Cities that Never Sleep

xix

Many things reminded Katherine of him. Murals on big and abandoned buildings, thinking that it was something Finn would admire. The old bookstore she would sometimes cross. Even when it started to rain, she would think of him. In the middle of her day classes, she would think of him and how contagious his laugh was. In the middle of her night classes, she would think about the feeling of her lips against his. She was always thinking of him. No matter how hard Katherine tried to push merely the thought of him away, he was still there-if not physically anymore-haunting her mind.

The truth was, Finn was a distraction. A grand and exhilarating distraction, but something that kept Katherine from pursuing her near-future career. That's how she often saw it, and maybe she was blind, but getting into medical school was her only leverage. She needed to focus. The last thing she wanted was to move back home.

For a while, Katherine found it hard to sleep. She wondered if it was the new routine of her night classes, or maybe just the coffee. But it felt like so much more than that.

Katherine missed the spontaneous feeling she got when she was with Finn, she had admitted it to herself. She sheepishly missed the nights when he walked her home, their conversations carrying into the dark streets along with them. She missed the way he got heated about certain things, and she missed discreetly watching him draw or doodle when he didn't notice. Most of these things were everyday and pointless details that she never really paid attention to, not until recently. Not until she pushed him so far away that he fell off of her hemisphere.

But Katherine was tired of the aching and the longing. She was tired of thinking. She was tired of pushing these things away.

One day, on her way home from her classes, when she neared the cafe, she did not simply pass by. Instead, without really thinking, she walked in.

She was so nervous that afternoon, palms sweaty and heart beating against her chest so loudly she swore she could here its impatient rhythm. But when she pushed through the doors of the familiar coffee shop, the environment around her feeling secure, Katherine would've done it again. She would have loved to do it all over again; to let Finn in, to tell him all of the things that were left unsaid, to hug him, to kiss him again.

But when Finn wasn't standing behind the counter, she knew she couldn't.

When she walked up to the counter, she asked for him.

"I think he quit a few weeks ago," the new barista guy informed her. "What can I get you?"

Katherine wasn't listening. She was staring not at the boy-who was not Finn-in front of her, but at the wooden countertop.

"Miss?"

"I'll...I'll have the my usual," Katherine said, absentmindedly.

The barista gave her a funny look.

"Sorry," she apologized, shaking her head, "just give me...give me coffee. No sugar. No cream. And make it a double-shot, please."

The boy nodded, and she wondered if he could sense the distraught in her voice. Because Finn wasn't there to hear it. He wasn't there to reply with an I know, or not reply with an everything's going to be okay. Because Finn understood. He always understood. But Katherine was dumb and cowardly, and this time, he wasn't there to tell her that she was not alone.

She realized that maybe this was the last thing she really wanted.