Gabbie glanced at her watch as she opened the door to The Bar. It was only 9:30, which meant she had at least an hour before Maya stopped by, if at all. She ducked into the dark room, which was exactly as she remembered it from the last time she’d been there, months ago when she picked up her shrug. She was trying not to freak out about the fact that she was the last of the girls to fill her metric. Slow and steady had always been her thing anyway. If she focused on teaching and Crafting, there was no way she wouldn’t catch up soon. Most of the color in her metric had come from the stuff she’d done for social media, but the weird thing was, over the last week, the little acts of magic she used to do in her room to fill her metric were just . . . not working. The video editing she once did with the tap of a finger, the dishes she used to clear up with just a thought—suddenly out of reach. When her Wi-Fi went out (as it always did) and she couldn’t fix it just by magic, that had been the last straw. Sure, the East Village was a long way to travel for internet. But she needed to be somewhere she could be comfortable and inspired. She couldn’t get her creative juices flowing just anywhere.
Gabbie walked in to see a girl at the counter pouring a glass of wine. She looked up and smiled, and Gabbie swallowed her disappointment.
“Hey there, how can I help you?”
“Hi! Are you Shelby?” Gabbie had stayed super attuned to any mention Maya made of The Bar, and by now she knew the usual cast. “I’m Gabbie, a . . . friend of Maya’s.” Friend felt like the wrong word, but she wasn’t sure how else to communicate what Maya was to her.
“Oh right, are you one of the birthday girls?” Shelby asked.
“Yeah,” Gabbie said, warmed by the thought of Maya mentioning her and Delali in one of her famed late-night chats at The Bar.
“Cool to finally meet you.” Shelby smiled and rested a hand on her hip. “What’s up?”
“Oh, I’m just, uh. Here to use the Wi-Fi.” Gabbie tried not to make it obvious that she was looking past Shelby, quietly hoping Faison would walk through one of the doors that lined the back wall. Their DMs had puttered to a halt around the holidays, and Gabbie hadn’t realized until then, when she was home in Vermont scrolling the @celebriteesshop account, just how much she loved her conversations with Faison.
“Yeah, go nuts,” Shelby said. “It’s free.”
“Okay, great, thank you.” Gabbie, realizing she hadn’t thought past this part, felt a rush of self-loathing. She couldn’t believe she’d wasted an hour of her Friday taking the subway downtown in hopes she would bump into Faison. Was she just gonna sit here and wait? She and Dan had a call early the next morning—she wanted to sleep in, but Dan was leading a hike with Kim for some of his students, and they’d be at a nature preserve outside Nairobi for the whole day. If she wanted to talk to him at all on Saturday, she needed to wake up for the call, or else deal with Dan’s lukewarm, one-word responses for three days while he forgave her for missing it.
Just as Gabbie sat down, the storage room door opened and Faison walked into the room wearing a Cher celebritee and a pair of tartan dress pants. He was carrying a cardboard cutout of Jack Daniels, and Gabbie was almost certain he broke into a smile as soon as he saw her, his steps slowing as he took her in. Gabbie’s stomach flipped—he was even prettier than she remembered.
“Hey, you,” he said. Gabbie couldn’t describe his eyes as anything other than . . . twinkling.
“Hi,” Gabbie said.
“What are you doing all the way down here? Thought you worked up in the Bronx.”
“Just came to get some work done.” She pointed to her laptop. “I didn’t know you’d be working today—”
Faison’s smiled shifted from confused to sly as he placed the box on the bar. He knew.
“I’ve actually just finished my shift,” he said. He reached over the bar to grab his sling bag and Heron Preston puffer, which were hidden under the counter. “Shelby’ll deal with these. Right Shelb?”
“Whatever, Faison,” Shelby responded, eyes trained on her phone.
“Oh, cool,” Gabbie said, trying to avert her eyes from the brown strip of skin he’d just exposed.
“Posts have been looking really good lately,” Faison said. “I check Crafting every day.”
“Really?” Gabbie asked. “I mean, yeah. I’ve been working really hard. But I don’t know I guess I’m kind of blocked at the moment.” It wasn’t even remotely true—she had like ten videos that could use editing right now and way too many unanswered brand emails in her inbox—but she needed to say something to keep Faison around. She couldn’t stand the sight of him putting his jacket on.
“You know working more isn’t the answer to a block, right?”
“It’s not?”
Faison smiled devilishly. “Nope.”
“What is?”
“Going on a nighttime walk with someone you like,” he answered.
Gabbie could only giggle. She was vaguely aware of Shelby’s loud sigh behind the bar.
“Come on,” Faison said. “You’re not gonna find any inspiration in here.”
Outside on the sidewalk, it was dark and chilly, and Gabbie could feel herself getting jittery with excitement. There was nothing more exciting than the start of a Friday evening in New York, even though Gabbie usually didn’t have plans.
