Page 43

Emily Bond

Sort of Seeing Someone

When the automatic doors at the San Diego International Airport open to the outside, I immediately feel that seventy-degree ocean air wrap its loving arms around me.

Also there to welcome me is a familiar face, one that has only managed to get even more beautiful during the time and distance we’ve spent apart.

“Hi, Yas,” I say.

In the cupholders of her super cute, Tiffany blue Mini Cooper are two café con leches—one for her and one for me.

They may not be from Joe n’ Flow, but still, the sight of twin coffee cups reminds me of the good old times with my dear old friend.

I lean over for a long overdue hug then buckle my belt.

“Thanks for coming to get me.”

“No problem, mama,” Yas says as she shifts the car into drive. “But as your impromptu chauffeur, I need to know where I am taking you now. Any hints?”

“Brody and I reconnected,” I spill.

“ Oh ,” she says emphatically. “So we are going to Ocean Beach, I take it?”

“We are.”

Unashamed, I open up the conversation thread withBrody and show Yas our texts at the next stoplight.

“Sounds pretty promising, right?”

“It’s definitely interesting,” she says. “But I need more context.”

I go on to explain the photo he sent me, which is of the For Lease sign at the new Joe n’ Flow digs.

I hadBrody take it and send it to me. See, after the letter arrived from Betty, coupled with the check from Gerda, my wheels started turning.

I began to get a vision of what my future could look like living in OB once again.

That’s when Brody popped into my mind and I thought to text him.

I figured there was a 95 percent chance that he was surfing in Ocean Beach, adjacent to where the old yoga studio was located.

So the question I asked him yesterday while I searched for flights to San Diego was to see if he could snap a photo of the For Lease sign so I could get the number of therealtor off it and schedule a private showing.

Of course, I was right about Brody’s whereabouts and he happily obliged by sending me the picture right away. Simple and sweet. Just like I said.

“The next thing I knew, I had a private tour of the space scheduled for today—which is where we are headed now,” I conclude.

“Girl, you had me thinking we were about to pull a John Cusack in Say Anything outside Brody’sdoor.”

“Do you see a boombox? Come on.”

As we arrive to the new structure, it takes all but two minutes for the realtors to casually ask if we’d be comfortable signing a waiver to be on camera for a pilot episode of Million Dollar Listing: San Diego .

Yas tells them her days of wearing camera-ready makeup are long over and I pass simply because of my raging PTSD from the botched Windy City Today segment.

They seem bummed. I’m pretty sure they think Yas and I are an interracial lesbian couple—the stuff modern-day reality show dreams are made of.

“Take a brochure,” offers Realtor A, a guy named Sam with slicked back brown hair in a tight-fitting navy suit and pale pink tie.

“I’m not sure how familiar you are with the area, but it’s delightful,” says Realtor B, Kathy, a middle-aged lady in better shape than I am, who most men my age would describe as a MILF.

“We’re very familiar,” I say, taking a pamphlet. “I lived around the corner and actually used to work in this building. Well not this building, the one before it that got condemned.”

“The yoga place?” Sam asks, as if to confirm we know our stuff.

“And I practiced here. A ceiling tile once nearly fell on me as I was warming up my pelvis,” adds Yas.

“Well, I can assure you everything is up to code now,” Kathy interjects. “Feel free to take a look around.”

Kathy gestures broadly to the two stories.

“How can I be of assistance, mama?” Yas asks in a quiet voice as we step away from the realtors.

“Just be my second set of eyes. Let me know if you see anything interesting.”

“Just one thing so far,” she notes, pointing out the window.

It’s Brody, carrying his surfboard down Newport Avenue. He’s got the top of his wet suit unzipped. His hairless chest and puka shell necklace are on full display.

As my eyes soak him in for the first time in months, he happens to turn his head my way. He stops and sets his surfboard down. He tilts his head to the side to drain some water from his ear, his shaggy blonde hair covering one of his eyes. He flashes me a smile and offers a wave.

I want to say there are fireworks. I want to say that I’m looking into the eyes of a guy who would fully understand me; accept me.

I want to say that he was the original one that got away .

But I just...don’t see it. And that’s perfectly fine.

Because I didn’t come here to get back together with Brody.

Still, I smile at himand wave back before returning to our self-guided tour.

