COLLEGETOWN
Growing up is shit. It sucks.
Not because adulthood itself sucks all that much. It does…I mean, it really does…but the problem isn’t the achy back, or the fuzzy short-term memory, or even the crushing anxiety of thinking you might have to declare bankruptcy None of that
No, it’s realizing that the person you thought you’d be when you were a kid never manifested. The beautiful house, the flashy car, the high-paying, prestigious job. You didn’t wind up with any of those things. And worst of all, the absolute gut punch of it all, is the crushing truth that, as an adult, once that sugar-sweet high of adolescence has worn off, there’s no such thing as true love There’s love, sure: all sorts of love But that bone-deep, blistering, clean-scouring and soultranscending sort of love you read about in books and watched unfold in movies? That’s not real The tooth-rotting love you felt as a kid fades in the face of the real world; it slips away
The best you can hope for, then, is something like contentment.
“WelcometoCoffeeTown,theonlyplaceyoucansoar withtheEagleEspresso CanIinterestyouinoneofour freshbakedDanishes?”Lawsondeadpans,featuresschooledtomatch.
“Pffft.”Danaleansacrossthecounterandsockshiminthearm.Hard.
Hecracks.“Hey!”Laughing,herubsathisarm.“Jesus.SeeifIeverofferyouqualitycustomerserviceagain.”
“OffermeanAmericanoandgoonbreaksoyoucankeepmecompany.”
“Nocando,chica Ilostbreakprivileges”
Sheliftsherbrows,disbelieving “Youwhat?”
“I’ve”–heliftshishandstodoairquotes–“abused them,apparently.”
Hergazedropstothecounter,thenliftsagain.“Areyouwritingonyourbreaks?”
“Well…”Hetriesnottocringe,butfails.“It’sjust,”herushestosay,“coffeehouse,computer–that’sapeanutbutterand jellymatchmadeinheavenrightthere”
“Yeah,butyouwritinginpublicisn’t,”shesays,andrapsherred-paintednailsonthemarble “Comeon Theycan’tdeny youbreaks – that’s like, Idunno, anEEOC violationor something. Americano.” She points at him, thenover her shoulder. “Joinme.”
“But–”
“Now,Law,”shesaysoverhershoulder,andwendsherwaythroughthecrowdtowardatable. Lawsonpouts,butonlyalittle Takes thenextorder,thenbegs anunimpressedMegantotakeover attheregister,pulls Dana’sAmericano,snagsacookieforhimself,andmakeshiswaytotheprimewindowtableshe’sprocuredforthem
“Youcouldatleastsitinthecornerbythebathroom,”hesaysashefoldshislongframedownintothechairandslides hercoffeeover.“It’sbadenoughmymanager’sgonnabepissed,nowwe’retakingup,like,thebesttable.”
Shemakesafaceoffauxaffrontery.“I’mapayingcustomer.IcansitwhereIwant.”
Lawsonputshiselbowsonthetableandhunkersdownoverhiscookie
“Sweetie,don’tslouch Yourmanager’snotgonnasayshitwhileI’mhere” That’strue,andhearingithonestlyhelpsalittle.
ByvirtueofthefactthatLawsonisalmostfortyandafailednovelist,workingthecounterathishometowncoffeeshop, his manager, Kyle, is younger thanhim. Alotyounger thanhim. Alittle floppy-haired tyrantwho walks withhis ass onhis shoulders,runningCoffeeTownlikeit’saplacethatmatters,andnottheshopnearestcampusandthebusiestbysimplevirtue ofwalkability Kyle screams ifLawsonfucks up the machines; screams ifhe has to recount the till after close everynight; screams ifhe gets so absorbed inwritingthat he eats three cookies instead ofhis allotted one and lets his breakrunthree minutesovertheallottedfifteenminutes.
Lawsonhateshim,but,well,it’snotlikehehasanyotherjobprospectsatthemoment.
Look at me now,hethinksinthedirectionofthekidswho’dharassedhiminhighschool. Even more of a fuckup than you all thought I’d turn out to be
Dana, though, goldenhair braided ina princess crownontop of her head, all of her glowingwithgood healthinthe radiantsunlightbeamingthroughthe window, is verymuchnota fuckup. She’s anythingbut. His bestfriend – real tried and
true,since theywere indiapers,bloodbrothers anddie-for-each-other BFFkindoflove betweenthem–startedcollege the summer after highschool graduation,righthere inlittle ol’Eastman,andgother bachelor’s inthree years Thenher masters afterthat Thenopenedherownaccountingfirm,justoneblockdownfromthesun-warmedtablewheretheynowsit Danaisa practical person. Ashark, he tells her, laughingly, so she’ll shoot himthe bird and thensmirk. She was never cursed with romantic passions and creative streaks;was never crippled bythe sorts ofbigdreams thathave held himand weighed him down,ironshacklesaroundbothankles
Today,Danawearsasimple,perfectly-tailoredwhiteshirt,andablackskirt,bothunderstatedenoughtotellhimthey’re expensive.Diamondstudswinkinherears,andheknowsforafactthathertastefulnudelipstickisseventy-fivedollarsatube.
Hedoesn’tknow,honestly,whyshe’sstillhere.InEastman.Inthiscollegetownwithitsoddmixoffarmersandstudents. She’snotstuck,likeheis;shecouldgosomewherebigger,somewhereasfabulousassheis.
ButshesipsherAmericanoandpinshimwithalook,andsays,“Actually,I’mnotherejustforthecoffee”
“Aw You’rehereformyprettyface?”
“No.”Shesmiles,butsmallandtight,asuddentensionstealingoverherfeatures,anditsetsawarningsirentospinning distantlyinthebackofhishead.
Hepauseswithhiscookieinfrontofhismouth.Slowlylowersitbacktoitsnapkin.“Okay.”
Shehesitatesamoment,trailinghernailsdownthesideofhercup,asoftscratchingsound.It’snotlikehertowaver,and itimmediatelysetshisteethonedge
“What?”
She starts to bite her lip, white teethpoised above it, a girlhood habit he knows she’s tried to outgrow. She wins the battle,andliftshergaze,aquickflickerupthroughherlashes,expressionsmooth,butbracedforhisreaction. Hisstomachsinks.
Matter-of-factly,shesays,“OurclassreunionisinDecember”
Heknowsthat Hasknownitformonths–foralmostayear,whentheemailhithisinboxwithaninnocuousping,andthen thebottomdroppedoutofhisstomach.ThatlittleinnocenttaglinesittingatthetopofhisunreadOldNavypromotionsandDell customerservicesurveys: It’s the Big Two-Oh, Eastman Raiders!
Hewaswalkingdownthesidewalk,afteraquickSeven-ElevenruntograbmoreEqualpacketsforthetables,mindlessly scrolling, and the email leaped off his phone, grabbed himbythe throat, and shocked his heart into a wonkytwo-step. He halted,slumpedsidewaysagainsttheroughbrickofthewall,actuallytouchedthefingertipsofhisfreehandtohischestand feltthejackrabbithitchbeneathhisbreastbone
Had it really been twenty years? Twenty? Since he plucked the mortarboard off his head, turned it in his hands, and wishedithadfeltlikeavictory,insteadoftheendofsomething?
Yeah,ithad.Thattracked.Hewasthirty-seven,sothemathaddedup.
But still Twenty years Twenty years in which, he realized, standing on the sidewalk with his pulse throbbing in his throat,hehadn’tmovedonevenalittlebit Stillcaughtinanugly,childishhope,burdenedbythedefeatofknowingitwasa hopethatcouldneverberealized.
Hegavehimselfasolidthirtysecondstogrieve.Thenhethumbedtheemailintothetrash,pocketedhisphone,andpushed offthe wall.Love wasn’treal –notthe kindhe’dthoughthe’dbeeninbackthen.Andnobodyreallywenttotheir reunions, savecheerleadersandquarterbacks.
Soheknowsaboutthereunion,buthe’striedveryhardnottothinkaboutit
He’s shockedit’s Dana bringingitup,ofall people,consideringshe knows the exactshape andflavor ofthe bitterness thatsatonhistongueongraduationday.
Hesitsbackinhischairandfoldshisarms.“Whataboutit?”
Herbrowsjump. Calm down.“YouknowhowHarmonyisthepresidentoftheReunionCommittee?”
“One”Heliftsafingerfromthecrookofhisarmwithoutunfolding “Whythefuckistherea‘ReunionCommittee?’And two:howcouldIpossiblyhaveknownHarmonywasthepresident?”
“Uh,maybebecauseHarmonyisourfriend?”
Hestaresather,unblinking.
“Maybe because she sends out, like, weeklyupdate emails abouther kids, and her potteryclass, and her, frickin’new favoriteHGTVshow?”
Heshrugs “Idon’tcheckmyemail,”helies
Danamakesaface,becausesheknowshe’slying,butdoesn’tcallhimonit Instead,shedoessomethingmuchworse She takesadeepbreathandsays,“Youknowhowhersister’spregnant?ThesisterwholivesinNorthDakota?”
BeforeLawsoncanaskwhatthehellthathastodowiththeirreunion,herealizeswherethisisheaded,andhisstomach locksuphard,likethecashregisterwhenhecan’tgetthekeytowork.Hesetsthecookiedownforgood,andshovesitoverto
hersideofthetable Foldshisarms,andsays,“No”
Sheliftsahandandsays,“Now,holdon.Letmefinish.”
“No. ”
“Lawson.”
“Dana.”Hishearthammers,andhispalmspricklewithsweatwherethey’restuffedunderhisarms,andeverypartofhis beingis going no, no, no, no, no He can’t go to a reunion, can’tevenbe involved inplanningit, sendingemails, checking namesofflists,orderingfuckingcheapchampagne,becauseareunionmeansahomecoming,andahomecomingmeans could mean…no.Justno.
Dana sighs tightlythroughher nose, and presses onanyway, despite the wayhe starts wagginghis head backand forth exaggeratedly.“Harmonyhastogooutoftowntohelphersister,andshecalledmelastnightintears,beggingmetotakeover theCommitteeforher”
He stops shakinghis head to huffoutan, “Ugh” Harmonycryingis a sad, sad, Disneymovie affair, all gianteyes and hitchedbreathsandanuncontrollableswellofsympathythatleadspeopletodoanythingtostemthetideoftears.