“Where do you wanna go?” she asked.
“Anywhere,” Faison said, shrugging. “I’ve got until midnight-ish. You just moved here right? A couple months ago?”
“Yeah, in September. Gosh, it’s been like six months now.”
“And before you moved here, what was the thing you like, dreamed of seeing? I feel like everyone in New York has that thing, you know. The one thing they imagined when they thought of the city. What was yours?” They’d already started walking south.
“Oh,” Gabbie said. “I don’t know, mine’s kind of embarrassing.”
“That’s one of the requirements!” Faison exclaimed. “Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.”
Gabbie smiled. His enthusiasm was adorable. “It’s just the Brooklyn Bridge. Which is hilarious because I live in Washington Heights. But, you know, it’s so beautiful. It’s always been a thing for me. I can’t believe I’ve been here for half a year and I haven’t been yet.”
“What’s the embarrassing part?”
“Well, I guess if I’m really being honest, it’s because of Miranda and Steve. In the Sex and the City movie. I’m not even a Miranda and I’m torn on whether the movies are even canon but I just always rooted for them so hard. You know the scene, the one where she finishes her pro/con list and then she just rushes to the bridge and for a second she’s worried Steve won’t be there but he is?”
Faison smiled blankly.
Gabbie gasped. “You’ve never seen it?”
He shook his head.
“Okay, I get that, the movies aren’t for everyone. But you’ve at least seen the series, right?”
“Here and there,” Faison confessed. “My sister’s made me watch a few.”
“Here and there?” Gabbie put her hand over her mouth and shook her head. “That’s one of the biggest mistakes people make with Sex and the City. Just because the episodes are perfectly self-contained they think they can get away with watching them here and there! But they’re wrong, trust me. There are meaningful series-long character arcs!”
Faison held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll watch it, I swear. Just stop looking at me like that.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Gabbie said.
Faison laughed and checked his watch. “I think we have just enough time to walk across the bridge before I head off.”
“Okay,” Gabbie said, smiling. She tried not to think of Miranda and Steve making out while Al Green swelled in the background. “I think that’s a good plan.”
They headed toward the station together, the silence between them notable, charged but not yet awkward. Gabbie was careful not to bump into Faison too much as they moved, but at some points the pedestrians on the street made it impossible. Not that she really minded. On the train, their conversation was so comfortable and unbroken that they almost missed their stop.
“Ta-da,” Faison said when they arrived.
Across the street, the Brooklyn Bridge towered above them, its cables arcing through the darkened sky like Christmas lights. Even in the March cold, huge crowds of shivering people congregated at the bridge’s entrance. Gabbie had to hold back a squeal. Walking across the Brooklyn Bridge was something she had wanted to cross off her bucket list with Dan before he left for Nairobi, but he’d been so busy getting ready for his trip that it never happened. Now, staring at the beautifully lit bridge, she couldn’t believe she’d ever let that plan fall off her bucket list.
Gabbie charged ahead without waiting.
“Whoa, wait up!” Faison, laughing, scrambled to meet Gabbie as she neared the first leg of the bridge.
The waterfront glimmered, and she turned to look at the view of Manhattan, reminded of why she had chosen this over Fulbright with Dan. The city stretched before her, soaring, sparkling, perfect. Well, nearly perfect—she reached for her bracelet. As they walked, Gabbie took in every face, every view, every tiny window in the bridge’s metalwork with quiet awe. Faison kept looking down at the cars that hurdled across the lanes beneath them, mesmerized.
“Have you been here before?” she burbled, awestruck.
“A couple of times,” Faison answered, grinning.
“What’s so funny?” Gabbie asked.
“Nothing. Your excitement’s contagious.” He pulled a Nikon SLR out of his fanny pack and started clicking as they went.
They fell into comfortable conversation as they went, talking about their work at first. Then Gabbie wanted to know how Faison’s camera worked, and Faison wanted to know how she managed to control a classroom. Gabbie answered all of Faison’s questions thoroughly, surprised to realize that she actually loved talking about herself. No one ever asked her about herself. Most people were content to just let her listen.
As they neared the end of the bridge, Gabbie and Faison were interrupted by an elderly couple in matching yellow cable-knit sweaters, who asked them for a photo.
Once they had arranged themselves, Gabbie held their camera up to her face and called out. “Okay, one, two, three, cheese!” She heard Faison laughed behind her.
The woman and her husband, hunched over and red-faced from the cold, walked over and took the camera. “Oh, what a gorgeous photo,” the woman said. “And taken for us by such a gorgeous couple!”
Gabbie’s face got hot. She opened her mouth to correct the woman, but Faison spoke first.
“Thank you,” he said, grabbing Gabbie’s hand and giving her a playful smile. The rough feel of his hands surprised her; the last person who’d touched her was the ancient manicurist at Nails Time on 141st.
