Yerba Buena by Nina LaCour

Author:Nina LaCour
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Flatiron Books

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Megan left an hour before closing, followed by the waitstaff, one by one, as their tables cleared. And then the last dessert orders were taken and plated, and the chefs tossed their aprons onto the laundry pile, and they ate the food they’d cooked for themselves and then they left, too, and it was only the dishwashers and waitress on the closing shift, and Sara and Emilie, and a table of friends in a corner who had paid their bill but didn’t want the night to end.

“I live just a few blocks from here,” Sara said, and Emilie nodded and walked out with her, not caring that she was leaving her car behind.

The streets were quiet and they didn’t speak. They listened to their footsteps on the sidewalk, a faraway car alarm, their breath. At the intersection of Sunset and Marmont, Sara, as though without a thought, took Emilie’s hand. Their fingers laced together. The light changed.

They crossed and walked farther, up some winding blocks, through an ivy-covered archway to a courtyard with a fountain in its center.

“This way,” Sara said, and Emilie followed her up a flight of stairs and into a spacious living room overlooking the courtyard. Sara flicked on the light.

It was spare and clean, with a simple wood table surrounded by chairs. Near the window was a sofa.

“Can I get you anything?” Sara asked, shrugging off her jacket. Emilie ran her fingers along the spines of the books. She touched the throw blanket that draped over the sofa’s arm, would have buried her face in it if she could. She was hungry to know all of her.

“Show me around?” she asked.

Sara poured herself a glass of water from her kitchen sink. She leaned against the wall of her hallway. “There’s not much to the place,” she said. “But yeah, I’ll show you.”

Emilie followed her to the kitchen, noticed its intricate tilework and original art deco light fixtures. She saw the inlaid wood pattern that ran through the hallway. Paused in the doorway of the darkened first room, made out a twin bed and a small desk.

“Someone lives here with you?”

“My brother,” Sara said. “But only sometimes. Less often these days.”

Emilie waited to hear more.

“He’s eighteen and in love.”

Emilie smiled.

They went down a short hallway, past the pink-tiled bathroom to the door at the end.

Sara opened it and Emilie flipped on the light. She wanted to see.

An almost-bare room. A half-made bed with crisp sheets and a white duvet on a low wooden platform. T-shirts and jeans folded on a chair in the corner. A California flag, old and tattered and push-pinned at the edges, was the only adornment. A stack of books sat by the bed and Emilie let go of Sara’s hand to learn about other parts of her. There were a handful of novels, an essay collection by James Baldwin, and poetry collections by Mary Oliver. And then she caught sight of Passing by Nella Larsen. She picked it up on impulse, opened it to a random page.

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