12,334. It got easier, and now it's getting harder. Where's the point that it's supposed to get REALLY easy? Was it 25,000?
Oh christ, may 25,000 come faster than this.
I looked when she moved, when she walked from behind the door and went to Bridget, excusing herself behind the older woman who had leaned forward and blocked the way with her ass. I watched Kate touch her back, gently by her shoulders, and rise to her toes to quickly move around her without stepping on her heels. She looked both lovely and delicate in this awkward move, never really breaking her stride, like she had practice this late at night with the staff at 7:00 p.m, after the café had closed, backsides and feet all in her way, and her just gliding on by.
I am certain that it was something that Bridget said, although I could not hear what, but her lips moved briefly, quickly, and that was when Kate grabbed the money and turned to me, looked right at me, as though Bridget had given her pin-point instructions on where to put her eyes: line on our left, three spaces back.
I felt a heavy, awkward guilt, more awkward than Kate’s near stumble, and certainly heavier than I must have been when she picked me up from the café floor. She looked at me evenly, almost not surprised to see me, even though it’s been weeks, if not a month, since we spoke out in the cold. She looked at me like she knew I’d be back, and so here it was, the time that she knew would come, and so fucking what.
Kate turned and walked without saying a word to anyone, not to Bridget, not to the older woman, not to me. She walked and I watched her, her thin arms moving at her hips, a folded piece of paper and pen in her back pocket. When she got to the door, she moved to look at me, and at that very moment I felt victorious, watching her take me in and then quickly turn away, wishing, most likely, that she had never looked back in the first place.