Tryst #3(5)
Author: Ella Steele

“Sure thing, Princess. I’ll buy a new yacht to park next to the other one.” The man laughed. He sounded like a llama choking on a shoe. Fine. It wasn’t a big tip, but it was all I had. I got the clear impression he didn’t think Little Miss Texas should be wandering around big bad New York, like some redneck yokel who just discovered shoes.

Ignoring him, I slid off the seat. Kicking open the door, rain splattered down and I was instantly wetter. I didn’t think that was possible. I had one bag with me and two others in the trunk. Drops of freezing rain ran down my neck and into my coat making me shiver. I’d forgotten how different men acted here. They didn’t hold doors or help girls with their bags. After I ran around to the back of the cab, I grabbed my suitcases and slammed the trunk shut.

As the red taillights faded into the darkness, the front door of 6A opened. A young woman with long dark hair ran down the porch stairs and straight at me. “Abby!” In two bounds she was across the puddles, hugging me like I’d never left.

“Hey, Kate,” I hugged her back. She didn’t seem to care that I was sopping wet, and now, so was she. Holding my shoulders in her hands, she examined me under the street light. Her eyes were still vibrant, and every ounce as green as I remembered.

“I can’t believe it’s been so long since I’ve seen you,” Kate said grinning, shaking her head. “I have no idea why you ran away and failed to tell your best friend about it, but I would have traded anything to get to see you again. And now you’re here!” She hugged me again. I wasn’t much of a hugger, and neither was she, but she was right. With the way I’d left, I didn’t expect such a warm reception. “Come on, let’s go inside. I have a spiked hot cocoa with your name on it.” She reached for my bags, and then made a beeline for the front door with me on her heels.

Kate didn’t know why I’d left, and I never told her. It was complicated. As I stepped over the threshold, I glanced around her apartment. It was warm and clean, decorated like an art gallery with beautiful artwork on the walls. The room was peaceful, painted with soft blues and browns—not like the girl with the bright orange bedroom she had when we were younger. Kate seemed to have gotten over her fascination with neon colors.

Pushing her dripping hair out of her face, Kate said, “Come on. I’ll show you your room, and then we can catch up.” Following Kate’s path of puddles, I walked between the living room and kitchen to a back hallway. The apartment was larger than it appeared from the street. After passing a bathroom, I stopped in the doorway of a bedroom. Kate grabbed my bags from me, putting them under a window and throwing towels on the floor in front of them to soak up the water. “And this, Miss Abigail Tyndale, will be your residence for as long as you like.”

“It’ll only be a year, Kate. I’ll go as soon as I can. I don’t want to burden you.” I felt horrible having to do this in the first place, and she was being so nice. Kate was the same selfless person from a decade ago. I bet she still dragged half dead cats off the street and took them to the vet, happily footing their medical bills and finding them a new home.

Kate folded her arms over her chest, and hung her head. “You’re gonna run again, aren’t you? First chance you get, you’ll head for the hills and go back to no-mans land.” It was a statement. An obvious observation. A dark tendril of hair clung to Kate’s cheek, water dripping down her face like tears. Her green eyes were on me, wanting an answer.

No one willingly ran to no-mans land. I sure didn’t and standing there with her, it felt like I’d never left. It felt like I had my best friend back, and I missed her. No one took her place in all the time I was gone. She was the kind of person who didn’t say what you wanted to hear—she said what you needed to hear. Friends like her were rare.

I smiled at her, “This isn’t my home anymore. I don’t belong here.” My moist clothing clung to me like wet toilet paper. I repressed a shiver. A hot shower really sounded divine.

“You belong with your family,” she stated, stubbornly.

I wondered if she’d heard—if she knew. One night, several years ago, my parents were driving back from dinner and never got home. They were hit, head on, by a car going 90 miles per hour. Everything shattered. There was nothing left. No chance for survival. No chance to say good-bye. “They’re all dead, Kate. I’m alone,” I said softly staring at her.

She smiled sadly at me, “I know Abby, but that wasn’t what I meant. Your friends are your family now. You’re not alone, unless you choose to be.” As she left my room, she said over her shoulder, “It’s time to stop running.”