“And,so…”Sheshrugs.“I’mnowthedefactoheadoftheReunionCommittee.”
Hepullsanexaggeratedface,onethatnormallymakesherlaugh.
Now,shefrowns,andsays,“I’mnominatingyouasco-head.”
Lawsontakesadeepbreath,andsays,drawnoutandslow,“Noooooo”
Herposturecollapses,fromstraight-backedExecutiveWomaninCharge,tosomethingslumpedandpleadingthatreminds himof high school. Of earlier. Middle school, elementary. Come on, Law! That’s not faaaaiiiir! No, life isn’t fair. He’s learnedtolivewithit.Mostly.Butnotsowellthathecando this.
Hehitchesupstraighterinhischairandpresseshisclammypalmstothetableedge.Fixesherwithassteadyalookashe canmanage “Dana Honey Iwoulddieforyou,youknowthis”
Shenods,cornerofhermouthcurvingupwardinasmile
“ButIwillabsolutelynot,underanycircumstances,getwithinfiftyfeetofthisfuckingreunion.”
Sheconsidershimamoment,nailsidlyscrapingthesidesofhercup.“Hewon’tbethere,”shesays,finally,quietly,little morethanawhisper.“Youknowthathe–thatthetwoofthemwon’tcome.”
“Idon’tknowanything.”
Her head tilts, and the sympathy in her gaze sends his gaze skittering out through the window, where a woman tries unsuccessfullytodragatantrum-throwingtoddlerpastawindowdisplayatthegiftshopnextdoor
Hesees her handcross thetablefromthecorner ofhis eye,butstill flinches whenitsettles againstthebackofhis.He recoversfast,though,andturnshispalmuptotangletheirfingers.God,they’reholdinghandsinpublic;they’re those people.
“Well,Iknow somethings,”shecounters,voicesupportiveinawayhebothcravesandhates–hatesthatheneedsthat reassurance Thathe isn’tstronger thanthis “Iknow thatIlove you,andthatyou’re one ofmyfavorite people inthe whole world,andIknowthatyou’regoingthroughkindofashittytimerightnow–”
“Don’t,”heinterrupts,alumpforminginhisthroat.“Just…don’t,Dana.”
Shesqueezeshishandandsays,“Ialsoknowthatthosetwoshitheadswon’tshowuptoourreunion,sothere’snothingto worryaboutonthatfront.”
Hedarestoglancebackacrossthetableather,andseesaferocioussparkleinher blueeyes.“Becausetheydon’tgive enoughofashittocome”
“Becausetheyknowwe’dripthemnewonesandtheydon’thavetheballstocome,”shecorrects
Amiddle-agedwomansitsdownatthetablebesidetheirs,gazegoingtotheir joinedhandsandlingeringlonger thanis polite,opencuriositywritonherface.Sheprobablythinksthey’relovershavingameaningfulheart-to-heart.
Danasqueezeshishandoncemore,thenwithdrawshers,andLawsonfoldshisarmsagain.Shetakesadeepbreath,and donsabusinesslikeaironcemore “Comeon You’rebetteratthissortofthingthanIam”
Hesnorts “That’sdemonstrablyuntrue”
“Stopsellingyourselfshort.”
“Stoptryingtoupsellme.”
“Law.”Shepouts.“Comeon,Law,pleeeeeaaaassse!”
He has no natural immunityto begging;it’s always tripped himup. Please, Law, God, please. Hands twisted up inhis shirt,breathhotagainstthebaseofhisthroat
Hesqueezeshiseyesshutagainstmemory,notthatithelps Hedoesthingsphysically,sometimes,inthehopeit’ll slam thedooronharmfulmentalpractices.Itdoesn’t,buthegoesthroughthemotionsanyway.
“Fine.” Whenhe opens his eyes, she’s grinning, and he throws his hands up. “Fine!Fine, I’ll help yourunthis fucking reunion!”
Dana’sgrinwidens
Thewomanbesidethemletsoutashockedgasp.
Lawsonturnstoher,donningagraveface,andsays,“Ma’am,don’tletherfaceandhairfoolyou:thatgirlisaGradeA demon.”
Thewomanrearsbackinherchair,baffled.
Danalaughs “Iloveyou!”
“Yeah, yeah Keep that” He flicks his fingers toward the cookie that still sits in front of her “I’m suddenly feeling nauseousasallhell.”
Sherollshereyes,andopenshermouthtorespond–andashadowfallsacrossthetable.Lawsonknowsfromtheshape ofits hair thatit’s Kyle, justlike he knows, before he turns his head, whatsortofexpressionKyle’s wearing: the pinchedbrow,cat’sassholemouthpuckerofthetrulyself-righteous
Lawsonsmilessheepishlyathim “Hi,boss”
Kylejerksathumboverhisshoulder.“Breakroom.Now.”
“Yes,boss.Rightaway,boss.”
Whenhe glances backatDana over his shoulder as hefollows –tryingtoduckhis shoulders sohe doesn’ttower over Kylequitesodramatically–shewinksandstickshertongueoutathim.Heshootsherthebird,andshesmiles. They’reokay They’realwaysokay
Hejusthopes he willbeoncethiswholereunionbusinessissaidanddone
The gross thing about love is the way it can make your whole life feel bigger. It makes you feel bigger. Like you ’ re important; like your feet barely touch the ground.
And then, when it’s snatched away – when it runs away – nothing cuts like the pain of being reminded how terribly small you are
Lawson’smother andDana’smother werebestfriendsgrowingup,andsothey’dbeguntheir ownfriendshiplaiddown fornapstogetherinthesameplaypen,plunkeddowninthesandboxtogetherwithplasticpails,stuffedintothesamestrolleron mall trips and left withthe same sitter together whentheir moms had a girls’night There had beenjokes whentheywere toddlers, and thennot-so-jokingallusions to marriage whentheywere older, fromall four oftheir parents, and fromschool friendsbesides.Butithadneverenteredeitheroftheirminds.WhenLawsonconfessed,finally,agedten,hugginghislegsand cryingintohisraisedknees,thathelikedboys,Danahadkissedthetopofhisheadandsaid,“Yeah,Iknow,dummy.”He might havestaredalittletoolongatherBackstreetBoysposter,gofigure.
Other friends hadcomeandgone,cyclinginandoutoftheir orbit,likeHarmony,somesweet,sometraitorous,butthey were a fixed unit The Dynamic Duo The Wonder Twins There was no roomfor anyone else inthe soldered steel oftheir foundation.
Butthen… Then.
TheCattaneofamilymovedtotown.
AndtheDynamicDuobecametheFantasticFour
Middleschoolreally,reallysucked.Itsuckedbigones,asLawsonhadsaidatdinnertwonightsago,andearnedahalfshriekedlecturefromhisvisitinggrandmotherabout“vulgarlanguage”He’ddonnedaninnocentexpression,andsaid,“Iwas onlytalkingaboutpenises Youknow,dicks?Middleschoolsucksgreatbigdonkeydicks”
He'dbeengladtoabandonhis dinner infavor ofhis room,andhadsnickeredtohimselfonhis wayupthestairs while Grandmaupbraidedbothhisparentsforthewaytheywereraisingtheironlyson.
Butmiddleschooldidsuckgreatbigdonkeydicks,becauseitdidn’tletouteachdayuntil four-fifteen.Inthelong,bitter wintermonths,thatmeantitwasfivebythetimethebusdroppedhimoffathome,thesunwasalreadyhalfwaydown,andhe had onlya scant twentyminutes before Momexpected himinside at the table slavingover his homework Twentyminutes wasn’tlongenoughtogetdowntotheparkwithhisskateboard,muchlessspendanytimeworkingonhistricks Notthathe coulddoanytricks,butitwasthethoughtthatcounted.Insummer,inspring,hecouldbuyaMountainDew fromthevending machinebythebathroom,andheandDanacouldsitside-by-sideontheconcretestepsandwatchthehighschoolboysgrind downthehandrails,thesmokefromDana’scigaretteticklinghisnostrils.
ByOctober–thefifthofwhichwastoday–theirafternoonshadgrownpinchedandcoldandhalf-dark,andLawsonwas properlydowninthedumpsaboutit “Seasonaldepression,”Danahadcalledit,sagely Shetalkedlikeanadult,smokedlike one,too,cigaretteheldnegligentlybetweentwoupraisedfingers.
Lawsonhadtoldhershewasfullofshit,buthewonderedifshewasright.Iftheexpansivedarknessthatshimmeredand rippledlikeapuddleinsidehischestwasbecauseoftheseason…
“Whatareyoulookingat,freak?”
Orbecauseofsomethingelse
He’dbeensittingslumpedforwardathisdesk,cheekrestedonhisfoldedarmssohecouldstareattheclassroom’slone window. Leaves drifted down past the wire mesh set in the glass, collecting in bright yellow drifts on the brick of the courtyard.Itwasapleasantview,withitslittleleaf-clutteredbench,anditswallcrawlingwithivy.Abirdsatperchedonthe armofthebench–abluejay–crackingacornsagainstthewroughtiron.Lawsonwantedtobethatbird;tobeoutinthecool wind,breathinginthesunshine,ratherthanhearinthestuffy,droningconfinesofMr Ballas’ssocialstudiesclass
AtthesoundofMarkWalton’s hissedquestion,hejerkedhis headup,andrealizedhis mistake “What?No,”hehissed back.“Iwaslookingoutthewindow.”
Markwascurrentlythemostpopularboyintheirclass He’dhitagrowthspurtoverthesummer,notsimplytallerthanthe otherboys,butbroaderineverydimension.Danahadsaidhiswideforeheadandstrongjaw wouldruntofatbeforehewas thirty,andthathistoo-shortnosewaspiggish,butrightnow,allthegirlsthoughthewas totally the cutest.Lawsondidn’tthink hewas…buthedidthinkCoreyMartinwascute,andhe’dmadetheterrifying,unforgivablemistakeofactingonitlastweek. They’dbeenworkingonagroupassignmentinEnglishtogether,thetwoofthembentovertheposterboard,duel-wielding markerstofinishbeforethebellrang,andLawsonhadglancedupandbeenstruckdumbbythesightofCoreywithamarker capclenchedbetweenhisteeth,browsnotchedtogetherinconcentration,thecurveofhisnearcheekrosyfromtheheatofthe classroom.
