Say Yes

* * *

“No! You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The bright yellow notice tacked to the front of my apartment door was not the conclusion I’d hoped for to the long but otherwise decent day.

EVICTION was printed across the top in bold, ugly letters, and I stared at it with a defeated slump to my shoulders before frustration took over. I ripped the notice off my door and shoved my keys into the lock before pushing my way inside.

It wouldn’t be the first time I’d faced eviction, but it sure as hell wasn’t something I wanted to deal with right now. I knew exactly why it was happening—back rent was a bitch—and I knew trying to contest it after the number of extensions I’d had over the last year wouldn’t get me anywhere. Living in New York City as an artist was like playing a constant high-stakes game of poker, and you had to know when to call and when to fold.

Tossing the eviction notice to the side, because that was going to be a Future Mackenzie problem, I made my way slowly through my small studio apartment, shedding clothes as I went. I kicked the shoes off my aching feet, undid the buttons of my uniform with a relieved sigh, and opened the clasp of my front-snapping bra. Then I threw on one of my favorite t-shirts—a men’s large that reached down to my mid-thighs.

Ah. Much better.

I walked around the canvases set up in the small space between the kitchenette and my living-but-also-bedroom. Pieces that would eventually have final pictures taken before putting them on the internet—lifelike stills of fantastic creatures, which were my signature, all in vibrant, glorious colors. Before opening any paints, I beelined to the fridge, pulling out last night’s takeout.

So, an old flame and an eviction notice all in one day.

Damn. I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of karmic message the universe was trying to send—but it got a little clearer when my microwave short-circuited before my leftovers were properly heated.

Okay, okay, I get it, Universe. Please go torture someone else now.

I rolled my eyes and sighed, irritation bubbling under my skin. Fortunately, my phone rang just in time to keep me from chucking the microwave across the apartment. Checking my phone, I saw that it was Walker.

Walker: Hey—meet me at the regular place tomorrow around noon?

I paused.

Me: That where I think it is?

Walker: Yep. Figured it’d be a fun homage to the good old days. Are you up for it?

‘The regular place’ was a small hole-in-the-wall pizzeria called Pop’s. They had the best crispy crust I’d ever eaten. It was certainly more appealing than cold leftovers. It also happened to be the place Walker and I first met.

I smiled in spite of myself—in spite of knowing a place riddled with so many memories was probably the last place we should meet—and replied.

Me: See you then.

3

Mackenzie

Mom and Dad had let me roam about the city all day, taking in the sights and sounds. Dad was busy with his job at the new meat packing plant, and Mom was writing her poems again. Me? I wanted to explore, to get some fresh New York City air and experience the energy and bustle of the Big Apple. And now that I was in high school, my parents were fine letting me do so on my own. I’d be starting classes on scholarship at a fancy private school now that we were living closer to the city.

When my feet finally started screaming at me for a break, I found myself in a pizzeria—one of those authentic Italian family-owned places that smelled like tomatoes and oregano and fresh-made mozzarella. I grabbed a seat by the window and pulled out my sketchbook and one of the new woodless graphite pencils my parents had bought me for my birthday. The whole vibe of the place was beyond chill as I carefully freehanded a mystical rendition of the pizzeria.

“That’s some cool art you’ve got there.”

The voice was deep and filled with a touch of humor. I didn’t stop sketching, but I did smirk as I replied.

“Thanks. I try.”

“Yeah? Pretty good for being just a try.”

“Well, I try hard.”

The boy who’d spoken laughed, and I finally looked up.

My sketching hand paused. He was in one of those fancy-pants private school uniforms, his tie loose and the top buttons of his uniform jacket undone. His short blond hair was pushed back, small strands falling into his face just above his set of piercing, deep blue and quite mischievous eyes.