“You two have a wonderful night,” the woman said before she and her husband walked off.
Gabbie and Faison started walking again, taking in the glowing light of the buildings lining the East River. She was disappointed to feel his hand drop from hers. “So when you said cheese just now, was that your teacher voice?” Faison teased, giving her a sideways smile.
Gabbie opened her mouth to protest, but then laughed. It was her teacher voice.
“Okay, cheese!” Faison mimicked, his voice climbing to girlish pitch. “You’re funny.”
“Listen,” Gabbie said, gearing up to defend herself. “Old people and third graders are a lot more alike than you’d think.”
Faison laughed at this, and Gabbie was struck by the realization that Dan always responded to her jokes. He never just laughed.
“I bet the kids love you. Even when you’re a kid, you know who the pretty teachers are.”
Gabbie was taken aback by the comment. She was racking her brain for something to say when they reached a stretch of flat concrete. “Oh,” Gabbie said. “We’re, um, at the end of the bridge.”
“Looks like it,” Faison said. Gabbie’s heart sank against her will—she couldn’t think of another excuse to extend the night, and she knew enough to know that witches could not stop time. Faison looked out at the water and then down at Gabbie, and she warmed in his gaze. “Should we get pizza?”
Gabbie wavered. Crossing a bridge on a whim was one thing, but getting dinner (or, really, a late-night snack) with Faison alone felt like crossing a line she’d been trying to avoid for months. But . . . she looked up at Faison and at the bridge they’d just crossed. They’d made it this far already. It would be a waste to just turn around and head back into Manhattan . . . right? At least, that’s what the little Carrie Bradshaw on her shoulder was saying. “Always,” Gabbie said. “Pizza’s my favorite food.”
“I’ll remember that,” Faison said. And Gabbie had no doubt that he would.
They walked through Dumbo in search of a pizza place, a decidedly new energy between them.
“This place?” Gabbie asked, nodding to a shop at the end of the block.
Faison took in the incomplete fluorescent sign, one Z blinking and the A totally dark. He shook his head. “I never trust a spot that has more than one dead letter.”
Gabbie laughed, and after that they bypassed several pizza parlors for increasingly stupid reasons, using each as an excuse to talk longer. It became a little game between them—Gabbie vetoed one place because she didn’t like the red tiles lining the walls; Faison rejected another on the grounds that the cashier had French-tucked his sweatshirt into his jeans. They talked about their dream cars and their immigrant parents, what had brought them both to New York, their favorite things about their respective neighborhoods.
Finally, they chose a pizza place with tasteful blue tiles and inconspicuously dressed cashiers, and Faison paid for Gabbie’s two-dollar slice of plain cheese.
Gabbie couldn’t stop checking her watch. She was dreading the moment they finished eating and Faison had to disappear. She was taking the smallest possible bites of her pizza.
“Where are you going after this?” Gabbie asked, leaning forward in her chair.
“This party my friend’s throwing.” Faison shook his head and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Kind of an annoying scene. But could be good for the brand.”
“Oh,” Gabbie said, her heart drumming as a plan started to form. “What’s your friend’s name? Or handle or whatever?”
“Mmm,” Faison said as he chewed. He pulled his phone out and opened an Instagram page called @nontreevents.
“Non-tree events?”
“No entry.” Faison explained. “Like no, then letter n, and then—”
“Oh,” Gabbie said.
“Do you wanna come? I could get your name on the list. Maybe not the perfect audience for Crafting, but who knows.”
“Totally,” Gabbie replied, though she didn’t mean it at all. She wanted to be alone with Faison, not crowded into a dark event space full of hot influencers, where they’d have to shout to hear each other. “I have to pee.”
Inside the bathroom, Gabbie pulled up the @nontreevents Instagram page. She clicked the post for that night’s party, a flier in violent early-internet turquoise with black lettering, and stared at it. She’d never tried to use her powers for something so remote and intangible. But she’d also never wanted anything more. Fingers resting on the screen, Gabbie closed her eyes and willed her intention into action. It was a moment before she felt it, but it came, the power moving through her body like a strong, fast current. She opened her eyes. The image beneath the glass was shaking, and there was a sound like a cyclone in her ears. The sound got louder and louder before finally stopping. Her screen stilled. The small bathroom was quiet. Gabbie touched up her lip liner in the mirror and returned to the table.
“Done,” she said. “Ready to head out?”
Faison was looking at his phone. “Yeah, actually, my friend’s thing just got canceled.
“Oh,” Gabbie feigned. She pulled at a curl. “That’s too bad.”
“Nah,” Faison said as he stood. He grabbed their plates and threw them in the trash. “Honestly, I didn’t want to go anyway.” He looked down to meet Gabbie’s eyes. “Maybe it’s a sign.”
