22. Orla

CHAPTER 22

It's been six months and countless talk and trauma therapy sessions, where I start to feel like myself again. I'm finally comfortable and at home in my life again. Strolling down the street on my way home from Fuller's Market, I've been living on takeout and ramen noodles. Today is the first time that I want to make myself something to eat. I want to curl up in front of the TV and eat something homemade while drinking a beer. I lift my face to feel the sunshine. It's nice, I moved to San Diego a couple of months ago and found a job as an elementary school teacher near the cute apartment I found online. I came here to work with a therapist who specializes in ketamine therapy as a way to get over everything I've been through, and my psychiatrist recommended her.

I moved here permanently and haven't looked back. Things are still tough sometimes and I'm working on healing my relationship with my dad. He visits every chance he gets and always lies about my mother sending her love. He asks about Kase every time, but I suspect that's more to do with him wanting me to move back home than anything else. I don't think that I'll ever move back east, and I know that being a criminal's daughter is enough. I don't want to spend my life being a wife to one. Much less bringing little criminals into the world. I reach the building and Kase is sitting on the landing. He looks completely different. His hair is longer, and he's wearing jeans and a T-shirt. The polar opposite of his buttoned-down Wall Street look and he's never looked better. He gets up when he sees me.

"Hey." He says.

"Hey, what are you doing in California? Looking like a screenwriter." I laugh. I'm happy to see him. He laughs.

"I'm out here trying to be a screenwriter." He rolls his eyes.

"Come on." I say. He just smirks. "Noooo. How did that happen?"

"What can I say? You inspired me." He fidgets nervously and stares at his shoes. "I've been working a few things out in therapy. Another page from your book. Just figuring things out."

"It's fun huh!?" I smile.

"Like a holiday that just won't end," He says and runs his fingers through his hair. "Anyway, I just wanted to say hi and stop by. I hope that's ok. I asked your dad how I could reach you and he gave me your address."

"Sounds like him. Why give a phone number when you can make them take a long ass trip?" I say, and he smiles.

"It was great seeing you again, Orla. Take care." He touches my shoulder and walks away.

"Hey!" I yell after him.

"Yeah!?" He answers.

"Are you in the mood for linguini and a bad Western?" I ask.

He looks at the sidewalk.

"Are you sure it's, ok? I wouldn't want to impose."

"It's cool. As long as you're brave enough to trust the kitchen creation of a woman who hasn't cooked in six months and you're willing to guzzle Mexican beer." I warn him.

"I love Mexican beers and untested recipes!" He says. "Let me get that for you." He takes the grocery bags out of my hands, and I rummage in my bag for my key to the building.

"I'm sorry. I'm always losing it in here. This bag looks small, but there are so many small pockets, nooks and crannies. Ah hah!" I say, holding it proudly aloft.

"Any news on the job front?" He asks as I fiddle with the temperamental lock.

"I start at the Big Oaks Elementary on Monday." I say proudly.

"Great." He replies as the door finally gives and we can go in.

"Sorry, I still haven't gotten the hang of this door." I shrug my shoulders.

"Me too. I'm still figuring out which key fits which lock at my new house. You know what's helping me?" He asks.

"What?"

"This great invention, it's called a keychain." He smiles.

"Very funny. So, you're out here trying to break into writing for sitcoms, I take it. I would have thought Sopranos was more your speed." I raise my eyebrows and he laughs, then follows me into the building.