Gabby was up early, puttering around and making noise. He heard the apartment door open and then close, then open and close again. By the time JC finally gave up on sleeping in and stalked into the living room, barefoot and wearing only a pair of underwear, it was 10am.

She sat cross-legged, stuffed into a corner of the couch. The TV was on but the volume was low since she held a section of the New York Times in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Spread along the counter in the kitchen was an empty McDonald’s bag, a large Styrofoam cup, enough cream and sugar for several cups of coffee, a wrapped sandwich and two envelopes of golden hash browns. The smell of hot, fresh food made his stomach rumble and ache with hunger.

“I don’t like hash browns. You can have mine if you want it.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, dumping cups of cream and packets of sugar into his coffee, watching the color change from a strong, dark black to sweet and light brown. He grabbed the sandwich, both servings of potatoes and a napkin and took them both steps away to the living room. He plopped himself next to Gabby, unwrapped his sandwich and bit off half of it, savoring the buttery, crunchy English muffin, egg and sausage.

“Haven’t had one of these in a long time. I don’t get up this early.”

“I had to get up early and get over there. They stop serving breakfast at 10:30. Who wants a greasy hamburger at 11am?”

“Can’t say I’d rush to McDonald’s for breakfast. There’s tons of places right on Sunset where I can get a real breakfast at a reasonable hour.”

“Ten am isn’t a reasonable hour?”

“Not when you work ‘til eight am.”

She nodded, took a sip of coffee and went back to her paper.  

JC bit off another section of sandwich and then another and then it was gone. He crumpled the wrapper into a ball and tossed it onto the coffee table in front of him.

“You miss it, huh? LA, I mean.”

He watched her swallow and swallow again, then blink a few times. After a few moments, she nodded. “Have you been back, since you left?”

She shook her head. “Are you planning to go back, soon?”

Gabby tossed the paper down on the table and set her coffee next to it, unfolded her legs and stood up. “Beer Garden opens at noon. Have you ever been?”

“Here? Nope,” he said, letting her brush him off. If she didn’t want to talk about it, he wasn’t going to push. “Happy Birthday, by the way.”

“Thank you,” she said, bending over him so he could kiss her. As she stood again, she caught his eye and she winked. “My present came last night.”

He chuckled, watching her hips sway as she walked away. “Literally.”

“Walked into that one, too!”

***

Bohemian Hall and Beer Garden was a few blocks from Gabby’s apartment, a nice walk on a warm New York summer afternoon. The streets were teeming with people, everyone headed someplace and quickly, at that. The pace in LA was much slower, more casual. Even Gabby’s steps seemed hurried. She’d definitely been assimilated.

The Hall was a nondescript building on its face. What made it unique was the indoor and outdoor bar, a stage for performances, an industrial sized grill that was already sizzling with brats and hamburgers and an indoor flea market where local artists and crafters sold handmade items and baked goods. One corner of the place smelled like sausage. The other corner smelled like cake, all the while just a few steps away from an endless pitcher of beer.

The seating, inside or out, was sets of long wooden picnic tables and benches. There were no private tables, no romantic arrangements. Patrons picked seats where they could fit and sat there. JC and Gabby chose two seats at the end of a table and ordered the first pitcher of beer.

Two pitchers of beer and two smoked sausage sandwiches later…

“I noticed you didn’t answer my question this morning.” JC sat next to Gabby, methodically folding his napkin in halves, then quarters.

“About going back to LA?”

He nodded, raising his glass to his lips. They were trying a thick lager that was hard to get down at first but was growing on him. Either that or he was getting drunk. Gabby was having no trouble at all.

“I think I will, eventually.”

“Eventually?”

“Once I feel like I’ve got my bearings here, you know?”

“It’s been a year, Gabby. You should be feeling pretty solid by now.”

She huffed, rolling her eyes. “Because know so much about this? You never leave LA. You haven’t spent considerable time outside of LA in forever. You can’t tell me how I should be feeling right now. You can’t talk to me about this.”

“Maybe I haven’t moved across the country recently, but I did move from Florida to LA—“

“After being there all the time, anyway! It wasn’t a new job and a new life and new… everything. It was more like coming home than anything else.” Gabby tipped her glass back, draining it of dark, thick liquid, then reached for the pitcher and poured herself another glass. “But like I said, I’ll be back to visit eventually.”

“And I’m saying, when is eventually? Between now and five years from now?”

“Eventually as in soon.”

“Gabby, you obviously miss LA. Why are you torturing yourself? What’s stopping you?”

She was quiet for a long moment, alternately drinking and staring into her glass, or rolling it between her hands, watching the lager splash up the sides and back down.  Without warning, she sat up and turned toward JC.

“Have you ever thought, ‘I can’t go to that place because I’m afraid I’ll never leave’?”

“A time or two. But home is home, and I always want to go back home.”

“But JC… LA is home.”