half second before I gave him back his wine. I just...ugh. This is stupid, right?"

"No," Jo gave me an uncharacteristic smile, "it's not stupid. I give you a hard time because it's fun watching you all worked up. I get it though."

"Right?" I perk up, "Sometimes a guy just has..."

"That thing." We speak in tandem. I laugh and smack her legs.

"I can't tell if you agree with me or if you're making fun of me." I fiddle with my phone on the table. Adam's voice comes from the porch,

"Knowing Jo, it's probably both."

I look at her, silently making a note of the fact that he's spending a copious amount of time in our apartment.

"Sorry," she shrugs and then laughs, "not sorry." She paused briefly, "It's okay, yeah? I'll tell him to beg off if it's not."

I smile and stretch my legs. "It's fine. I like Adam."

He walks in and plops himself down next to Jo. He wiggles his eyebrows, "So, Steph...any word from card boy?"

"Card boy?" I smirk.

Jo interrupts, "I thought we'd agreed to refer to him as Corner Store Guy?"

"How about Clubs?" Adam takes off his shoes as he readies himself for a night in.

"Clubs?" I'm not picturing Louis out dancing at all hours of the night, but I could be wrong. Maybe grey hoodies are what all the kids are wearing these days.

"Like the cards. You know, you lost on the three...three of clubs...three sounds too much like a notch on your bedpost. Kind of figured Clubs worked. Cmon guys, give a man a break. I was trying to be witty." Adam settles back into the couch and grabs the remote from Jo.

"Ha. I like it." Jo grabs Adam's right arm and settles it around her shoulders. My phone buzzes and I lift it halfheartedly from the table, tired of ESPN getting my hopes up.

From Louis:

Hi, savior :) plans tomorrow?

I let out a small yelp and settled my phone between my knees.

"Go on then; who is it?" Jo nudges my knee with her sock-clad foot and I can't help but grin,

"Clubs."

Adam high fives me and I stare at my phone, wondering how I've become so entranced by such a small gesture. Here goes nothing.

Notes