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And it’s got a potency of smell, a straight-up unadulterated olfactory turpitude that August can feel sinking into her being.
“Anyway, Wes’s dad gave them to him,” Myla says, explaining how a set of leather Eames chairs wound up in their apartment. “A ‘good job fulfilling familial expectations’ gift when he started architecture school at Pratt.”
“I thought he was a tattoo artist?”
“He is,” Niko says. “He dropped out after one semester. Bit of a… well, a mental breakdown.”
“He sat on a fire escape in his underwear for fourteen hours, and they had to call the fire department,” Myla adds.
“Only because of the arson,” Niko tacks on.
“Jesus,” August says. “How did y’all meet him?”
Myla pushes one of Niko’s sleeves up past his elbow, showing off the weirdly hot Virgin Mary wrapped around his forearm. “He did this. Half-price, since he was apprenticing back then.”
“Wow.” August’s fingers fidget on the sticky menu, itching to write it all down. Her least charming instinct when meeting new people: take field notes. “Architecture to tattoos. Hell of a leap.”
“He decorated cakes for a minute in between, if you can believe it,” Myla says. “Sometimes, when he’s having a good day, you come home and the whole place smells like vanilla, and he’ll have just left a dozen cupcakes on the counter and dipped.”
“That little twink contains multitudes,” Niko observes.
Myla laughs and turns back to August. “So, what brought you to New York?”
August hates this question. It’s too big. What could possess someone like August, a suburban girl with a swimming pool of student loan debt and the social skills of a Pringles can, to move to New York with no friends and no plan?
Truth is, when you spend your whole life alone, it’s incredibly appealing to move somewhere big enough to get lost in, where being alone looks like a choice.
“Always wanted to try it,” August says instead. “New York, it’s… I don’t know, I tried a couple of cities. I went to UNO in New Orleans, then U of M in Memphis, and they all felt… too small, I guess. I wanted somewhere bigger. So I transferred to BC.”
Niko’s looking at her serenely, swilling his coffee. She thinks he’s mostly harmless, but she doesn’t like the way he looks at her like he knows things.
“They weren’t enough of a challenge,” he says. Another gentle observation. “You wanted a better puzzle.”
August folds her arms. “That’s… not completely wrong.”
Winfield appears with their food, and Myla asks him, “Hey, where’s Marty? He’s always on this shift.”
“Quit,” Winfield says, depositing a syrup dispenser on the table.
“No.”
“Moved back to Nebraska.”
“Bleak.”
“Yep.”
“So that means,” Myla says, leaning over her plate, “you’re hiring.”
“Yeah, why? You know somebody?”
“Have you met August?” She gestures dramatically to August like she’s a vowel on Wheel of Fortune.
Winfield turns his attention to August, and she freezes, bottle in her hand still dribbling hot sauce onto her hashbrowns.
“You waited tables before?”
“I—”