LawsonhadbeenguardinghissecretfromeveryonesaveDanaforyearsnow,sincehe’dfirstgottenwarminthefaceand flutteryinthechestwatchingfreakingBruceWillisin Die Hard andbeguntounderstandwhatthatmeant.Sincehe’drealized whatattractionmeant Sohekepthismouthshut,andhedidn’tevertouchotherboys,notsomuchasafriendlysmackoranarm loopedcompanionablyacrossshoulders
Buthe looked.Helookedandlooked,andmosttimeshedidn’tknowwhatheevenwantedtodowithsomeone,onlythat hispalmsitched,andhistonguefelttoobigforhismouth,andheknewthatthewayhelookedatboyswasthewayboyslooked atgirls;and the jokes inthe locker roomtold himnone ofthe boys around himwould appreciate beingthe recipientofhis longingstares.
He was socareful buthe was alsothirteen,andstupid,andthatdayover the posterboard,his handmovedofits own accord,andhebrushedthebacksofhisfingersdownCorey’ssoft-lookingcheek
Corey,generallykindandgood-natured,quicktosmile,hadjumpedbackasifLawsonhadpunchedhim,clutchingathis offendedcheek.“W-wh-whatthehell?”he’dstammered,eyeshuge,facenolongerrosyatall,butsicklypale.“Whydidyoudo that?”
WhenLawsononlygapedathim,heartpounding,therushofbloodinhisearscrashinglikewaves,Corey’sfacescrewed up,angryandtwistedandnothinglikehe’dalwayslooked,andhe’dspat,“Whatareyou, gay?”
Lawsonhadbolted.Fledtothebathroom,andearnedadetentionforit.
Aweeklater,theincidentstill hauntedhim.Everyboyinhisgradelevel seemedtoknow whathadhappened,andifhe waslucky,theyavoidedhim.Some,likeMark,wantedtomakeathingoutofit.Toneedleandinsultandname-call.
Mark’slipspeeledbackoffhisteethinanastyleer,andtherewasnothingcuteabouthimatall.“Whatever.Stopfucking staringatme,queerbait,”hesaid
Lawsondidn’twanttheslurtosting,reallyhedidn’t But Well Hescowled.“I’mnot.WhywouldIwannalookatyouruglymeatloaf-shapedhead?” Markhadwhispered. Lawsonhadnot.
“Mr Granger,”Mr Ballassaid,clearinghisthroatloudly Marksmirkedandfacedforward
“Fuck,” Lawsonmurmured, and turned around slowly, hyper-aware ofthe stares ofhis classmates. The whispers. The rustleofbookpagesandcreakofdesks.
Mr.Ballas was drawnuptohis usual scarecrow height,bodyheldtightandcloseandtense,as ever.“Unless youhave somethingtosharewiththeclass…”Hewavedinanexpansivegesture.
Lawsonshookhishead,andhadtonudgehisglassesuphisnoseafterward “Yes,well,asIwassaying Class”Mr Ballasliftedhisvoice,projectedit His listen up now, children voice Hisother hand, Lawson noted belatedly, rested on the shoulder of a stranger. “I’d like all of you to welcome our newest student to EastmanMiddle.ThisisTommyCattaneo.” Newkid.
TommyCattaneo
Oh,Lawsonthought Andhischesthurt
TommyCattaneowasshortforaneighthgrader.Small,andslight,hiswristspaleandfragileinsidethecuffsoftheColts sweatshirtthatswallowedhimwhole.Dark,almost-blackhairpartedontheside,andaslendernose,andapressed-thinpink mouth,andsoul-swallowing,bigbrowneyeslikewarmcupsofcoffee.
(Lawsonwassomethingofacreativewriterevenatthirteen.)
Lawsonsuckedinabreath,andpushedupoffhisdesk,bothhandsbracedonitssurface Stupid,hetoldhimself Stupid, stupid Soheduckedbackdown,butnotbeforehismovementattractedTommyCattaneo’sattention Theireyesmet.Briefly.Lawsonsworehehearda click insidehishead.Afrissonofawarenessmoveddownhisspine. Later,days,weeks,months,years,hewouldcallitloveatfirstsight.Butitwasn’t.Itwasjustlove,plainandsimple;the uncomplicatedloveathirteen-year-oldcouldconjureimmediatelyandunselfishlyfromoutofthinair.Liketheloveonecould
feel–aching,sweet,instant–forfreshcookiessteamingfromtheoven,orthelatestskateboardsuspendedinashopwindow Alovemademostlyofanticipation,ayearningforsomethingsweet,anaffectionforsomethingunknownbutthatmightbe.
Inthe moment, though, Lawsonthought oh. And thenhe thought his eyes. And then, a little desperately, be my friend. Please.
Tommy’sgazeflickedtoLawson,whenhefirstperkedup,andskimmedoverhisface,briefly,beforehepressedhislips tightertogetherandlookedelsewhere Lookedeverywhere,lashesflickeringandgazebouncingfromfacetofacetoface,not stickinglongonanyone,eventuallygoinguptotheceiling,anditsbrightlights,knobbythroatjerkingasheswallowed Itmight havebeenatrickofthefluorescents,foramoment,itlookedasthoughtTommy’seyesmightfillwithtears.
Butthenhisheadtippedforward,andhisjaw setfirmly,andhesaid,quietbutsure.“Hi.”Hishandliftedinanaborted wave,browsnotchingtogetherafterwardlikehewaspissedatthemotion.“I’mTommy.”
“Hi,Tommy,”camethelistlesschorusfromtheclass
Mr BallasusedhisgriponTommy’sshouldertourgehimforward “Whydon’tyoutakeaseatattheemptydeskbeside Mr.Granger?”
Oh.Ohno.Oh…yes?
“Hopefully,”Mr.Ballascontinued,anglingapointedlookLawson’sway,“Mr.Grangercansetabetterexample.”
Itwasaneffortnottorollhiseyes.ButLawsonsaid,“Yes,sir.”AndhemadeapointofnotstaringasTommyduckedhis headandsweptquicklydowntheaisletotaketheseatbesidehim
He sat with an economy of movement, a duck and slide, dumping his backpack at his feet so that it landed the same momentthesolesofhisshoeslandedonthefloor–uponthetoes,becausehewassoshorthisheelswouldn’ttouch.
Lawsonexperiencedanot-so-minorcrisisaboutthat.
Oncetheclasshadsettled,andMr.Ballashadturnedbacktotheboard,heriskedasidewaysglanceathisnewseatmate. Tommyhadproducedhistextbook,openedittotherightpage,andhadanotebookathiselbow,pencil inhishand His starewasfixedinthemiddledistance,though,andthenotebookpagewasclean,andwhite;hehadn’tcopieddownanyofwhat Mr.Ballashadputupontheboard.Thefingertipsofhislefthandbouncedsoundlesslyagainstthesurfaceofthedesk,some sortofnervoustic.
Lawsonfrownedtohimself,andwonderedwhythatwas,but,well,itwasn’thisbusiness.
He resumed takinghis ownchickenscratchnotes to the bestofhis ability, and studiouslyignored the boybeside him, thoughnotwithoutdifficulty:Tommysatstillasastorkfroggingattheedgeofapond,andglowedalittlebitasthoughhewas radioactive (Lawson’simaginationatworkagain,makingeverythingfromhiserrantthoughts,totheactionsoftheday,tothe playersintheproductionofhislifeallouttobebigger,brighter,andmoreconsumingthantheyreallywere.)
Tommyhadcomeintosecondperiodhalfwaythrough,andsowhenthebellrangtodismissclass,itwastimeforlunch. The poor kid’s momhadn’t given hima chance to come into homeroom, then first period, and formany tentative, though illusoryfriendshipsbeforethebattlefieldofluncharrivedbeforehim;Lawsonshovedhisbookhaphazardlyintohisbag,and turnedtofindthatTommywasglancingdazedlyaroundtheroom,chesthitchingunderhistoo-bigColtssweatshirt,eyesslowly clearinginfavorofananimalgleamofpanic.
Hehikedhis bagover oneshoulder,steppedaroundhis desk–onlytrippedalittle–andstuckhis handout.“Hi,New Kid. Tommy, right? I’mLawson Granger. Mr. Ballas only calls me ‘Mr. Granger’because he’s a fucking psychopath. You wannahavelunchwithmeandmybestfriend?”
When he first started speaking, Tommy’s head whipped around so fast it’d be a miracle if he hadn’t given himself whiplash The flashoffear became a wild glitter, like stars caughtinthe corners ofhis darkeyes Butthen, slowly, after a thoroughtop-to-bottomexaminationofLawsonthatmadeLawsonwanttoblushandfidget,herelaxed.Hisshouldersdropped onadeepbreath,andthoughhestilllookedcagey,heacceptedLawson’sofferedshakeandsaid,“Sure.Thanks.”
Loneliness always feels like something you can handle. It’snottheworstsensationintheworld, you think. Until it is.
DespiteDana’sgentle,andthennot-so-gentleencouragements,theblinddatesetups,theunsubtlemeet-cutesshe’striedto orchestrate,LawsonwouldnevergetlaidifnotforGrindr.
