BREATHE

Minha opened the blue door of Breathe Yoga, taped the CLOSED for COVID sign on the front and closed it again. She sidestepped the boxes stuffed with four years of files and personal effects and sank to the yoga mat on the floor, welcoming the cool on her skin as she leaned against the wall. It had been a long day and she was spent, physically and emotionally. She’d cleaned and packed the last of everything there was to clean and pack, but then came the saying goodbye—not just to her studio but to her fellow merchants, people she’d come to call friends. Defined in the governor’s mandate as a gym, Breathe Yoga was the only shop on the tiny Baltimore block marked to shut down by 5pm, and one by one her neighbors had dropped by to see her off, wish her well. She couldn’t even hug them—everybody 6 feet apart, their smiles and words lost behind masks. It was hard. She would miss this part of her life. But it was Julian, the one person she hadn’t seen all day, who she’d miss the most.

Julian Edwards owned the No Lunch Til Brooklyn Pizzeria on the corner and of all the businesses on Tyson Street, his was the one that might survive. He didn’t wait for mandates or instructions. Long before rumors of shutdowns and restrictions gained traction, he purchased a large fold-out sign and planted it on the sidewalk. TAKE-OUT, DELIVERY, and CURB-SIDE PICK-UP AVAILABLE. He had hustle. But hustle meant taking care of business, keeping it moving, and Julian was not slowing down, not even for her.

Pulling the pins from her hair Minha let the twisted locs fall, trying to remember when she fell for him. Was it the day she walked into the shop and found him performing King of Rap for his employees, tossing pizza dough in the air and never missing a beat? Maybe it was the day he handed her her order and his brown eyes under the Brooklyn Nets cap lingered on her face like he was memorizing everything about her. Minha smiled at the memory. She left his shop that day feeling warmer than the slices in the pizza box. She knew what she was feeling wasn’t one-sided, and she couldn’t believe her leaving the tight-knit retail community meant nothing. If his only reason for not saying goodbye was that he was busy, she could always put on her big girl panties, stroll down the block, and say goodbye to him.

Not having her big girl panties at the moment, Minha decided her big girl jacket would have to do. Jumping to her feet, she shrugged it on and flung open the door almost colliding with Julian as he reached the top step. Just in time, he swung the two pizza boxes he carried off to one side, and slipped an arm around her waist, steadying them both.

“Hey,Yogi,” he greeted, his voice low and distinctly Brooklyn, despite his years in Baltimore.

Startled, then relieved that he was on her doorstep, Minha smiled, feeling her earlier doubt and disappointment drift away into the cool March air.

“Hi,” she said, “I was on my way to see you. I figured you were having a really hectic day since you didn’t come to see me.”

Julian searched her face. “I had a terrible day, but I’m sure yours was worse. Are you okay?”

Minha’s eyes clouded briefly. “It was…emotional, but I’m good. Why was yours so terrible?”

He shook his head, despondent. “I had to cut my staff’s hours. I might still have to let somebody go, maybe two somebodies.”

“I’m sorry,” Minha said.

"Sign of the times, right?” He let out a rueful sigh. “Anyway, I came to you see if you’d have dinner with me.”

“Like a date?”

“Not like a date. A date. The one I should’ve asked you on a long time ago.”

Now this was worth waiting all day for, and definitely better than just dropping in to say goodbye.

Minha was beaming. “I accept. Come on in.”

Julian’s hand dropped from the small of her and she missed it immediately. He handed her the pizza boxes.

“You take these,” he directed. “I’ve got wine in the car. I’ll be right back.”

Minha watched him jog down the steps and start up the street, admiring for the millionth time the way his jeans hit him how and where they should. Minha didn’t know where the night was headed but she trusted the ride.

Inside, she sat the pizzas on the yoga mat and rummaged through the cartons still at the front door for candles she hadn’t stored. She was lighting the last one when Julian returned, bag in hand.

“Ambiance,” she announced as he locked the door.

Julian looked around the room as the flickers of warm light danced shadows across the walls. Smiling, he sniffed the air. “It always smells good in here anyway, what is it, lemon?”

“Lemongrass and sandalwood,” she told him, taking a seat next to the yoga mat. “I like the two together.”

He joined her on the floor. “Me too.” He pushed one of the boxes closer to Minha.

“One nuts and twigs pizza for you, a normal artery clogging one for me.”

Minha laughed until he flipped open the box. “Ugh, is that a meat lovers pizza?”

“Yes it is,” he said pulling a bottle of wine and two glasses from the bag he brought in from the car.

Minha looked at the wine. “Yogis don’t drink, well, I don’t.”

“I know you don’t drink, Yogi, the universe and the self, and blah, blah, blah,” he chuckled, uncorking the red spirit and pouring a liberal amount into his glass. “This is for me. Most people think beer and pizza but a meat lovers pizza, my meat lovers pizza, deserves a glass of merlot.”

