The Meeting Point by Olivia Lara

Seven

The moment I get off the bus, I know this place is unlike any other I’ve ever been to.

It reminds me of those made-up towns in movies that are fully constructed in a studio. The houses look like they’ve been drawn by an artist with too much imagination and a weakness for fairy tales. They’re tiny and quirky and each of them has a plaque on the front with a name: The Sailboat, Souvenirs, Seventh Heaven, Sans Souci, Casablanca, Sea Horse. This is amazing.

My phone beeps. The Lift driver. Max, I remind myself, it’s Max now.

The first thing is dropping your luggage somewhere. I assume you have luggage.

Just a backpack. I can carry it; I don’t mind.

OK. Second thing is you’re going to need a proper breakfast,he says.

I ate on the plane,I answer.

That’s not food. I’m giving you two options: Bellini or Café Azure. Your pick.

How would I choose? I ask. I don’t know which one is better.

Intuition. Don’t women have that sixth sense?

Ha-ha. I doubt it applies to restaurants. I’ll go with Café Azure. I’ve always wanted to go to Paris and this one sounds French.

Good choice. I’ll send you the link on Google maps.

Dolores and Seventh. It’s not far from where I am, and I take my time, walking and basking in the sun like a lizard. On the left side pretty houses, on the right side the ocean and a white-sanded beach like I’ve always dreamed of.

The temptation is too strong. I take my shoes off and walk in the sand.

If you take the Scenic Road Walkway, you could stop by the beach if you want. It’s nice and it shouldn’t be too busy now.

I gulp. Yes, that’s exactly where I am.

Guess what I’m doing? I ask.

Running back to the station to catch the bus to San Francisco?

Why would I ever do that? It’s beautiful here. No! I text.

I’m tempted to take a selfie, but instead, I just send a photo of the beach.

Nice! Breakfast will still be there when you’re ready.

I sit in the warm sand. It’s just me here, a couple walking their dog on my left and a man running to my right. It’s so serene.

Number 44, I text.

Oh, good, I was afraid you didn’t want to play anymore.

What’s your favorite book? he asks.

I have so many. My absolute favorites are the ones I read as a child. I’ll say my top three are: The Secret Garden, Princess Bride, and A Wrinkle in Time.

Those are great books. Mine are oldies too, but more of the late teenage ones, like The Great Gatsby, To Kill A Mockingbird and Brave New World. Number 29.

Have you ever seen a ghost? I text.

I don’t know if I believe in ghosts, but I hope there is something after this. Not that I’m excited at the prospect of getting stuck here and haunting people, LOL. Have you?

I don’t know. Maybe. When I look in the mirror in the morning before I put on makeup.

He sends laughing emojis. Self-deprecation is endearing.

I feel my face getting hot. If I had a mirror, I’d probably see my cheeks are red.

After a while, I put my shoes back on and walk in the direction of the breakfast place.

Café Azure is a cozy café—I’m sure peaceful when it’s not so packed like today. It also has a few tables on the sidewalk, and I stay outside. I’ve always wanted to eat like the Parisians.

A young woman greets me with a smile. “Welcome to Café Azure. What can I get you?”

“Good morning,” I say and realize I’m mirroring her smile. “Not sure what’s good here. Someone recommended it. Do you still serve breakfast?”

“We sure do. How hungry are you?”

“Starving,” I say. “I only had plane food.”

“Say no more. Do you prefer eggs or oats and fruit?”

“They all sound good,” I say, my stomach now grumbling.

“Leave it to me then,” she says and walks back in.

Minutes later, she returns with a large glass of a red drink. “Compote de saison,” she says. “Cherry. It’s my favorite.”

A good drink, a spot in the sun, a flurry of people up and down the street. Each with their own story. Since I sat down, I’ve jotted down ideas for three stories already. And the ideas keep coming. I usually get one, not twenty of them. I’m so busy writing—almost like I’m in a frenzy—that I don’t even see her standing in front of me with a large platter.

“Breakfast is served,” she says, with the same warm smile.

Two eggs, baguette, butter, different kinds of cheese and hams and fresh fruit. Oh, my. And it’s all so delicious, I eat without stopping.

I don’t remember the last time I sat alone at a table without feeling uncomfortable. But here, it seems that nobody cares. There are plenty of singles and people look relaxed and not judgmental. It makes me feel better about my situation. I keep going back to it, even if I don’t want to. I take a big gulp of the compote and whisper, ‘Happy birthday, Maya’.

And I’m not alone, am I? I’m texting Max, and at the same time, he texts me.

Mine is: Thank you, you were right. This café is something else.

His: What do you think? Did you make a good choice?

Then we both send smiling emojis and I smile in real life too.

When you’re ready, your second stop awaits you,he texts.

Ready.

San Carlos Borromeo de Carmelo Mission. It’s a fifteen-minute walk.

I’m putting my phone in my pocket when it rings and I’m so startled, I let out a shriek. Why is he calling? I’m not ready to hear his voice. What would I even say to him? My hands are clammy and I’m so nervous, I don’t even check to see if it’s him or not.

“Sorry I missed your call.”

I breathe, relieved when I hear Alisa’s voice.

“I was in an editorial meeting and then had to see a client. How’s Mr. Fancy Pants? Hope he’s kissing the ground you walk on for all you went through to surprise him,” she says.

“He’s kissing something alright, but it has nothing to do with me,” I say.

“W—what are you talking about? What’s going on?” she asks.

“He’s cheating on me. I’m still processing, to be honest. He’s here with someone else.”

“Oh my God! Did you catch him with another woman? Maya, I’m so sorry. I’ll kill him!”

“Not if I do it first,” I say. More than anything, I’m angry, and I realize that now. I feel betrayed and made a fool of. I feel like I wasted so much of my life for no reason. “I didn’t catch him, but someone saw him.”

“My heart breaks for you,” she says. “What did you do? Are you staying in San Francisco until tomorrow or going back earlier? This is horrible. I’m so sorry you’re all alone there.”

“I’m not all alone.”

“Oh?”

“I met someone,” I say and then snicker. “I didn’t actually meet someone. It’s a long story, though, so I’ll tell you more when we Skype.”

“I wanted to say, but I didn’t want to seem mean.”

“What?”

“You don’t sound totally destroyed over David. You’re perky.”

“Perky? Me?”

“Why can’t you tell me now?” she asks. “I want to know all about it.”

“Because I just arrived at the church and there’s a ‘no cell phones’ sign on the door.

“The church? Are you marrying someone you just met?”

I start laughing. “Sure, because that’s exactly the kind of thing I’d do. No marrying in the cards, relax. Just visiting. It’s like a museum.”

She lets out a loud sigh. “And you’re alright? You’re safe? You don’t need anything?”

“I am perfectly safe, and I will call you when I get back to New York tomorrow.”

“I love you,” she says.