Katwalk (19 page)

Chapter Ten

Katrina spent the next two weeks immersed in a frenzy of sightseeing—
and studiously avoiding both her job search
and
a conversation with her mother. She also didn’t hear from Reid, which allowed her to focus on wholeheartedly embracing her inner tourist. She dutifully crossed many of the
must-sees
off her list.

Empire State Building, check.

Museum of Modern Art, check.

Times Square, check.

Rockefeller Center, check.

She also managed to plow through a number of Justin’s suggestions, which—if she were honest with herself—she enjoyed more than the standard guidebook fare. It surprised her to realize that when she ventured into lesser-known territory—be it for a slice of pizza in Queens or a stroll through an obscure museum in Harlem—she felt as though she had been given access to the
real
New York, the side most visitors never see, and she loved that. Plus she kept stumbling upon hidden gems all on her own, which she found just as exhilarating. A tiny art gallery here, a used bookstore there, a mom-and-pop ice-cream shop around the corner—it was all magical to her.

One of her favorite spots turned out to be Chelsea Market, where she found a vintage black cocktail dress and enjoyed the best peanut-butter cookie sh
e’d
ever tasted. As she walked home that day, carrying her shopping bag like a real New Yorker on her way home from work, she felt like pinching herself to make sure this was really her life.

Her fitness was improving too. She had attended several more of Shana’s evening yoga classes, and one day she rented a bike and pedaled up the West Side Highway to the Cloisters museum—though her legs were so tired by the time she got there that she ended up riding the subway home, bike in tow. She even went for a thirty-minute walk/jog, although it was about twenty minutes of walk and only ten minutes of jog. Still, she was proud of those ten minutes. The regular exercise was beginning to make her feel stronger and healthier—and it gave her the stamina to keep plowing through her list—her endless list—of things to see and do in New York.

She also continued to paint. Every few days she found herself inspired by something sh
e’d
seen during one of her walks or sightseeing ventures, and sh
e’d
often return later with her easel and a fresh canvas. Before she knew it, sh
e’d
completed three more paintings. When she lined them up against the blank wall of her bedroom one evening, she immediately noticed a pattern she hadn’t intended: none of the images included a well-known building or monument, and all of them featured a contrast of some sort.

A shiny pair of pink galoshes on a dusty front stoop.

A crisp stack of newspapers neatly tucked against the chipped paint of a kiosk.

Bright-white curtains peeking out of a rain-splattered windowpane.

Katrina didn’t know why she was drawn to this approach, or what it meant, but she tried not to think too much about it. Instead, she did her best to follow her artistic intuition and enjoy the newfound feeling of stimulation that came with it.

She was painting!

What she
wasn’t
doing was working on her résumé. Or her LinkedIn profile. Or her job search. The acquaintances her mother had suggested she contact hadn’t replied to her e-mails yet, and while she knew she should reach out again, she just
. . .
didn’t.

One Thursday evening, after a marathon outing during which sh
e’d
ridden the ferry to and from Staten Island, seen the Wall Street bull, visited the 9/11 Memorial,
and
covered what felt like a dozen miles on foot, popping in and out of art galleries and boutiques, she arrived home exhausted. As she peeled off her shirt and tossed it in the general direction of the hamper, she looked around the bedroom and realized she hadn’t cleaned the apartment in more than a week. At home, she scrubbed her place every Sunday afternoon, whether it needed it or not. Part of her was upset that she had let things slide without even noticing—but a bigger part of her wasn’t.

She glanced at the hamper, which was surrounded by a small pile of clothes that had somehow missed their target.

She smiled to herself.

It was just a pile of clothes.

But it was also more than that.

Her phone rang from the living room. When she went to pick it up, she grimaced at the name on the display.

Mom.

She debated whether or not to answer. Sh
e’d
already answered an earlier text her mother had sent requesting an update on the job search—in that reply, sh
e’d
promised to send an update “soon,” without being more specific than that. Katrina could tell by the tone of her mother’s texts that she was disappointed in her daughter’s recent lack of effort. In her mother’s mind, Katrina was being selfish and letting both her parents down, and she wasn’t hiding how she felt.

Katrina set down the phone without answering it and walked back into the bedroom. She glanced at her laptop on the desk but didn’t approach it. Instead, she opened a drawer and pulled out some workout clothes, suddenly in the mood to take a yoga class despite her fatigue.

On the way out the door, she took one last look at her laptop and decided sh
e’d
e-mail those women again when she got home.

And work on her résumé.

And perhaps tidy up the apartment.

Then, maybe, sh
e’d
get back to her mother.

“Hey, lady,” Shana whispered as Katrina entered the studio. “Gracie and I are going for a bite after class. Want to join us?”

Katrina looked around the room. “Grace is taking a yoga class?”

Shana stifled a laugh. “Now
that
would be a sight: Grace ‘I hate yoga’ Fong finally joining me for a session. No, she’s meeting me afterward at Beyond Sushi on Fourteenth. You should come with us.”

Katrina felt her shoulders stiffen. “
I’d
like to, but I’ve got to work on my job search tonight. I’ve been neglecting it, and it’s catching up with me.”