He tried datingincollege, he reallydid. He wentto his fair share ofparties;inhis twenties, he evenaccepted Dana’s blinddatesandmeet-cutes.Buthewassospectacularlybadatdatingthatheeventuallygaveitupandresortedtoanonymous hookupswhentheitchgottoostrong
Hislastrealdatewasfiveyearsago He’dbeenseeingsomeoneDanaknewthroughwork–andwhothankfullylivedtwo townsoverandwasn’tprivytoanyEastmansocialgossip–forafewweeks.AtaxaccountantnamedTerry,who,inthemost generalsense,wasexactlyLawson’stype.Danahadstoppedtryingtofixhimupwithmenwho weren’t brunetandunderfiveten,andTerryevenhitthegym,andhadatasteful,subduedfashionsense,andsaidhethoughtitwas“aspirational”thatLawson wasstilltryingtobecomeanovelist,ratherthana“pipedream,”thewaysomeofthemhad Theyhadsexonce,aboutaweek before their final date, and it was as heated as two mannequins beingshoved together ina Macy’s storage closet Lawson hadn’tbeenabletorelax,andTerryhadbeensweetaboutit–“It’sfine,you’refine,wecantakethingsslow”–whichmade Lawsonevenlessrelaxed.
The follow-up date, inwhichTerrymade soft, sorryeyes athimacross yetanother candlelittable was crushinginits humiliation, but ultimately a relief. “Lawson,” Terry said, hesitantly, sliding his fingertips through the condensation on his waterglass “Ijustfeellike likemaybe ”Afrown “Likemaybeyourmind–oryourheart,Iguess–issomewhereelse”A looksoearnestLawson’sbreathcaught,darkandstarryinthecandlelight,solikethatothergaze,theoneLawsonstilldreamed about,butnotcloseenough.“Istheresomeoneelse?”
“Yes,”Lawsonsaidonarelievedexhale,andhewasn’tevenlying.“Thereis.” ThatwastheendofTerry,andofDana’ssetups.
“There’ssomeonewhojuststartedatmyoffice,”shestartedonenight,overwineandpopcornonhersofa,infrontof The Bachelor “He’salittleyoungerthanus ” “Aninfant?Achild?No,”hesaid,firmly.“Don’tbother.”
HedownloadedGrindronhisphoneafterthat,andneverlookedback.
TonightisonesuchGrindrhookup.He’stwenty-onemilesfromhome,strugglingtotakehisshirtandshoesoffatthesame time inthe entrywayofanapartmentthatsmells so stronglyoflavender thatthe guywho lives there – his “date” – mustbe runningoneofthosediffuserthingsDanalovessomuch
Theguy–Jake?Jonas?Julius?Jason?–wearshisdarkhairsweptbackwithgel,andhisnoseisalittletoobig,andhe’s perfect…ifhe’djuststoptalking.
“Wait…wait, yeah, there you go.” He pulls Lawson’s shirt the rest of the way off, and then his gaze goes on an appreciativelittletripdownhistorso,andheactuallywhistles.“Fuckme,”hebreathes,beforehelatchesontoLawson’sarms. Lawsondoes He’stoopent-up not to
But after, he rolls out of bed while Jake/Josh/Jimis snoring, gathers his clothes, and leaves, closingthe door silently behindhim.
He’s home at ten ‘til midnight, which might be a new record for “date” night His childhood home sits quiet and unassuming on its only-slightly-weedy law – that’s his fault; he needs to go dig the hedge trimmers out of the garage this weekend–thelightsoffsavethefaintblueglowthroughthefrontwindowthatmeanstheTV’sstillon.
He finds his momtipped sideways onthe couch, infrontofNickatNight, fastasleep, her currentprojecta puddle of dropped white chiffoninher lap. Slowly, carefully, Lawsonsets the sewingaside inits basketand pulls her glasses gently from her face, the TV painting the silver at her temples a stark, unsettling white While Monica shouts “I know!” in the background,hepullsoffMom’sshoesandeasesherfeetupontothesofacushionssoshe’sproperlylyingdown Coversher withtheblanketoffthebackofthearmchair,andwhispersthesoftestkisstoherforehead.Shemurmurs,butdoesn’twake,and
Lawson’ssmilefeelsliketheonlythingkeepingapainedsighofhisownatbay
Upstairs,thelandingcreakswhenhestepsonit,andhehearsDadshiftinbed.Hedoesn’twake,though,andhislabored snoresresumeamomentlater.
Who’stosay,afewminuteslater,ifthehotwaterslidingdownLawson’sfaceintheshowerissaltywithsweatortears. That’sbetweenhimandthecrackedmint-greentiles.
Does anyone react well to shock?
Asking for a friend.
Lawsonworksouttheminimumamounttoqualifyhimas hot amongsthisGrindrhookups.Mostofhisexerciseisthanks tohelpingDadintoandoutofhischair,histub,hiswalker,hisbed.But.Lawsonmayhavelowself-esteem,butheknowshe’s six-two,andthathisarmsarebig,andthatifhewearshiscontactsandbotherstoflophispalehairoverhisforeheadjustso, he’sattractivetosomepeople.
NoneofthatmattersthedaytheloveofhislifewalksuptohisregisteratCoffeeTownanddoesadoubletake
“C’mon,Law,I’ve gotta gotothe bathroom,” Jessica says,andLawsoncrams the blue visor onhis headandtakes her placeattheregister.
“Hello,welcometo…”
Everypartofhimjoltstoahalt.
Themanstandingacrossfromhimis maybe five-ten Brown-haired Lotsofgel Sharpface He’salsowearingasuit The kindofsuitDanapointsouttohiminmagazinesandsays,“You’dlookhotinthat,”andthentheybothlaughoverthepricetag It’sblack,subtlepinstripe;theshirtisblack,thetieisthecolorofblood,andwheretheguystandswithhisphonehalfwayto hisear,hissleevehasslippedbacktoexposeonyxcufflinksandawatchthatcostsmorethanLawson’scar.
Heisobjectivelyattractive,inthatlong-nosed,serious-browedwaythatLawsonalwaysfindsdevastatingwhenhehasto lookdowntomeetaman’sgaze.Andwhenhedoesthatthistime,whentheireyesmeet,andheseesthattheman’sarebig,and brown,andmorethanalittlesadunderaveneerofimpatience,thefloortiltsbeneathLawson’sfeet
He knows thoseeyes Hasseentheminhisdreamsforthepasttwentyyears;hasclosedhisownandpretendedtheywere theoneswatchinghimwhenhestrippedoffhisclothesandfeltamattressdipbeneaththeweightoftwopeople.
He's got lines onhis face, now, that looklike they’re fromfrowninginstead of smiling, and a shadow alonghis jaw, beneathhis close shave thatreveals he’ll be all bristlythere before he goes to bed tonight. ButLawson’s mind helpfully–brutally, unhelpfully – overlays old images over the figure who stands before him Thirteen and swallowed up in a Colts sweatshirt Fifteenandhisvoicecracking Seventeenanddrawingback,eyeswetwithunshedtears, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Law, I can’t–
Somehow,someway. Impossibly.
TommyCattaneostandsbeforehim,allgrownupandwearingArmani.
AsLawsonstandsgapingathim,Tommy’sbrowsscrewtighttogether,deepeningthefurrowbetweentosomethingonpar withtheGrandCanyon,andsays,lowandshocked,“Lawson?”
Hisvoiceisn’tmuchdeeperthanithadbeenthelasttimeLawsonsawhim,butithasthisnew,roughedge,likemaybehe smokesoccasionally,and oh God,Lawsonisgoingtovomit.Ordie.Maybevomitthendie.
Tommy– ohGod, Tommy– still holds his phone a few inches fromhis ear, and a tinnyvoice issues fromit, the tone questioningthoughthewordsareindistinguishable.
Tommystares athimhard a second, thenputs the phone to his mouth “Yeah yeah, I’mhere, I’ll – listen, I’ll call you back”Histhumbdisconnectsandheslipsthephoneintohispantspocket,gazestillfixedonLawson,browstillfurrowed His mouthworks,once,soundlessly.
Lawsonstillhasn’tsaidanything.Hehasn’tbreathed.
Tommy presses his lips tight together, a flat line, and his chin lifts a fraction. His face is so much older, and more masculine,butLawsonwouldknowthatexpressionanywhere;firstglimpseditthedayhestuckhishandthroughtheairtoward thenewkidandinvitedhimtolunch “It’syou,”hesays,surernow,morecomposed Lawsoninstantlymissesthatbreathylittle utteranceofhisname,likemaybethesightofhimpunchedTommyinthegut “Shit”
Lawson’sknucklesache;he’sgotadeathgriponeithersideoftheregisterthathedoesn’tremembertaking.Ittakesthree tries,buthefinallydrawsinashakybreathatthesamemomentherealizeshecan’tdothis.He’sbrokenoutintoafull-body sweat,andhisheartisracing,andhe can’t do this.
“WelcometoCoffeeTown,”hestarts,andTommy’sbrowsflyupward,faceblankingwithsurprise “WhatcanIgetfor youtoday?”
Lawson’sproudofthewayhisvoicedoesn’tshake,thoughtherestofhimdoes.
“We’rehavingaspecialtodayonapplecinnamon–” “Lawson.”
“–muffins,fresh-bakedhereinhouse.Youcangetahalf-dozenfor–”
“Lawson. ”
Bysome miracle – maybe God doesn’thate LawsonGranger the wayhe’s always thought– Jessica materializes athis elbow “Okay,doyouneedmeto–”
“Yes,”hesays,andnearlymowsherdowninhishastetogetaway “Lawson!”Tommysaysbehindhim,sharp,borderingonangry.
Buttenminuteslater,whenLawsonemergesfromthekitchen,Tommyisgone.
People talk about “arrested development” in therapy terms: like it’s something uncommon that only happens to certain people. People who maybe lack the emotional fortitude to grow up properly. It’s for overgrown children, and not real adults.
But I think it happens to everyone At least in part I think there are parts of all of us that fix somewhere in the past, and never move on
Hemakesitthroughtherestofhisshift,thensendsanS.O.StexttoDana.
U grab wine, I’ll order pizza,shetextsbackrightaway Then,abeatlater: Do u need us to come help w/ your dad first? Hiseyesandhisthroatburnashestaresathisphonescreeninthecoffeeshopparkinglot She’stoogoodtohim No,he textsback. Nancy’s on shift tonight.
Roger that.