“Let’s split upto cover more ground,” I suggest to Yas.

She stays downstairs, I head upstairs—the original location of the Flow part of Joe n’ Flow.

Surprisingly, the rebuilt digs don’t feel all too different from the place I spent two years working.

If I close my eyes, I can still picture everything exactly where and how it was.

While the flooring is all new, the fixtures are all updated, and it still smells like fresh paint instead of burning incense, I’m happy to see they kept big, soaring, ocean-facing windows a key feature of the space. How could they not?

I glance down at the pretty renderings in the pamphlet.

They’ve mocked up designs for another fitness-type studio for up here and a coffee shop for the downstairs.

No doubt, that combo would do well here—it’s already a proven concept.

A part of me is tempted to text a photo to Gavin and say, “Are you SURE there’s no interest in coming back for a reboot?

” but I checked his Insta. He’s fully entrenched in the hallucination life. Good for him.

I take a moment to soak in the space and let myself imagine what it would be like to be back here—the place I first felt found.

Do I have it in me to start up a yoga studio all on my own?

I’m not even a certified instructor, and I’m certainly not as good-looking or as charming as Gavin.

The saying goes: “Build it, and they will come.” But what is it ? What exactly am I building?

Next, I head down the stairwell to see what the first floor is all about.

“The steps are made oftriple-paned tempered glass,” narrates Sam, as if that’s supposed to mean anything to me. “And the banister comes from the country’s oldest naturally-downed Red Wood.”

“He’s full of shit,” Yas whispers to me as we pass on the landing.

Downstairs, I swear I can still smell the faint scent of coffee beans. I inhale a great, deep breath and can taste amatcha latte on my tongue.

“Any questions, ladies?” Kathy asks.

“Has there been a lot of interest in the space?” I ask, hoping for an honest reply.

“It’s been…steady,” says Sam, which feels like the exact right word to use in a situation like this.

“To be frank, a lot of people are freaked out by the fact that the previous building on these grounds quite literally sunk into the earth, which is the reason we have an entire page in the pamphlet dedicated to explaining the ins and outs of this refined structure. It’s on page five, if you want to look.

We’re also hosting a panel discussion tomorrow with some experts for interested parties to attend. ”

“Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day,” I say, looking at the calendar app on my phone.

“And we’re confident we’ll have a deal by day’s end,” Sam says.

“Just come back here at 10am,” Kathy interjects. “We’ll have heart-shaped pastries and mimosas as well.”

“That sounds nice. I like mimosas,” says Yas.

“Anything we can do to bring a level of comfort and awareness to potential tenants, we’re doing it,” states Kathy.

“Never in my twenty years of real estate have I had this much trouble getting someone to sign on for oceanfront, prime commercial space. I swear, you’d think this place is cursed or something. ”

Yas and I lock eyes. We know it’s not cursed. That kind of aura is totally absent here.

In the meantime, I flip to the page Sam referenced in the brochure.

A complex diagram that’s straight out of a physics book takes up the entirety of the page.

I have no idea what any of this means. There are drawings complete with arrows pointing to things like “Armageddon-inspired pile drivers” and “Roman-style support beams.” I think this is supposed to quell concerns forsinkage, but instead I’m just having flashbacks to that awkward Animal Cracker scene between Ben Affleck and Liv Tyler while an asteroid was hurtling toward Earth.

“Any final questions?” Sam asks.

“Is this the asking investment for both spaces?” Yas points to the pricing chart on the back page.

“Yes. Unless you want them separated,” says Kathy. “Our developers are definitely willing to close off the stairwell and take two separate tenants if that’s what fills the space the soonest.”

“I would want both,” I say with confidence.

Yas makes eye contact with me and gives me a slow your roll look.

“Hypothetically, of course,” I quickly pump the brakes. “First, I need to talk this all over with my business manager and attend the panel discussion.”

“Take your time,” Sam repeats back to me.

“But not too much time,” Kathy jumps in. “You’re the first of three showings today.”

I have no idea if that’s bullshit or not, but I get it. If I’m going to try to get a vision for what this space could be, the time for that to set in is now.

“Understood,” I say. “My business manager and I are headed to lunch now to discuss it. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

“You two ladies have a great day,” says Sam with a bit of a perverse wink.

At that, Yasmin and I depart as Kathy and Sam lock up the vacant building behind us.