Maybe it’s all in my head and I’m looking for something that reminds me of Tori to hold onto. Maybe it’s a combination of both. That would definitely explain why something about Abbi bugs me. Why something about her taps on my shoulder repeatedly until I give in and think about it.
I grab the phone and dial her number before I can think about it anymore and it drives me insane. She answers on the third ring.
“Hello?” her voice is quiet and wary.
“It’s Blake.” God, I’m so eloquent. My mother would have a fit if she could hear me now.
“Oh!” I hear a shuffle. “Hi.”
“Hi.” I pause, looking around my apartment. “I hope you don’t mind me phoning you.”
“No, I don’t mind you calling me.” The hint of laughter in her voice makes me chuckle.
“I’m sorry – I hope you don’t mind me calling you, then.”
“No. If I minded, I wouldn’t have given you my cell number.”
“You know, if you said that to someone in the UK, they’d wonder why you were in prison.”
Her giggles ring down the phone. “It’s not my fault you British people talk strange.”
“Hey! The language is called “English” for a reason, you know. British and English are pretty much the same thing. It’s you bloody Americans that have changed the words.”
“Whatever. You freakin’ British just think you have some claim to the language because you’re from England.”
“I think we’ll have to come back to this,” I muse.
“I agree.”
“So, the reason I called.”
I almost hear her smile. “Yes?”
“I know we have class tonight, but I was just wondering if you were free today. You know, before class. I thought we could get to know each other. Or something.” I scratch at the back of my neck as I wait for her reply.
“S-sure. What were you thinking?”
“Uh…” I laugh nervously. “There’s something really funny about that, because my plan is kind of half-assed.”
“You don’t know anywhere in Brooklyn or New York to go,” she states, amusement lacing her tone. I’m seriously wondering if we’ll ever have a conversation where she doesn’t laugh at me.
“Yeah… That’s pretty much it.”
“Right. Well, it depends where you live.”
“Brooklyn.”
“Oh, me too. So, do you know where the Starbucks is downtown?”
“Uhh…” I think to what I know of downtown from walking to and from the restaurant, but I can’t think of a Starbucks. I tell her as much.
“Whole Foods?”
“That I do know. Not much of a day out, I gotta say.”
“And there’s the famous British humor,” she retorts dryly. I grin. “If you can make it without getting lost…”
“Oi!”
“…Then meet me there in half an hour, and I’ll show you some of Brooklyn. Okay?”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll see you then.” We hang up, and I sink back into my sofa, leaning my head back over the top. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter to myself. I rub my hand down my face, groan, and get up.
I only have half an hour, and I might know where Whole Foods is, but I have no idea how to get there by walking. That, and I’m still in my damn pajamas.
~
Abbi is sitting on the wall outside Whole Foods, her legs swinging, with her head bent forward and her brown hair hanging loose around her face. She tucks it behind her ear and looks up as I approach.
“Not bad,” she says, checking her watch. “Only ten minutes late.”
“Yeah. I cheated,” I admit. “I got lost after five minutes and called a taxi.”
Her lips pull up on one side. “I thought you said you knew where Whole Foods was?”
“I did. However, I didn’t say I knew how to get here.” I lean against the wall and gaze up at her. “So, where are you taking me?”
She jumps from the wall, landing gracefully on her toes. She lowers herself onto her heels and swings her head round to look at me. “Prospect Park. It’s one of my favorite places, especially in early summer, so I thought it was as good a place as any to start.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“That’s because most people think “Central Park” whenever the words New York and Park are put together, even if they mean New York state opposed to City.” She smooths a lock of hair between her finger and thumb, walking off. “Which is a shame, because Prospect Park is beautiful.”
“Lead the way.”
“Are you kidding? It’s the other side of Brooklyn. You need to flag us down a cab.” Abbi turns and smirks at me.
No way. “Do you know how hard it is to get one of those things?”
“It’s not hard. You just wave at one and it’ll stop.”
“If it’s so easy, you do it.”
“If it’s so hard, you need the practice.” She grins. “One is coming down the street now. Try and get it.”
I look down the busy road and spy a canary car coming toward us. When it gets close enough for the driver to see us, I do as Abbi told me to and motion to him. The driver completely ignores me and drives straight past. Abbi tries to hide a small giggle behind her hand, and I shoot a glance at her. There are little crinkles around her blue eyes that tells me she’s smiling, and even the fact it’s hidden doesn’t stop me from fighting my own.
“Try again,” she urges me.
I do.
And again.
And again.
And again.
“I give up!” I throw my arms up. “I really do give up. Why you have to wave at these guys is beyond me. In London we just call the taxi service and tell them to come to a certain place and they do. I feel like a right bloody lemon standing here waving at taxis.”
Abbi doesn’t try to hide her smile this time. She grabs the lamppost, raises herself onto her tiptoes and waves in the direction of an approaching taxi. The taxi slows as it nears us and pulls up by the curb. I stare at Abbi in shock.
“See?” She smiles. “Easy.”
“I have no idea how you just did that.” I open the door of the taxi. She climbs in, and I slide in next to her. She directs the driver to Prospect Park, smiling smugly to herself, but doesn’t say another word until we arrive. I pay the driver, and we get out, and I get my first look at her favorite place.