Heswingsbyhisfavoriteliquorstore–sparesamomentarythoughtforthesadstateofhavingafavoriteliquorstoreina collegetownfullofthem,andofbeingonafirst-namebasiswithGarywhoworksthetill–grabsfourbottes,twowhite,two red,anddrivesontoDana’s
Hestillthinksofherhouseasher“newplace,”thoughshemovedinoverayearago.Whenshefirststartedherfirm,she livedinaswankycondoinanew-buildsubdivisionpopulatedbyotheryoungprofessionals.She’dbeenengagedtoZach,then, who theynow bothexclusivelyrefer to as The Asshole, capital T, capital A. Lawsondoesn’tknow whyshe ever agreed to marryhim,thoughhesuspectshisabs,andpecs,andbicepsmayhaveblindedher–hedoesn’treallyblameher.Zachhadbeen apersonaltrainer,andahotoneatthat ButwhenDanafoundhiminbedwithherhairdresser,shedroppedhisass
Shekeptthecondountilshemet,andhadthenbeendatingLeoforayear
Lawson likes Leo. He’s Zach’s polar opposite. Lawson can’t confirm or deny the presence of abs beneath his soft sweaters,butthatdoesn’tmatterwhenhemakesDanasoquietlyhappy.He’saprofessor,withtherimlessspectacles,rumpled chinos, elbow-patch sweaters and soft-spoken voice to go with the title. Dana’s new place is a cozy bungalow in an establishedneighborhoodnotfarfromtheschool,thesortwithhuge,ancienttrees,andshadedbackgardens,andquaintlittle frontgates BeinginsideitalwayssparksLawson’screativity,andhashimitchingforhislaptop
WalkingthefamiliaraislesofDiscountPackage,whoseunfortunatenamewillnever not leavehimsnickering,hispanic subsides toa low,manageable buzz,all the shinybottles andtheir promise ofoblivionsoothing.Butbythe time he turns up Dana’sdriveway,hispulseishammeringhotandforcefulinhisbellyagain.
Leoanswersthedoor,stilldressedforwork,collarofhisplaidshirtfoldedneatlyoverthecollarofhistansweater.He hassomuchhair,darkandfloppyandsoft,acontrasttothesharpanglesofhisglasses Adorable
“Hey,Law”Hissmileisasubtlething,butnolesswarmforitssmallness “Roughday?”
“Weird day,” Lawson replies with a sigh he can’t check. He hands over one of the clinking totes of wine when Leo reachesforit.“Youevercomeface-to-facewiththeunrequitedloveofyourlifefromchildhoodintheshittycoffeeshopwhere youstillworkatagethirty-seven?”
“Can’tsaythatIhave,no”
“Idon’trecommendit”
Leo is already in his socks, and Lawson ditches his shoes at the rack inside the door. Immediately, the warmth and hominessofthehousefoldsoverhim.
It’s a Craftsman, all lovingly-oiled wood panelingand dozens ofsneakylittle built-ins, drop-downdesks, and cubbies, andshelvesfullofbooks.Brushedbrassandironlightfixtures,sconces,even,andstained-glasstransoms.Thewoodisdark, thewallsacreamyyellow,andDanahasfurnishedtheplaceinmoredarkwoodandsquashy,overstuffedsofasandchairsin neutralcolors Anyoneseeingherattheoffice,sleekandbuttoned-up,wouldhavefoundherdécorjarring Butseeingherwalk outofthekitchenonthephonewithDomino’s,hairinamessybunandapairofLeo’ssweatscuffedatherankles,it’seasyto seethatfashionandcomfortaren’tmutuallyexclusivestatesofbeing.
“Thanks,”shesaysintothephone,setsinonthecoffeetable,andthencomestohim,armsopen.
It’snevermatteredthatshewassomuchsmallerthanhim;she’sneverfeltfragileinhisarms,andherownhavealways feltbracingaroundhim,justastheydonow
He gives himself a moment to bury his face in her neck and breathe in her perfume. She rubs his back, brisk and
rejuvenating
Inthekitchen,Leoshufflesaround,bottlesclinking,corkspopping.Givingthemasenseofprivacy.
“Honey,”Danamurmurs,tippingherheadunderhischin,squeezinghimtight.
Hischesthitchesonhisnextinhale.“Idon’t…why…Idon’t…”
“Shh.”Shestrokeshisspine,andthebackofhisneck,uponhertiptoestoreach.
Lawsonclosesoverherslender-strongbodyandgiveshimselfafewbeatstoshake,andblinkhisvisionclear Hefeelsa littlebetterwhenhefinallydrawsback
Shegripshisbicepsandtiltsherhead. Okay?
Henods,andthencollapsesbackintothechairthat’sunofficiallybecomehis.
Lawsonexplained inthe briefest terms inhis text earlier, so it’s no surprise that Dana settles onthe sofa, legs tucked beneathher,andsays,“Tellmeexactlywhathappened”
Lawsonhesitates
Leo appears withthree glasses ofred balanced expertlybetweenhis fingers. “Iputthe white inthe fridge to chill,” he explains,passingthemaround.
“You’reanangel,Leo,”Lawsonsays,acceptinghisglass,andmeansit.
Danagiveshimamomenttotakeafewfortifyingswallows,andforLeotosettleinbesideher,onehandrestinggentlyon herfoot,beforeshepointsatLawsonandsays,“Go”
Hetakesafewmorefortifyingsips “Iwasworkingtheregister,andIlookedup,andhewasjust there” “What,like,hematerialized?Likeaghost?” “Exactly!”
Shegiveshimalook.
“Idunno,” he caves, slumpingdowndeeper into the chair It’s a kickass chair, butit’s notdoinganythingfor his blood pressure “Jessaskedmetotakeoverforher,andbythetimeIgotthere,hewasjust ”Hegesturestothecoffeetable “Inhis suit,withhiswatch,andhisstupid–hiseyes!Yourememberhiseyes.” “Yes.”Danalookslikeshehidesasmileintherimofherglass.
“Hey–screwyou.I’m…”Herakeshishairoffhisforehead,whereit’sclingingtothegatheringsweatthere,andholdsit alongthecrownofhishead,breathingdeeply.Hegoestotakeanothersipofwineandfindshisglassempty.
Leostandsandcollectsitforhim,sweepsoutoftheroomforarefill
“Sorry”Danasobers “Iwasn’ttryingto–”
“Iknow.”Heswallowswitheffort.“That’sarealsweetmanyougotthere.” Herexpressiongoesimpossiblyfond.“Iknow.”
Leoreturns,glassfulltothebrimthistime,andLawsonfeelshissmilewobble.Fuck.
WhenLeo’sbackinhisseat,Dana’sfeetinhislapthistime,hetriesagain Hetellsheraboutthesuit,andthewatch,and the cufflinks;abouthis hair gelled tightto his head like a helmet, and the new, adults lines onhis face, and his five o’clock shadowtryingtopeekthroughhisshave,andaboutthewayhisbrowssnappedtogetherinshock.
Somewhere inthe middle of takingfifteenminutes to describe a tensecond encounter, he drinks half his wine, sets it aside,andstartstwistinghishandstogetherinhislap.
“Herecognizedme,”hesaystotherug,likeanadmission,half-hopeful,half-sick.“Hesaidmyname.”
Whenherisksaglanceupward,they’rebothwatchinghimwithsympathy,Leo’spolite,Dana’sfartooknowing Leosays,hesitantly,“That’sagoodthingthatheremembersyou Right?”Helooksbetweenthetwoofthem “No,”saysLawson.
“Yes,”saysDana.
Shemakesaface.“What’sworse:thepainofhimrememberingandhavingtotalk?Orhimcaringsolittlethathedoesn’t recognizeyouatall?”
“Fuckingouch ”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.” He scrubs bothhands downhis face,for all thathelps.“What’s he doinghere? InEastman–inmycoffeeshop? LookinglikeheownsWallStreet,or,fucking,runsthemafiaorsomeshit.Hewaswearinga black shirtanda red tie.Hissuit had pinstripes,Dana.Pinstripes.”
“Soyou’vesaid Nottopassjudgement,butyou’dknowwhathewasdoingintownifyou’d asked him–” “Ha!Asked him That’sagoodone!”
“Lawson,”shesaysinameasuredtonethatheknowsmeansshe’stryingnottosigh.
“Dana,”heparrotsback.
“Isaidyoucouldhave asked him,thatdoesn’tmeanyouhadtodroptrouandgoatitacrosstheCoffeeTowncounter.”
Leochokesandspitsalittlewinedownhischinthathemopswithhissleeve
“Don’tscandalizeyourboyfriendtodeath,”Lawsonsays,thoughhefeelscolorbloominhisowncheeks.Theideaofthat – drop trou;across the counter –couldgivehimaheartattack,sohedecisivelyshovesitaside.
“No.”Leocoughs,anddabshischinsomemore.“It’sfine,I’mfine.You’refine.”
“He is fine,” Dana says, “except for the fact that he turned tail and ran away from his high school crush instead of speakingtothemanlikeanadult”
She realizes whatshe said – highschool crush– the same momentthe words hitLawson’s gutlike a sucker punchand knockallthebreathfromhislungs.
Shesitsforward.“Shit,Ididn’tmean–”
He holds up one hand in an attempt at an it’s fine gesture, and plucks his wine glass up with the other. It’s a thick, chemical-tastingMerlotnotmeanttobechugged,butchugithedoes Whenhelowershisglass,Danaisbitingherlip,contrite, andLeoisstridingbackintotheroomwithoneofthebottlesofwhite,bottlefaintlyopaquewithcondensationfromthefridge “Thanks,”Lawsongasps,catchinghisbreath,andholdsouthisglassforLeotofill.
“Law,”Danasays,voicesadnow.“YouknowIdidn’tmeanitthatway.Like–”
“No, you’re right.” He stares into his glass so he doesn’thave to see the pityinher gaze. “That’s whatitwas. Ahigh schoolcrush.”
You can write hundred of pages, and still never come up with the handful of words that could make someone understand the shape of your love.
TommyCattaneoofthebig,galaxy-browneyes,andthestubbornchin,newkid,turnedouttobeatwin.Afraternaltwin, he stressed, and thatbecame apparentonTommy’s second dayofschool whensaid twin– Noah– showed up attheir lunch table.
