Page 21 of Road Queens
CHAPTER NINE
He went home.
Of course he went home; where else was he going to go? Loitering in the alley and staring longingly at the door now locked against him, while a fine way to kill six hours, was a terrible plan. Getting drunk and subsequently dealing with an Uber, also not a great idea. Checking out a bookstore Amandadidn’town? Sacrilege. Grocery shopping?
Last one’s the charm.He pulled off Highway 61 to hit Kowalski’s, then loaded up on pancetta, cream, a chunk of good parm, garlic, butter, an Oreo pie crust sans filling, dark-brown sugar, a box of cavatappi, eggs, and whole milk.
Then he realized he’d bought ingredients to make two of Amanda’s favorite dishes and nearly groaned. Last year, he’d made a conscious decision to pull back from following the remains of OpStar on social media. He’d told himself it was well past time; it had been years since OpStar had disbanded. It had been still more years since he’d seen Amanda. Time to move on. Not that there was anything to move on from. So even better! And maybe if he went through the motions, he’d eventually feel it.
Spoilers: not only did that plan fail, but he couldn’t delete what he’d already read. He couldn’t unremember she loved carbonara, butterscotch pudding, and every kind of Oreo. Just like he couldn’t stophimself from keeping an eye on the three of them over the years, partly out of insatiable curiosity and partly so that if they ran into a jam, then there’d be a chance he could help them.
Fine. No biggie. It’s not like he wouldn’t use the groceries. Because he also loved carbonara and custard! Amanda Miller did not have a monopoly on adoring rich, cheesy pasta and creamy, buttery pudding! He would make her favorite things and devour them alone, and oh, hell, while he was being pathetic, he should sit in the dark too. Yes, perfect: gobbling pasta and chasing it with pudding. All he needed was Gollum’s ratty loincloth and then he was set for a magical Saturday night.
Never mind. Time to focus. Now that he was in his neighborhood, it was crucial that he come to a full stop at the intersection, and not just because of the stop sign. He lived in the Schoolhouse Square town houses in Hastings, Minnesota; the place was newish (it went up about a decade ago) in a mostly quiet neighborhood. His town house was at the end of the block, just past the blind corner, which set up the illusion of having a much bigger yard than his neighbors’. The perk was offset by his actual neighbors, who had a way of coming out of—
WHAM!
“How ’boutthat?”
—nowhere.
Sean didn’t scream (this time). Benny Sol was still learning to master his inline skates; it had been a grueling thirteen weeks. “Check this, Sean!”
“Hi, Benny.” The kid had come out from the blind corner and fetched up hard against Sean’s car. “Not to be discouraging, but is it possible you’re getting worse?”
“Anything’s possible,” Benny grunted. He was doing that beginner thing where he groped along the side of Sean’s car while his skated feet scrabbled to find purchase on the pavement as he simultaneously struggled not to do involuntary splits while trying to remain upright. “Played hockey for three years; how is this so hard?”
“I tried to explain; it’s not the—”
“Wait’ll you see,” Benny puffed. “Y’won’t be—waaggh!” Sean could hear the squeaks of Benny’s fingers clutching and grappling for purchase. “If I had any fingernails, I woulda just snapped ’em all off. Agggghh, my adductors!”
“Please stop and stand still, and let me help you,” Sean begged. The boy’s dogged will was awe inspiring and not a little terrifying. It was the same strength of focus that brought Hastings hockey to state finals and Benny to the University of Minnesota’s premed program on a full ride. “Before this gets so much worse. It counts as skating by yourself if a full-grown man holds you up. I promise.”
“Liar!”
“It’s true. Ask your mom if you don’t believe me.”
“Pass. Now look!” Benny had somehow straightened to his full height of six feet six, then pushed away from Sean’s car with tented fingers. For twenty-four glorious inches, Benny Sol was skating backward. Well. Rolling backward.
Annnnnnd then he wasn’t.
Sean already had his seat belt off and his feet on the pavement, checked again for traffic, then hurried over and heaved Benny to his skates. “Y’know, a lot of guys your age would be trying out their graduation present.”
“Driving’s easy,” the college freshman retorted, waving away the mere mention of his red Mazda. “This is a challenge. I’ve got knee and elbow pads; why don’t they make butt pads? And don’t tell me about subcutaneous fat. I know all about subcutaneous fat. Whee!” Sean had gotten him up and wheeled him to the cushion of grass between the sidewalk and the street. Benny pinwheeled his arms like every luckless cartoon character about to fall, then ... fell. Face first. On grass this time, so Sean took it as a win.
“Well,” Sean began, then stopped. The platitudes (“Keep at it!” and “You’re getting the hang of it!” and “Gosh, you’re getting better each day!”) were all lies. “Uh.”
“I’m not just out here mastering my skates along with my destiny,” Benny said to the grass.
Might be time to scream again.“You mean there’s more?”
Benny heaved himself over onto his back, sprawled in the grass like a scarecrow about to be crucified for the good of the harvest. He puffed shaggy brunette bangs out of his eyes; the kid always looked like he was overdue for a trim. He wasn’t; his mop of shaggy brown waves just grew fast. “My mom wanted me to ask you to dinner.”
“I’m not taking your aunt out again. Sorry, that came out wrong. And way too fast.”
“No, it didn’t,” he replied cheerfully, dark eyes almost disappearing as he smiled wide. “No worries, Mom’s off that plan. She still feels bad about Aunt Anne going through your wallet and then barfing on your wallet.”
“Definitely the highlight of the Fourth of July picnic.”