“Are you sure? Gracie finally got her first retail order today, so we’re going to celebrate.”

“She did? That’s wonderful.”

“Isn’t it? I’m thrilled for her. Are you sure you can’t join us? I know it would mean a lot to her. Plus this place has super-yummy spider rolls.”

Katrina frowned. “My mom is sort of on my back for slacking off, and now I’m feeling really guilty. I’m sorry.”

“I understand.”

“You do?”

“More than you know.” Shana squeezed Katrina’s shoulder and smiled, then walked to the front of the room. She lit a candle and sat down cross-legged on her mat.

Katrina closed her eyes and tried to relax as Shana began to speak.

“I was on the Lower East Side the other day and came upon some construction that was blocking the sidewalk. I wasn’t really in a hurry but was still slightly annoyed to have to make a detour, which I imagine is a pretty typical response for a New Yorker, even a yoga teacher. But when I switched to the other side of the street, the most amazing thing happened. I saw this tiny little storefront
I’d
never noticed before.”

Katrina nodded slightly as she thought of how much she enjoyed stumbling upon little stores and boutiques not found in any guidebook, of how much sh
e’d
come to treasure the list Justin had written for her.

Shana continued. “The shop was adorable, but I’d never noticed it because for some reason I never walk on that side of the street when I’m in that neighborhood. And until then, I hadn’t even realized I had a routine in that neighborhood. The windows were decorated with pretty lace curtains and a gorgeous display of candles and crystals, so I decided to go inside. The owner immediately approached me to welcome me to her store. She was this tiny old woman who wanted to know all about me, and when I told her I was a yoga instructor, you should have seen her eyes light up. She said she’d once been a yoga teacher as well. Then she put her arm around me and led me to the back of the store. She handed me a CD to play in class and refused any kind of payment. When I asked why, she said it was her gift
to
me
for sharing
my
gift with my students, and that she was honored I’d chosen to visit her shop.”

Katrina felt a little shiver down her spine.

“I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d stumbled across her store by accident, and I certainly didn’t feel right leaving without buying something, so I bought the candle I’m burning right now. Then, when I got home later, I listened to the CD, not sure what to expect.” Shana giggled. “The music was so gentle, so soothing, so
perfect
for me that it almost made me cry. I’m going to play it during class today, and I hope you will enjoy it as much as I did.” She stood up and walked over to the stereo. “That little old lady’s simple act of kindness had a profound impact on me, and I only met her because I took a tiny detour across the street. So today I’d like you to think about how
wonderful
things can result from the slightest changes in our routines, the result of the smallest wrinkles in our plans. Now let’s meet in downward dog pose.”

As she moved into downward dog and began to stretch her legs, Katrina thought of her own routines.

Her lists.

Her structure.

Her expectations.

After class, Katrina sat quietly by herself until the other students had left, then rolled up her mat and walked over to where Shana was putting away the candle. She tapped her on the shoulder.

“I’ve changed my mind about sushi. Count me in.”

Shana’s eyes brightened. “Nice!”

“Shana, you went over again.” The sound of a woman’s voice made them both turn their heads. Blair, in her standard black yoga gear and bun, was standing at the door. Her thin arms were crossed in front of her, a frown on her face.

Shana closed the cabinet door and hurried over to the broom closet. “I’m so sorry, Blair. I’ll get the floor swept right away.”

“Do you even
want
to be an accountant again when you go home?” Shana asked Katrina as she dipped a pot sticker in soy sauce.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Katrina said.

“No it’s not.” Grace stabbed a piece of spider roll with a chopstick and popped it into her mouth.

Shana pointed at the chopstick. “Are you
ever
going to learn how to use those?”

Grace shrugged as she chomped. “I’m a disgrace to my Chinese heritage. What can I say?”

“The thing is, I don’t know how to do anything else,” Katrina said.

“So?” Grace said. “You could learn.”

“But I don’t know what else
I’d
even
want
to do.”

“What about painting?” Shana said. “You seem to really love that.”

Katrina smiled weakly. “I do, but I’m not very good at it.”

“Yes you are, Kat,” Shana said. “You’re
very
good at it.”

“Thanks for saying that, but I don’t know the first thing about how to sell paintings. Like zero.”

Grace speared another spider roll. “You think I know a damned thing about how to sell jewelry? I’m literally flying by the seat of my pants.”

“And I’ve only been teaching yoga for like a year,” Shana said. “I waitressed before that. And my degree was in drama.”

“You two make it sound so easy,” Katrina said. “But you don’t know my mother.”

“We’ve already been down the demanding-mother road,” Grace said. “I beat you.” She tapped her temple with a chopstick. “It’s all up here.
That’s
what’s holding you back, Kitty Kat.”

Shana put a finger to her chin. “Hmm
. . .
I like that. I may have to use it in one of my classes.”

“Don’t forget to cite me as the source. Chinese wisdom, you know.” Grace bowed her head.

Katrina sighed. “Do you think I could put you two on the phone the next time my mother calls?”