Page 46 of We Could Be So Good
He tries to clear his head. He doesn’t want to fuck this up, doesn’t want to alienate Andy, but he’s probably going to fuck it up anyway because he doesn’t know what he’s doing. But youknow what, their friendship is solid enough to withstand a couple of fuckups. Andy propositioned him and they got over it, and they’ll get over it if Nick screws this up somehow. He meant what he said when he told Andy that they were always going to be okay, and he thinks Andy feels the same.
“What’s this?” Andy asks, holding up a little glass jar of cumin.
“It goes in polpette,” Nick says, naming one dish he knows he has made Andy. “Meatballs.”
“This?” Now it’s a jar of red pepper flakes.
Nick takes the jar and sprinkles a modest quantity on the eggs. “You’ll find out,” he says, beaming angelically. “Set the table, pest.” He carries the pan over to the table and puts it on a folded dish towel.
“Oh,” Andy says a few minutes later, reaching for his glass of water, “so that’s what the red pepper flakes do.”
“Mm-hmm,” Nick agrees, shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “You have maybe four flakes of pepper on your eggs, so don’t moan about it. It’s good for you.”
“Likely story.” But he keeps eating.
Steeling himself, Nick nudges Andy under the table with his foot. Andy looks up, curious. Nick fixes him with his best look, exactly what he’d use in a bar or even on the street in the right part of town.
Andy goes pink. Even his ears are pink.
Nick reaches out to push a loose strand of hair off Andy’s forehead.
“What are you doing?” Andy asks.
“Uh,” Nick says, because he isn’t prepared with any kind of answer. He was hoping Andy would understand, would meet him halfway.
“Right.” Andy sighs. “I don’t think I can eat any more.” He gets up.
Well, Nick supposes that settles it. Even if Andy’s attracted to him, he doesn’t want to do anything about it. Nick is mortified, but better to figure this out now than later. It’ll be embarrassing for a few days and they’ll get over it. That’s the important thing, not the heavy lump of disappointment that’s settled in his stomach.
Before he can figure out what to do next, what to say to return things to normal, Andy speaks again.
“So,” Andy says as he rinses his dish in the sink. “I have news.”
“Oh?”
He turns to face Nick, his hands gripping the edge of the sink behind him. “I’m going to Washington with Bob Diamond,” he says, naming theChronicle’s Washington correspondent. “Next weekend there’s going to be a march for school integration. Dr.King is going to speak.”
This, Nick guesses, is Andy’s father’s attempt to get Andy experience covering national news. It makes sense. It also means that Andy’s time at the city desk is probably coming to an end.
But it’s good news for Andy, and Nick tries to sound like he’s happy about it.
“That’s great,” Nick says. “When are you going?”
“Tomorrow morning.” Andy is resolutely looking at some spot just beyond Nick’s ear.
“Tomorrow?” Nick frowns. “And the march is next weekend?”
“This way I can get the lay of the land beforehand.”
Probably this means that Andy is going to spend the week shadowing Bob or meeting other reporters. Still, though. He’s leaving tomorrow and hasn’t thought to mention it until now? That isn’t like Andy. He hasn’t even packed.
“What time do you need to wake up?” Nick has a sense that all airplanes leave at ungodly hours.
Andy looks away. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to talk to my father.”
“He didn’t let you know? Or—wait—you didn’t plan on going until now.” That’s fine. Andy is allowed to make spur-of-the-moment decisions. He doesn’t need to explain his every move to Nick. There’s no reason for Nick to be taking this personally, but he’s doing it anyway.
“It’s a good opportunity,” Andy says, which answers none of Nick’s questions. “They’re expecting tens of thousands of marchers.”