Lawsonlooked fromTommyto Noahand backagain, and said, “Jeez, looks like he got all the nutrients inthe womb, huh?”
And the verybestthingaboutTommy– well, one ofthe best– was thatwhenhe wasn’tpolitelyyes ma’amingand no siringtheadults,oncehegotpasthisinitialshyness,hewasanabsolute terror ofakid,andLawsonloved it.
HeelbowedLawsonhard,rightintheribs,sothatLawsonsqueaked.“Dude,shutup.”Hisbrowspinchedtogether,and Lawson could see where he’d have forehead lines when he got older fromscowling. “I got plenty of nutrients. Do I look malnourished to you?” He lifted botharms, look at me, and the sleeves of his baggysweater slipped downto his elbows, wristsandforearmsspindlyastheslenderlegsofanewbornfawn
“Well,”Lawsonsaidseriously,straighteninghisglasses.“Yes.”
Tommyhuffedinoutrage,andshovedLawsonsohardhenearlyfelloffthebench.ThenheswipedahandfulofCheetos forgoodmeasure.
Danasnortedacrossfromthem.“OhmyGod,Tommy,wherehaveyoubeenallhislife?”
Lawsonwhippedhisheadaroundtoshoothera don’t you dare look She’dneveroutedhimtoanyone,andhedidn’tthink she’dstartnow;no,hersmilewaswarmandamused,andsheadded,“He’salwaysneededsomeonetoknocksomesenseinto him,andIcan’thithardenough.”
“Um,”Noahsaid,wherehestoodawkwardlyattheendofthetable.“Tommy,aretheseyourfriends?”
The same girls who swooned over MarkWaltonwould go onto swoontwice as hard for NoahCattaneo, and Lawson couldseewhyfromdayone Hewasheadandshoulderstallerthanhisbrother,andbroaderineverydimension,withthesort of facial symmetry sought after in boy band members His hair was a shiny chestnut, like Tommy’s, but he wore it closer cropped,nearlybuzzed,andhelookedlikethesortofkidthathighschoolcoacheswerealreadyscoutingforvarsityfootball teams. All the hallmarks ofa kid who could have swaggered across campus, sneeringatanyone he deemed a loser, stuffing smallerkidsinlockersandcrackingnastyjokesatothers’expense.
ButhehadthesameliquidbrowneyesasTommy,andhissmilewasnervousanduncertainandsaid please like me,and Lawsonfoundthathewasableto,quiteeasily
“Dana’smyfriend,”Tommysaid,deadpan “LawsonisthecourtjesterItolerate”
Lawsoncrackedoutastartledlaugh,chestswellingwithwarmthandlight.Becausethoughitwasaninsult,Tommy’sgaze cutover,andthecornersofhismouthtwitchedupward,anditfeltmorelikeasecretthancruelty.
Danapulledouttheemptychairtoherleftandpattedtheseat.“Youcancomesitbyme,Noah.”
Hedid,andwhenhemurmureda thanks,hischeeksturnedpink
IttooktwowholeweeksfortheCattaneotwins’storytocomeout:hintedatinfitsandstartsbyNoah,whilehewentpale and rubbed atthe backofhis neck, and finallyrevealed infull, ina veryflatvoice accompanied byanuncomfortable little shrugbyTommywhenLawsontriedtoinvitehimtoStardustRollerRinkforEastmanMiddleNight
“Everyonegoes,notjustmeandDana Wetakeourownrollerblades,butyoucanrentskatesforfreeonMiddleNightif you’renotafraidofcatchinggangreneandlosingbothfeet.”
“What? Gangrene, that’s nothow…” Tommysighed and shookhis head, and glanced awaydownthe sidewalkas they walkedtowardthebuses.“Whatever.I’ll…”Theshrug.“Idon’tknowifmymomwillletuscome.She’sbeen…”Afidgetof hisbackpackstrap
Lawsonwastryingtowatchhimonlyinhisperiphery,tryingnottostare,butheturnedhisheadwhenhecaughttheshiftin hisvoice.Thewayhewentairless,anduncertain;thatclenchofpainlowinhisthroat.“What?”heprompted,asgentlyashe
Theshrugcameagain,andTommytookadeepbreaththatheletoutinarush.After,asifbyrote,withoutanyemotion,he said,“Youknow how wemovedherefromNew York?Well,thereasonwasbecausemydaddied,andmymomgotscared, andmovedusall thewayouthere,andnow she’sreallyoverprotectiveofus,andwantsustocomehomerightafterschool. And.”Hestalledout,andchewedathislip.
Tommy’shandswungalongathisside,smallandcurled-tightandlonely-looking Lawsonsaid,“Hey,man,that’sokay Evenifyoucan’tmakeit,Istillwantedtoinviteyou”WhenTommyglancedover–browslowered,skittish–heofferedhisbestsmile,andafterabeat,Tommy’sbrowsmoothed,andhereturnedit,crookedly.
Later thatnight,Lawsontriedandfailedtoprovethathecouldskatebackward,landedhardonhisbuttonthepolished woodofthe roller rink,andfelthis face goupinflames.Markandhis friends laughedandwhoopedas theyflew past,and DanashotthemthebirdbeforesheofferedLawsonahand
Whenhewasuprightagain,heturned,facestillhotwithshame–andthenhotforanotherreason,whenhesawafamiliar pair offigures atthe carpetedbenchthatranthe lengthofthe rink.One tall,one short,bothwithbrownhair gleaminggreen beneaththeneonlights.Bothwereintheprocessoftuggingonpairsofshittyrentedskates,butTommypaused,andcaughthis gaze,andgrinned,stillalittlecrooked,butwiderthistime,eyesbigandblackinthedimnessoftheroom.
“Oh,”Lawsonmurmured,beforehecouldcatchhimself.“Theycame.”
Danadugherknucklesintohisspine “Don’tjuststandhere Gotellhimhi”
Hedid
TheCattaneotwinsattendedeachmonthlyMiddleNightatStardustafterthat
As far as destinations went, itwas a trulyhorrible one Save the glass-smoothwood ofthe rinkitself, everythingwas coveredinblackcarpetpatternedwithglow-in-the-darksquigglesthatremindedLawsonoftheopeningsequenceof Saved by the Bell. There was a snack bar that served roller hot dogs, soft pretzels that weren’t very soft, and nachos slathered in fluorescentorangecheese.Onthefarsideofthebarwasthearcade,whereyoucouldplayairhockey,skeeball,Ms.Pac-Man, or Mortal Kombat.Therewasadiningarea,andaball pitfor littlekids;aWhack-a-Molewhosemolesyoucouldn’twhack backintotheirholes,notevenwhenyoubrokethepaddedhammer–Lawsonlearnedthatthehardwayandgotbitchedoutby the teenager running the snack bar for the night The whole place reeked of Velveeta and kid sweat Lawson had caught rotavirusthere twice overtheyears.
Helovedit.
TommyandNoahdid,too,iftheirregularattendancewasanythingtogoby.
“ no,no,yougottapress up ”
“Iam pressingup–aw,fuck”TheBatmanplushslippedthroughthemetalpinchersoftheclawandploppedbackdown amidstaseaofSupermenandHelloKitties.“Damnit.”
Tommyflappedahandtoshoohimaside.“Here.Lemmetry.”
Four tokens later, Tommy managed to snag a whole fistful of plushies with one grab of the claw. “Ha!” he shouted, triumphant,faceradiantinthesickblueglowoftheclawmachine.
The thrill thatlanced throughLawson’s stomachwas onlyparttriumph– mostlyitwas the wide, unrestrained smile on Tommy’sfaceasheslowly,slowly,maneuveredtheclaw,andhistrophies,overthedropchute Lawsongrippedhisshoulder “OhmyGod…wait,don’t–”
“IknowwhatI’mdoing.”
“Just–”
“Dude,shutup,I’m–”
Atthelastsecond,theprecariousbundleclippedthetopofastackofugly,droopy-eyeddogs,theclawtipped,spun,and allbutonetoyslippedfreeoftheclaw.
“Shit!”theysaidasone.
Tommydroppedhisheadinacomicaldisplayofdespair,andLawsonsnickeredintohishand.
“Goon.”Heelbowedhim.“Getyourprize,man.”
Asmoroseasthedroopy-eyeddogsthathadcausedthefiasco,Tommycrouched,reachedintotheslot,andpulledouta brightwhiteandpinkHelloKitty Heactuallypouted,lowerlippoppedoutandeverything
“Hello,kitty.”Lawsonslunganarmacrosshisshoulders.“She’sgonnalooksocuteonyourbed,betweenRainbowBrite andStrawberryShortcake.”
Tommyboppedhiminthefacewiththetoy,andLawsondissolvedintogiggles.
“No,no,Tommy,it’sperfect!Yourlastnameis Cattaneo,andHelloKittyisakittycat–” Tommywhackedhimharderwiththetoy,andLawsonputhishandsup,laughinghysterically,tofendhimoff.
“Dude,”hegasped,“don’tbreakmyglasses!”
TommytriedtoshoveHelloKittyintohismouthinstead,andthentheywerebothlaughingbreathlessly,tusslingsothey staggeredbackandforthinfrontoftheclawmachine.
Lawsonhadneverhadthisbefore,thissortofrowdy,masculinefriendship,completewithinsultsandwrestling Heand Danahadbeenfriendssinceinfancy,butashismotherhadtoldhimsternly–she’dbeenshrieking,actually–inanearly,sepiatingedmemoryfromtoddlerhood,itwasn’t“nice”towrestlewithgirls.Danadidn’twanttowrestleanyway.Inthatmemory, he’dshovedherover,andDanahadcomeupswinging,todumpawholebucketofsandoverhishead. Serves you right,Mom hadsaid,andthathadbeentheendofthat.
Tobefair,hehadn’tinitiatedthisphysicalrelationshipwithTommy,toonervousatthirteenthatanysortoftouchcouldbe construedasoverstepping,asanunwantedadvance ButifTommyhadheardanyoftherumorsbynow–andhemusthave,it hadbeentwomonths–hepaidthemnoheed.He’delbowedLawsonthatfirstlunch,justalighttapwiththeverypointofit, andthenhe’dkeptdoingit,untilLawsonstarteddoingitback,andbeenrewardedbyoneofTommy’ssharpergrins.
