“I know, man. When I can figure out where to start. Today’s been.” I wave my hand around vaguely.
Logan grins. “Oh, yeah. I know that feeling. Let it sink in. Come over tomorrow and we’ll lift and you can ask me anything you’ve come up with.”
I tip my chin at his injuries. “You’re up to that?”
“I didn’t say I’d be lifting much.”
I hug him again, still feeling like I’ve come much too close to losing my best friend. “See you tomorrow.”
I give Emily a hug before they head one way and I head another. The playgroup’s almost mid-way between Logan’s and mine. Convenient.
It’s a sunny, summer day in the city. There’s a bit of a breeze that cools the sun’s fierce heat. I’m not even sweating by the time I reach my building. My mood’s dipped as I’ve walked, despite the weather. A weight’s grown on the back of my neck that has nothing to do with the sun beating down. It’s the prickly feeling that I’ve done something wrong by not responding to Cynnie’s invitation.
Not even several hours of Dutiful with my favorite wingman and several bottles of microbrew shakes that prickly feeling. Whether cowed by my threat, or just wanting to sleep in her own bed, Ty’s mother is home for once and I send him back to his own apartment at ten with a stern warning not to drink any soda before bed. Since he can’t stop talking about seeing Dakota tomorrow, I think he’ll try to get a decent night sleep so he’s not stumbling for the bus in the morning.
eight
After Ty leaves,I turn off my rig, switch over to Jim Beam, and wallow on my beanbag. The booze makes the uncomfortable prickle spread to my stomach. Finally, when I can’t stand it anymore, I pick up my main phone and text Emily.
I must catch her just before bed, which I know is midnight without exception. She texts me back almost instantly with a number and a message.
Emily: Cynnie said she hopes you call her tonight.
I will, I promise.
But it takes me several more minutes to work up the courage to press the number. It’s only when I see the minutes ticking toward midnight and realize Cynnie might have a bedtime, too, that I finally thumb the number.
She answers on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hi, Cynnie. It’s Max.”
Am I slurring? I don’t think I’m slurring. I hope I’m not slurring. Damn, I should have just stuck to those beers.
“Hi, Max,” she says, with the tiniest lisp on my name. “I’m glad you called.”
“It’s not too late, is it?”
“No, it’s fine. It was so nice to meet you today.”
“Yeah, it was great to meet you, too.” The alcohol takes my tongue and I blather, “I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings. I would like to have dinner with you. If the offer’s still open. Or anything else you’d like to do. Doesn’t have to be dinner. Or you could have dinner here. Would that be better? If I cooked dinner for you? Or would you rather go out?”
“Um—”
There’s an awkward gap and I stumble over my tongue to fill it. “Or we could see a movie? Do you like movies?”
“I like movies, but I’d love to have dinner at your place.”
That finally slows the terrible tumbling of words. “Yeah? How about tomorrow? Are you free tomorrow? Or is that too soon? Is Tuesday better?”
Maybe the terrible tumbling hasn’t completely stopped. At her sweet giggle, it finally does.
“Tomorrow’s great.”
“Great, that’s great.”
“Could you text me your address?”
“Yeah, I’ll do that right now.” I flip my phone over to messages and type her out my address. “It’s on East Tenth. Are you far away? I mean, you don’t have to tell me where you live. I’m not trying to be invasive?—”