She looked away, flustered. “You didn’t tell me what your New York thing was.”
“Oh yeah.” Faison smiled. “Well now I can show you.”
Outside, they walked for ten minutes before stopping in the middle of a quiet block, in front of a big, modern apartment building.
“Your thing is . . . a new build?” Gabbie asked.
“My favorite aunt used to live there,” Faison explained. “She doesn’t anymore . . . but when we visited as a kid, I remember the view from her apartment being crazy. Five-year-old me couldn’t believe you could see the water from that far away. I’m sure there are a million better views in the city but, I don’t know, I’ve always wanted to see this one again.”
“Was she your favorite because she was freakin’ loaded?”
Faison looked to fight off a moment of hesitation, then shook his head. “She’s the one who taught me how to sew.”
Gabbie swooned. She was about to ask him how he planned to get to the roof when a woman approached and entered the building, the heavy door swinging slowly behind her before stopping slightly ajar.
“Another sign?” Faison asked with a mischievous smile.
Gabbie balked. “I don’t know.” She was not the kind of person who trespassed.
She gazed at the building. It was sleek and new, and close enough to the water that they could still hear it lapping quietly in the background. Gabbie wondered if the rooftop view could compare to the one from the bridge.
Faison watched the shifting expressions on her face. “Come on,” he urged. He hustled across the street and Gabbie stood still for a second before her curiosity won out and she jogged after him. She had never done anything like this before, and up until just now, hadn’t been sure she was capable of it. But here she was, nimbly slipping through the sliver of doorway and holding it open for Faison. They looked around until Faison found the stairwell, reaching out to grab Gabbie’s hand as he held the door open with the other. Gabbie snuck in and began to climb, Faison close behind her. They completed the first few flights easily but at the fifth, they started to flag.
Faison huffed and puffed dramatically, mocking Gabbie’s labored breathing.
“Shut up,” she called behind him.
“Shhh,” Faison joked. “We’re trespassing, remember?”
When they finally reached the roof door, Gabbie burst through dramatically.
“One small step for woman, one giant step for womankind,” Gabbie said as she caught breath. Faison laughed, following as Gabbie strode across the terrace, arms spread as though she owned it. An electric current of excitement ran through her. She couldn’t believe what she—they—had just done.
“You look like you’ve done this before,” Faison teased.
Gabbie shoved him playfully. She looked around as the crisp air cooled the sweat on the back of her neck. There was no one else out there—only a well-thought-out arrangement of plants, wooden deck furniture, and short, bright bollard lights.
“Oh,” Gabbie said as her eyes landed on the view. A reflection of the city shimmered on the surface of the river, and even at this late hour, people swirled along the streets below, climbing in and out of cars, entering buildings, standing in groups on the sidewalk. Faison stood next to Gabbie, and she felt the heat of his body as he took in the sight. After a moment, he sat on one of the wooden chairs and motioned for Gabbie to join him, but she shook her head.
“I’m not tall enough,” she admitted reluctantly, knowing Faison would make fun of her. “If I sit, I won’t be able to see the view.”
To Gabbie’s surprise, Faison rose from where he’d been sitting and dragged a table over to her.
“Does this work?”
Gabbie smiled and accepted Faison’s outstretched hand. She leaned into his warm, sturdy grip, climbing onto the table, where he joined her. They both took in the view in silence. In the quiet of the moment, Gabbie snuck a look at Faison’s handsome profile against the skyline for a moment before looking away. Faison pulled out his camera and took a couple of quick snaps of the skyline. Then, without warning, he turned the camera on Gabbie, taking a shot as she stared out at Manhattan.
“Hey!” Gabbie said, turning when she heard the camera click.
Faison laughed, looking at the photo. “Teacher by day, model by night?”
“Stop,” Gabbie said, leaning in to look at the photo. When she saw it, though, she paused. Damn. She did look pretty good.
“Good, huh?” Faison asked, reading her mind.
“Yeah,” she said softly.
Faison met her eyes, and quiet grew between them. He leaned in and kissed her. Gabbie jerked back.
“Hey!” she said sharply. “Why did you do that?” She stood and stepped off table.
“Oh—sorry,” Faison said, his voice colored with confusion. “I thought you’d be into it. It seemed—I don’t know, I thought we were vibing.”
Gabbie stared at him. She took another step back, suddenly feeling stupid—and ashamed. “It’s really cold,” she said. “And late. We should go.”
Faison opened his mouth, a debate playing out on his face. Then he nodded. “Okay, yeah,” he said, standing. “I have the brunch shift tomorrow.”
They went back into the building, and as they walked down the stairs, Gabbie made sure to set an alarm for her morning call with Dan.
Gabbie
Gabbie
Maya
Delali
Gabbie
Gabbie
Delali
Maya