Now,LawsongothiminaheadlockattheStardustarcadeandTommysquawkedanddughisfingersintoLawson’sribs, ticklinghimuntilLawsonhadtoletgo,gaspingwithhelplesslaughter.
“Ha,”Tommyhuffed,thewayhealwaysdidwhenhethoughthe’dgottenthebestofhim,hisgrinslyandsmugandhinting atanexpressionthatconjuredforthLawson’simaginedadultversionofTommy,stillprettyandslender,butfierceinadarkand grownupway.
Thinkingofitnow,thatimaginedspecterofthefuture,chasedthelastofhislaughteraway.
“Youkidsknockitoff!”thegirlatthesnackbarcalled,handsonherhips.
“Sorry,”theychorused TommypickeduptheirabandonedDr Peppers,andLawsonsnaggedHelloKittywhereshe’dfallenamidsttheirtussle “Don’tforgetyourkittycat,tomcat.”
“Do not callmethat.”Tommysenthimaglare,ruinedbythehighcolorinhischeeksandhisrumpledhair.
They plopped down at a table to finish their drinks, and Lawson propped Hello Kitty up against the little cardboard standeeinthecenterthatadvertisedhotwingsandbeeronParentsNight.
“You’reright:you’renotmuchofatomcat,”Lawsonsaid,andsquintedatTommy,pretendingtoinspecthimthroughalens framedoutbyhis raisedfingers “Hm you’re like ” He grinned “Alittle kittenpretendingtobe a bigcat All puffedup LikeOliverfromOliver &Company. ”
Tommyfrowneddramatically.“Fuckyou,I’mnotakitten.”
“Yousure?You’recuteasone.”
Toolate,herealizedwhathe’dsaid Boysdidn’tcalleachother cute,notinaplatonic,giving-each-other-shitway Notin anyway He’dbeenteasing,his grinshit-eatingandhis toneplayful,butwhenTommy’s faceblankedinsurprise,thebottom felloutofLawson’sstomach.
Ashesat,handsfrozen,facefrozen,breathfrozeninhislungs,hesawTommy’sfaceslowlycolor,cheeksadarkpurple beneaththeblueandpinklightsoverhead.
“I…”Lawsonstarted,panicking,andTommyturnedhisheadaway,browslowering,mouthpinchingtoaflatline.“Iwas onlykidding Youknow: talkingshit Like Ialways do” He coughed outanairless laugh “You’re notactuallycute Ithink you’rebutt-assugly,dude”
Tommyglancedback,hisscowldeepening,andsaid,“Fuckyou,I am cute.”WhenLawsongapedathim,asmiletipped upthecornersofhismouth,andtheknotinLawson’schestunraveled.
“Oh,youwish,”hesaid,smiling,andinternallyhesaid, oh thank God, thank God I didn’t ruin anything, I couldn’t bear for you to hate me “You’renothalfascuteasme”
Tommyrolledhiseyesdramatically Pressedhishandstothetable,asthoughhemeanttogetup “IfyouthinkI’mgonna sithereandtakethisslander–”
LawsonwhippedHelloKittyathim.
Grinning again, Tommy snatched it fromthe air – and then settled it into his lap, gaze skirting out across the arcade, towardtherink.Hesighed,smilequieting;stillthere,butlessbright,moreintrospective.
Hegotlikethissometimes:thoughtful Alittlewithdrawn,alittlemelancholy Laughingandbright-eyedoneminute,and thensober and fadingawaythe next Lawsonwondered ifithad to do withhis father, buthadn’tbeenbrave enoughto ask Tommy mentioned himrarely, and then with a careful sort of hesitance that said he didn’t want to dig too deeply, that the woundswerestillfresh.
SoLawsonsatwithhimincompanionablesilence;joinedhiminsurveyingStardust’sneoninterior.
Itwasthecouples’skateontherinknow,kidsskatingslowlyhand-in-sweaty-nervous-handbeneaththerevolvingmood lighting,theBackstreetBoysbeggingyoutoquitplayinggameswiththeirhearts.
LawsonsparedathoughtforTommy’sfine-bonedhandinhis;woulditbeclammy?Wouldhelacetheirfingerstogether? Or,moreaccurately,wouldheyankhishandawayindisgustandcallhimnames?Familiarthoughts,lately,onesthatlefthim swallowingahotlumpofshame,whilehisgutburnedwithahungerthatlefthisteethgrittedandhispulsethrobbingquickand painfulinhisfingertips
Lostinhis spiralingthoughts,ittookhima momentbefore he realizedthatthe couple who’djustpassedwere familiar Thatheknewthegirl’sgoldenhair,andtheboy’sbroadshoulders.
“Shit,”hebreathed,jerkinguprightthesamemomentTommygasped.
Theyturnedtoeachother,eyeswide,thenbacktotherink,theneachotheragain.
“That’s–”
“Didyou–”
“Dana,”Lawsonsaid.
“Noah,”Tommyreturned.
“Did you know?”theyaskedeachotheratthesametime.Shooktheirheads,andlookedbackoutattherink.
Thelightsspunpink,andgreen,andblue,andpurple,andDanaturnedherheadtogazeupatNoah,herprofilebeatific.
Here’s my two cents: regret doesn’t taste nearly as bitter as fear.
Lawsonwakes thenextmorningwithcottonmouth,athrobbingheadache,andastreakofpanicdownhis spinewhenhe realizesthesuniscomingupandhe’slyingface-downonDana’scouch.
He pushes up onhis hands and swallows againsta wave ofnausea. He blinks, and his visionstays blurry, because he sleptinhiscontacts.“Fuck.”
MovementandablurofpalebluetohisleftsignalsDana’sarrival.Sheperchesontheedgeofthecoffeetableamidsta cloudofherusualfloralperfume Acomfortingsmell,normally,butnowitpunchesathisgagreflex,andhepressesaclammy handtohislips
“Goodmorning,”shesayspleasantly,“don’tblowchunksonmysofa.”
Lawsongroansandsits–slowly–backonhisheels.Blinksalittlemore,andtugsathislowereyelidswithhisfingertips, andtheroomcomesmostlyintofocus,thoughthedried-outcontactsburnhiseyeslikeabitch.Whilehetriestokeephisgorge down, he sees thatDana is dressed insweats and her fluffyblue bathrobe, whichmeans it’s still earlyenoughthatshe isn’t readyforwork Sheholdstwosteamingmugs,andholdsoneouttohim “Coffee?”
His stomachchurns sourly, buthe doesn’tthinkhe candrive withoutit. “Thanks.” The heatofthe mugbleeds into his palms,andthesharpscentofFrenchroastwithonlyadashofcream,nosugar,shavesthefinestedgesoffhishangover.
“I’mmakingbagels,”shesays,andgetstoherfeet.
“Mm You’realifesaver”
“Don’tIknowit”
Heshiftsaroundsohecanpresshisbaretoesintotherug,andtakescarefulsipsofcoffee.Ithelps.Notwiththeshame–there’snofixingthat.He’sfairlycertain,thoughthedetailsarefuzzy,thathespilledfarmoredetailsabouthispastwithTommy Cattaneo thanLeo wanted or asked for. He knows he cried at some point, canremember the pitiful sound ofhis ownlittle choked-backsobs
Ugh He’safuckingmess
Leo’s nothere now, thankfully, to give himanymore sympathetic looks thathe can’thandle. He sips more coffee, and listenstoDanaputteraroundthekitchen,andwincesagainstthefirstpalefingersofsunlightspillingacrossthefloorboards… Sunlight.
Morning.
NancythenightnursealwaysseestogettingDadbathedandinbed,butshedoesn’tspendthenight,whichmeansDadis Lawson’sresponsibilitythenextmorning
Amorningwhichisnow,andinwhichhe’snotathome.
“Fuck!”Heboltstohisfeet,sloppinghotcoffeeoverhishand–“shit,shit”–andontothetable,whichhestoopshastily towipewiththetailofhisshirt.
“What?What’swrong?”Danacomestothedoorway,wieldingaknifefrostedwithcreamcheese
Lawsonpatsfranticallyathisjeanspockets,searchingforhisphone,hiskeys,neitherofwhichhefinds “Shit Mydad–I’msupposedto–”
“It’sokay.Hey,”Danasays,walkingtowardhimwhenhestartsflippingcouchcushions.“Law. Stop. ”
Hedoes,butonlybecauseshegripshisarm.He’sbreathinghard,andflop-sweating,andthesun’salreadyup,andMom haswork,andDadis–Dadis–
“Breathe,”Danasays,notunkindly Shesqueezeshisforearm “Leoheadedovertoyourplaceaboutanhourago,andhe textedmewhenhegotthere Yourdad’sfine YourmomwasgonnamakeLeobreakfastasathankyou”
Brainbothsluggishandpanicked,ittakeshimabeatbeforethewordssinkin.Whentheydo,hiseyesburnforawhole newreason,andhesqueezesthemshutbeforehesinksbackdowntothecouch.“Fuck,”hesaysagain,withfeeling.
Danarakeshernailsthroughhishair,anddespitehisheadacheandskinsensitivity,theraspagainsthisscalpfeelsnice, theperfectdegreeofpressure “It’sokay”
“No,”hechokesout,wipingathiseyes “No,it’sreallynot”
“Hey.”Shesitsdownacrossfromhimonthetable,sotheirkneesarepressedtogether,andtapsathischinuntilhecracks
his eyes open Whenhe does, he finds her head tipped to one side, her eyes impossiblysoft, softer thanshe ever shows the worldoutsideofhimand,hopefully,Leo They’veknownoneanothertheirwholelives,andsoshedoesn’tneedtogivevoice toeverythinghergazesays,butshedoesanyway,becausesheknowshiminsideandout,andknowsthatwordsarehistrade, hislovelanguage,andthatsometimesheneedsthemterribly.Likenow.
