Everything about the place puts me at ease, except for the crowd of course.
There are comfortable tables and chairs, weathered only slightly by the passage of time. The colors of the interior are soothing tones of caramel and dark chocolate.
The signage of the bar is made from recycled slate from a local high school and the leather on the bars was scrap from shoe and automobile factories. Even the walnut used on the tabletops and bartop were salvaged from a nearby farm.
When the barista hands me my drink, I ask her about the wall tapestry and she tells me that it has been repurposed from burlap coffee bags from the local roasting plant.
“See, you think that this place is just a chain, without character or any defining features, but it's actually not true,” I say to Tyler.
We look around for a place to sit, but it's too crowded and cramped so I suggest that we take our drinks outside and walk around the market instead.
“I was just joking with you, you know that right?” Tyler says.
“Of course,” I shrug.
“I mean, I'm not saying that I'm a big fan of huge corporate conglomerates, but I know that you have a personal connection to that place and I should've been more sensitive.”
I nod, silently appreciating the gesture. Tyler points me to one of the entrances to the public market, a place that has been an establishment here in Seattle for over 100 years.
“Has it really been here that long?” I ask. “That’s a lifetime given the fact that this is on the west coast.”
“Yup,” Tyler nods. “Pike Place is quite an institution.”
I have always enjoyed farmers markets and most of them are outside on an airy street with the vendors lined up down the middle.
This one is more of a permanent establishment with an enormous public red neon sign that reads ‘Public Market Center’ and a clock with the time.
The street is wide, made of cobblestones with no parking spots all around, and the market itself consists of shops all along the sides and then inside and throughout.
It reminds me a lot of the Strip District back home. Despite the unbecoming name, it's actually a thriving marketplace of seasonal fruit and vegetable stands as well as flowers and upscale cheese shops.
When I was growing up, it was really the place to go to get affordable fruits and vegetables that you can get at the grocery stores and where my mom liked to shop when sober when she embraced organic eating and other healthy habits.
Since then, it has gone through quite a lot of revitalization with many coffee shops and more upscale stores opening along with the farmers market.
Tyler pops into a flower shop and comes out with a bouquet of sunflowers and daisies.
“Thank you so much,” I say, inhaling their sweet aroma. “These are beautiful. Thank you.”
I keep breathing in the flowers as we wander around the market popping into a few stores here and there. I'm drawn to one that sells ceramics and I decide to splurge on a big bowl with an elaborate glaze.
“Let me get that,” Tyler says.
“No, it's fine,” I say, reaching for my wallet, but he refuses to take no for an answer.
“I'd really like to buy this for you,” he says. “Is that okay?”
His eyes sparkle as he says that and I can't say no. That's the thing about him, he just has to give me a smile and I find it difficult to fight him on anything.
As he buys me the bowl and I watch the man at the counter carefully pack it in recyclable paper, I wonder what's going to happen in the future.
Where will we find ourselves?
How will this ever work?
What happens when we separate again?
As soon as that last thought occurs to me, I feel a string of emotion somewhere deep inside. It's almost as if I'm made out of strings and that one thought activates and strums one. The sound reverberates like a wave throughout my body and it's all I can do to turn away from Tyler and wipe the tears off my face as soon as it appears.
“Here you go, miss,” Tyler says, holding the gift bag out for me. “I can carry it for you if you want. It's a little bit heavy.”
“As you wish,” I say, looking at him from across my shoulder.
I turn forward and wipe another tear, hoping that he doesn't spot this one either.
After wandering around the farmers market all morning, we build up an appetite and head to the restaurant on top of the Space Needle for lunch. The Space Needle is even more beautiful than I had imagined. You take an elevator all the way to the top and then you basically walk out onto glass.
The view is magnificent and the glass floor and the glass walls make you feel like you are suspended in midair. A few birds fly by and for moment I see what they see and I feel what they feel.
“This is a little bit scary,” I say, carefully looking down at the floor making sure that my feet are stable.
“I know, it’s amazing,” Tyler says, jumping up.
He lands silently, but still scares the group of tourists next to us and one woman has to go back inside.
“Sorry about that. Didn't mean to freak you out. Are you okay?”
“I would be lying if I didn't say that this is a little bit unnerving.”
“You said you wanted to come here.”
“I know, I wanted to look at the view. I'm just not sure I wanted to look at the view through my ankles.”
Tyler gets down on the ground and peeks at the buildings and cars on the streets below.
“It’s pretty spectacular from here,” he says, looking up.
“Get up,” I whisper and pull him back up.
I like looking at the water from up top.
It's peaceful and calming. It's nice to sit right next to it and watch the outline of each particular wave, but from here it just sort of washes over me all at once. It's the source of life and it's the source of death, but from up here it's just an ocean of blue.
I look at the skyline for a long time, practically pressing myself against the window.
Tyler stands behind me holding me firmly and occasionally squeezing my hand. When it gets a little more crowded and a little colder, we make our way toward the restaurant.
They seat us next to the window. The restaurant is beautiful and upscale with no expenses spared. I drape my jacket over the back of my chair and order the Forget me Not cocktail: tequila with a garnish of an orange slice and blueberries. Tyler opts for a glass of whiskey and we intertwine our fingers over the table until our drinks arrive.
“You know, I thought this place would be very touristy,” Tyler says. “It's actually quite beautiful.”
“You know being touristy always gets a bad rap, but what are you supposed to do when you want to visit a place not from there? It's not like locals go out of their way to visit the landmarks that much.”
“You have a point,” he says, raising one eyebrow.
I'm about to say something else to elaborate on the idea when he raises his glass and says that he wants to propose a toast.
“Thank you for finding me. Thank you for coming back into my life. Thank you for not giving up on me. On us. I know that we're not supposed to dwell on what is going to happen on Monday. I need your promise and my intent is to stick to it, but I just want you to know that I love you. Always have, always will.”