Minha watched as he took a huge bite out of a slice and finished it with a long sip of the wine. He closed his eyes, the combination obviously an experience. Minha cleared her throat, loudly. “So I guess I should just stick my hand under the faucet in the bathroom?”

“Use the glass.” He invited before taking another bite.

Minha huffed loudly and he choked on laughter and merlot.

“Yogi, would I do you like that?” He winked and produced a strawberry sparkling water from the bag which he promptly opened and poured in the glass.

He was being too perfect, too sweet, too pleasing and as much as she wanted to enjoy it, the hairs on Minha’s arms stood on end.

“Why are you doing this Julian?”

“Doing what?

“Acting so—

“So much like I dig you?”

“It’s more than that.”

“You really don’t have a clue how I feel about you, do you, Minha?”

Minha? He called her Minha? She shook her head. No, she did not have a clue. He covered her hand with his, his thumb making lazy circles on her skin.

“I need to make a confession.”

Minha pulled her hand from his, biting her lip. Confessions were never good. They usually started with ‘I’m married’ and ended with ‘I hope we can still see each other’. No, this could not be good. Julian tried to convince her otherwise.

“It’s nothing like you’re thinking, Yogi, I promise.”

“Don’t call me, Yogi,” she snapped, angry that she’d come to embrace the nickname as a term of endearment. “And how do you know what I’m thinking?”

“I know what you’re thinking,” he insisted. “And I’m not married, I’m not gay; I’m not on the FBI’s wanted list. I just want you to know how I feel before the world gets crazier.”

“How you feel?”

“Yes, how I feel.” He paused as if he were searching for where to begin.

“So, okay…the first time you came into the pizzeria, I told you the vegan pizza wasn’t on the menu because the sign guy made a mistake, and that you’d have to come back tomorrow because I was out of vegan cheese. That was a lie.”

Minha’s mouth dropped open. “Julian, that’s stupid. Why would you lie about that?”

“The pizza wasn’t on the menu because I had no intention of ever, ever, ever selling a vegan pizza. I wasn’t trying to please the health nuts who shop vintage and think kale is a beverage, and—”

“Practice yoga?” she cut in.

“Yes,” he admitted with a chuckle, “who practice yoga. I opened my shop for real pizza lovers who wanted authentic New York-style pizza here in Baltimore, packed with fat and dripping cholesterol.”

“But you sold me a slice the next day.”

He looked distressed and Minha realized that the true confession was still to come.

“I did some shopping after you left, and I stayed up all night trying to hit that right combination and create a vegan pizza I thought was perfect. It must have been because I sold you a slice and you’ve been coming back ever since.”

Minha’s breath caught in her throat. “You did that for me?” she managed.

“I wanted you to come back.”

He was so sincere, so serious, but with an underlying tenderness in his eyes that left her speechless. Minha took a moment to just enjoy looking at him before pushing the pizza box aside and crawling across the yoga mat to him. She smiled at the way he smiled when she took off the Brooklyn Nets cap and took his face in her hands and pressing her lips against his. She kissed him soft, breathing him in, tasting him.

Julian shifted positions during the kiss, lifting her easily so that she straddled him. He began his own barrage of kisses—gossamer kisses that started on her mouth and floated along the line of her jaw to her ear.

“I needed this,” he whispered, retracing the trail that led back to her mouth.

“Would we even be here like this if I wasn’t leaving?” Minha wondered in a whisper.

She felt his body tense as he lifted his mouth from hers. “I’m leaving,” he said, “I’m going to New York.”

The words hung in the air. Anger and fear coursed through her. Confusion bubbled inside. She wanted to explode, scream, do something, but she couldn’t find her voice. She couldn’t find her breath. She could only stare at him, gasping for air, trembling, waiting for him to say it was a joke, a lie—hoping something in his face would show she really didn’t hear it all. She could still feel his kiss on her lips as her mind raced, recalling confirmed cases and climbing death tolls.

Julian’s arms tightened around her, locking her against him as she tried to push him away.

“Minha, breathe. Breathe.” He held her hand against his heart teaching her his rhythm, his breaths steady, his eyes on hers. “Breathe.”

Minha felt his heartbeat, heard his voice. She focused on him and took a breath. And then she cried.

Julian slid a thumb across her cheek, wiping her tears. “I know what’s on the news. It’s crazy up there,” he acknowledged. “But I don’t want the last time I saw my family to be the last time I saw my family.”

“Why did you do this, this date, your confession?”

“You deserved to know how I felt about you. I didn’t show it and I’m sorry.”

“They’re calling it the epi-center. Real talk, you could go and not come back.”

“Real talk, I could come back and you be gone, and I—” he stopped, shaking his head as if to clear it of his imaginings before continuing. “My plan is to see my people and then come back to you. Okay?”

Minha nodded and laid her head against his chest.

“That’s my plan,” he said again. And then there was nothing but the beat of his heart, the scent of lemongrass and sandalwood in the air.