Shesmileswhenshehashisattention,ameaningful,scrappysmilestraightfromthesandbox,fromtheplayground,from underthebleacherswhenhebawledhiseyesoutoverTommy’srejectiontwentyyearsago That we ’ re in this together smile Me and you against the world “Youcan’tbeontopofeverythingallthetime That’safasttracktocrazy” “Youare.”
“Nope,I’mabsolutelynot,Ijust”–shetossesherponytail,sohe’llgrin–“makeitlooklikeIam.Allsmokeandmirrors, babe.”
“Ifuckedup”
“Nope” She grows softand serious again “Youhad a shittysurprise, and youcame to commiserate withyour friends overaglass–orsixorseven–ofwine.Now wehavetoprioritize.Theprioritiesare:youdidn’tdrivewhiledrunk,which youdidn’t.Thatyousleptsomewheresafe,whichyoudid.Andthatyourdadgothelpedoutofbed,andintohischair,whichhe did. And” – she holds up a hand whenhe starts to protest, throat stickywithshame and tears – “Leo was happyto do it, becausehelovesyou,andyoudon’towehimanything, because helovesyou.” Hesniffles
“Okay?”
“Thisisawkward,”hesays.“Leolovesmebuthe’sdatingyou.”
Shesocks himinthearm,smilegoingtoothy.“Asshole.”Thenshemelts again,sweetandsupportiveandeverythinghe doesn’tdeserve.“Okay?”sherepeats.
“No ButI’lltakeyourwordforit”
“Do Myword’sawesome”Shepatshisthighs,threebriskslaps,thenstandsandheadsbackforthekitchen “Getmore coffeeinyou.Bagelsincoming.”
Twocupsofcoffee,andonebagel later,he’sontheroad,blinkinglots,butabletosee,nauseous,butnotabouttobarf His heartstill hammers, and doesn’tstop until he lets himselfinto his kitchenbackhome and finds his parents and Leo all snuggedaround the long,too-formal diningtable where all their meals are takennow, since Dad’s chair is toobulkyfor the cafétableinthekitchen.
Three heads turntoward the sound ofthe door opening, and three faces smile, thoughDad’s is lopsided, as usual these days ThesightofitalwaystwistsaroundLawson’sheartlikeavicegrip,painfulandpalpitating
“Goodmorning,”Momsaysbrightly,glassescatchingtheearly,palesunlight,hidingthetiredsmudgesbeneathhereyes Lawsonknowsthey’rethere.
“Morning,”LeoandDadecho,quieter.
“Hi.” Lawson searches Leo’s face, quickly, for signs of resentment, anger, frustration. But his smile is soft and unassuming,andheduckshisheadbackoverhiseggsbeforeLawsoncanapologize.
Andhowcouldheanyway?InfrontofDad?
“There’sbaconandEnglishmuffinsonthestove,”Momsays Lawsongoestokissheronthecheek,andshakeshishead.“No,thankyou.Ialreadyate.” HeturnstoDad.“Yougoodthismorning?” Did Leo do okay?hedoesn’task.Justlikehedoesn’tsay I’m sorry, I’m so damn sorry, Dad.
Dadnods,ajerkyup-downfloppingmotionthesedays “I’m good”
AlumpformsinLawson’sthroat,sohenods LooksthentoLeo,andtriestoconveythedepthofhisthankswithaglance Leonods,lipsquirkingupward,andLawsonheadsuptotakeashower thinking,hoping,thatLeounderstandswhatthis favormeanstohim.
He’s workingthe noonto sixshift today, so he has time to shower, shave, make himself quasi-presentable, and drink plentyofwaterbeforeheclocksin.Hefeelsbetterbythen,alittleanxious,jittery,andashamedofhimselfafterhealwaysis afteranightofoverindulgence,butit’smanageable.Hisstomachhassettled,andheeatsasandwichbetweentakingordersto soothe his jangled blood sugar. Dana texts to ask how he’s doing, and sends back a string of kissy-face emojis when he
respondswithasimple better, thanks to u and leo
Bytwo,he’salmostmanagedtoforgetthatTommyCattaneowalkedintotheshopyesterdayandsenthimspinningoutof control.
Almost.
Thenthebelldings,andheshootsanabsentglancetowardthedoorovertheheadsofthecollegegirlswhoseordershe’s taking,andhisheartfallsdownintohisstomachlikeahotstone
Tommy’sback
Tommylooksabsolutelydevastating,withhishairslickedbackagain,inabespokebluesuit,blueshirt,bluetie,Burberry scarfthreadedbeneaththecollarofhiscamelhaircoat.Hisgazeflicksimmediatelytotheregister,landsonLawson,andstays pinnedthere,ashewendshiswaythroughthecrowdofstudents.
Tommyisalsonotalone WhenLawsondragshisgazefromhim,hopingtodistracthimselffromthefull-bodyshakesthat grippedhimthemomenttheymadeeyecontact,hespotstheelegantbrunettetrailingalonginTommy’swake
She’stall,alittletallerthanTommy,infact,thoughthatmightbedowntoherspikeheels.She’swrappedinanexpensive wool coat, but Lawsonspies the hemof a black dress beneath. Hair gleaming, Dior logo winking on the earpieces of her sunglasses,she’sreadingsomethingonherphone,notpayingattentiontohersurroundings,butit’sobvioussheandTommyare together;they’retoowell-matchedtobeanythingbut.
LawsonremembersTommy’shandspushingonhischest,onthebaseofhisthroat;gentlyatfirst,andthenfrantically The wetshineofhislipsinthegloaming,andthewildwhitesofhiseyes “Law, Law, wait, please – I can’t – I’m sorry, I can’t–” Ofcourse,hethinks.OfcourseTommyneverwantedhim.Whywouldhe,whenhecouldhavesomeonelikeher?
Lawson’safraidhissandwichisgoingtocomebackup.
He’safraidhe’llmakesomesortofscene–Godforbid,hemightburstintomessytears.
Instead,hefocusesonthegirlinfrontofhim,forcesasmilethatleavesherrecoilingalittle,andtakesherorder Andthe next,andthenext HestealsglimpsesofTommyandthewoman,nowstandingathisside;aringwinksonherlefthandwhen shetucksher hair behindher ear andasksTommysomethinglow andoffhand,withoutlookingathim.Lawson’sheartthrobs painfullyintheappleofhisthroat,andhispalmssweat,coinsstickingtohisfingerswhenhetriestohandthemover.
Heneedstoleave.Heneedsto run.Hecan’tdothis,he can’t–
Tommy’srightinfrontofhim.Notimetorun,notimetoevenbarf.There’snoonetocallovertotakehisplace.
Lawsoncloseshiseyesamoment,andtakesadeepbreath,evenifhelookscrazyfordoingso Ohfreakingwell
Talk to him,Dana’svoicesaysinhishead
He doesn’t know that he will, not really, not talk talk. But he canstand here, and take his order, and the order of his beautifulfiancée.
“Lawson.”Tommysounds strangled,andthatgivesLawsonthecouragetoopenhisyes,andlethisbreathoutinarush. He’snotashockthistime Tommyisn’tlookingathimwithwide-eyedsurprise,butwithhisbrowspinchedtogether,and hismouthturneddown Helookslikehisstomachhurts,likemaybehisheartisthrobbinglikeLawson’sis
“WelcometoCoffeeTown,”Lawsonsays.Hedoesn’tmanagetorattleofftheday’sspecials,butwhatever.“CanItake yourorder?”
Tommy’sfrowndeepens.“Law,”hestarts.
Lawsonsays,“Sir,we’reverybusythisafternoon.CanIpleasetakeyourordersoIcangettothenextcustomerinline?”
Lawsonwouldneverspeaktoanordinarycustomerthatway,buthecanfeelhisheartbeatinginhistongue,andhewants tosmoothopenthelapelsofTommy’sfancycoat,andhewantstoturnandthrowupinthesink,soheputsalittlesnapinhis voice.
Tommy’s lips compress,andhestares athim.Twentyyears later,andit’s thesame come on, man glare he usedtogive Lawsonwhentheywerebullshittingoneanother.WhenLawsongavehimanoogie,ortriedtoconvincehimthattimethatthe ghostofalittlegirllivedinthehandicaptoiletoftheSchneiderbuildingbathroominhighschool
Butthey’renotinschool,andit’sbeentwentyyears,andTommy’sallgrownupanddressedup,sohesays,“Yeah,two tallflatwhites,please.”
The womanlifts her head, pushes her sunglasses up onto her head to reveal lovelyblue eyes ringed indarkliner. She glancesbetweenthem,andsays,inanaccentedvoice,“Actually,Iwantamacchiato.”
“Oneflatwhiteandonemacchiato,”Tommysays.“Please.”Thelastissaidthroughhisteeth.
“I’mgoingtograbatable,”thewomansays,returnsherattentiontoherphone,andnavigatesthecrowdedshopwithout steppingonasingletoe,makingfortheemptywindowtablewhereLawsonsatwithDanadaysago Lawsonpunchesintheorder.“That’llbeeight-nineteen.”
Tommygiveshimthelookagain.
“Eight-nineteen,”Lawsonrepeats.
Tommyslidesoverablackcreditcardandsays,softly,checkingoverhisshoulderfirst “Lawson,canwetalk?Please?” Lawsonswipesthecard,wonderinghowrichTommyisthesedays.Wonderingwhythefuckhe’dwanttotalkhere,now, afterwhatwentdownthelasttimetheyspoke.
He remembers the bigSOLDsigninthe Cattaneo frontyard;the car gone;the windows empty. Tommygone, and nota singlewordofexplanation,notevenagoodbye.
“Sir,”Lawsonsays,firmly,slidingthecardback “Theline”
Tommystepssidewayswithasigh “Lawson,youcan’tjust–”
“Whatname?”LawsonpicksupacupandaSharpie,poisedandready.“Forthedrinks?”
Tommy’s nostrils flare ina waythatLawsonremembers, and whichtwists his stomachup ina dozenknots. “Tom,” he gritsout.
LawsonaddsanMandaY,justtobeadick
Andbecausenomattertheyearsanddistance,themanstandingacrossfromhimwillneverbe Tom tohim
