september in the city

September in the city has historically always been my favorite time of year. You do get an entire spectrum of weather - it's hot, it's chilly, it's raining, it's sunny. But there's something romantic about being able to wear my little white dress with a crewneck, or my little white dress with a bomber, or my little white dress with a leather jacket. I still get to keep a piece of summer, a piece of freedom. I can still get a tan or sunburn or summer glow, whilst wearing my favourite layering pieces. There is also something so chic about throwing a jacket or sweater over your bare shoulders and hopping out the door. I'm sitting outside at a cafe that's very outside my neighborhood. The September breeze makes my mini dress flow in the wind. I know my tan is fading, but I am grateful for the shape my legs took on after walking everywhere all summer. My phone automatically connects to a WiFi network. I'm confused since I don't remember connecting to this cafe's WiFi. But I check the name and realize it's connected to the bar across the street. The last time I was at that bar was 2 years ago, when I had unexpectedly come home from Rome and unexpectedly found myself sitting across from Jesse. 'I was scared you were going to bail.' 'Me?'I ask.'I was scared you were.' Within two minutes of me sitting down across from him, we are already grabbing each other's hands. 'You haven't changed.'He tells me. 'Neither have you.'I tell him. 'I like you in a white t-shirt.' I'm wearing a basic white tee, a lacy black bralette, and a pair of vintage Levi's from Milan. Two of my suitcases are still in Rome, but I'm making due with what I have here. The bartender comes over. I order a dirty martini, Jesse asks the bartender to make him whatever drink he suggests. 'And bread please.'I add. The bartender looks at both of us and smiles.'Looks like you'll both need it.' But there was something off about his energy that night. His hug was warm and it was long, but his energy felt frenetic. 'So.'I start.'How are you?' He tells me that his best friend took his life a year ago. I open my mouth and close it.'Jesse.'Is the only thing that I can think of to say. 'I know. And I can't talk about it or bring it up with any of my friends because then everyone gets sad and then-' He trails off and excuses himself to go to the bathroom. I take out my phone to immediately text my best friend. 'Oh my god.'She replies. He comes back and seats himself next to me. We're both on our second drink, and the frenetic energy is starting to make sense now. 'I know how it feels, you know.'I squeeze his hand.'The not being able to talk about it with anyone.' He shakes his head.'But you were a daughter, Emily. You have it so much worse…' 'That's not true. He was your best friend. And it's all the same pain at the end of the day.' He switches the subject.'Let's talk about something else. Please. Anything. Rome. I had to stop reading the newsletters after the whole two guys working at the same bar thing.' I start laughing.'Five.'I correct him.'It was five.' He rolls his eyes.'Jesus Christ. Of course it was five.' 'But! Over the span of three years. So it's not that bad. Imagine I sat down and told you that I was pregnant.' He starts laughing.'Well. The baby wouldn't be mine - but I'd help you raise it.' He goes to the bathroom again, and when he comes back, he reaches for my hand again and places it in his. 'I've fucked up with us. A lot. The majority of it was self-sabotage on my part.' 'But you know what, Jesse? Everything happens for a reason. And maybe if we…I don't know. I don't think I would have gone to Italy if we did work out years ago.' The energy between both of us is charged with something. It's equal parts nostalgic and comforting, but it's also heartbreaking. There's tears in my eyes, and he sees them, and after three years of living on a different continent, he kisses me. And I kiss him back, hard. In this moment, I want to take away his pain. I want to take away all of it. And I can't tell if any of this is right or if this is wrong. I don't know where I will be living in a week, or in a month. All I can tell is that we're both now sad, but this moment couldn't be any more beautiful. - I don't realize how short my white dress is until I walk and realize one of the threads from the hem is grazing the tips of my fingers. The weather is perfect on this Monday in September. I pop into one of my favourite boutiques, where I got said white t-shirt 2 years ago. 'Did you do anything fun this weekend?'The owner asks. I'm trying on a brown backless tank. I don't need a bra with it, and the halter of the straps shows off my tattoos perfectly. 'I started writing a manuscript. Finally.'I tell her from the change room. 'Oh my god. That's so exciting!' 'I know. I know nothing about the publishing industry, so we'll see how that goes. But I'm almost at 100 pages.' 'Is it a novel?' 'No, it's more like a collection of essays.' 'That's so exciting. How incredible.' I have a theory with this boutique. Every time I buy an article of clothing from here, I end up being asked out on a date that same week. It's happened on four different occasions, and maybe it has something to do with my energy in a new piece of clothing. I file the brown tank in the back of my mind for my next payday. It'll happen, sometime soon. 'Are you off to a patio next?' 'I wish.'I tell her.'It's those days before payday…'It's one of those weeks where I am making my last $7 stretch. I tell the owner goodbye, and I tell her that I hope she has a great day and that I'll see her soon. On my walk home, I think about dinner. I know it's not even noon, but I do get excited. Spaghetti Bolognese. I feel lucky - I have all of the ingredients. Ground beef, carrots, celery, onion, strained tomatoes. I blast Gracie, I walk by the park. It's full of families and couples and of people tanning in the empty patches of grass. I walk by Jesse's new street and smile. There's something next. I can feel it. But I'm not bracing, I'm not gripping onto my future based on a specific outcome. I'm moving through the days with grace. Subscribe now