“We did not have sex, goddammit!”
The father of the family sitting across the aisle clears his throat. I look over and find the mother covering the oldest kid’s ears.
“Uh, sorry. So sorry,” I stammer before turning back to Dylan and whispering again. “No s-e-x occurred.”
He laughs at me and continues speaking in a normal tone. “Okay, so did you, like, spoon? Cuddle? Keep each other warm through the chilly April night? Get to any...bases?”
“No, man!” I let out a groan. “Nothing like that. We’re still just friends. She got home and found her boyfriend cheating on her and couldn’t find anywhere else to stay.”
“Oh.” Dylan blinks a few times. “Oh damn. So...you didn’t even spoon just a little?”
I give up on words and just start throwing salt packets at him. Of course, that’s exactly when our waitress arrives with the food. She takes in the sight of the flying sodium and just shakes her head, putting the plates down and leaving us to continue disturbing the peace.
Dylan and I might need to find a new diner. This one won’t want us back after today.
Over the course of our meal, I fill Dylan in on the rest of the events of last night: how I picked DeeDee up at X’s place, how she seemed pretty shaken by the whole thing. I leave out the staying up together until 4AM thing, but I do give him the rest of the story about my bookcase back scratch and how flighty DeeDee got this morning. It’s been driving me crazy all day, and it feels good to get it out to someone—even someone who repeatedly asks if I’m sure we didn’t spoon.
“I don’t know what the hell happened,” I finish. “I just offered her breakfast, and she like, wilted. It was like a switch flipped somewhere. Should I not have offered? Is that bad etiquette or something? Is ‘breakfast’ some code word I don’t know?”
“Only you would wonder if something was ‘bad etiquette,’ but to answer you, no. I don’t see how anything you did was wrong.”
“So why did she leave like that? I mean, of course it’s not like she had to stay. It’s not like I expected it. She’s got a life to live. She’s got things to do. I just...”
“What?” Dylan prompts.
I attack the remains of my omelette with my knife. “She could have stayed. I want her to know that she could have. I want her...I want her to be safe. I want her to know she’s safe with me.”
“Zach.” Dylan pops a home fry in his mouth and then points his fork at me. “You ever thought about telling her how you feel?”
“What, like, just tell her she can stay as long as she wants? I already did, and—”
“That’s not what I meant.” He makes a show of rolling his eyes. “I mean telling her how you feel. It’s been years.” He lowers the fork, a mix of frustration and some emotion that goes way deeper than jokes about spooning slipping into his voice. “Don’t you think it might be time?”
Usually I put up a fight and toss out a few denials when anyone insinuates I have a thing for DeeDee, but that seems beyond futile today.
“I’m not going to be anything other than what she wants me to be. She’s got enough shitheads in her life.”
Dylan shakes his head. “You’re always being what other people want, what they need. Sorry for telling it like it is, but it’s true. DeeDee, Monroe, everyone at the bar—even the damn customers. I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this before, but you’re allowed to have feelings too. That doesn’t make you a shithead.”
“I know, but—”
“Hey.” I get a warning from the fork again. “I know where you’re going with this, and let me tell you, you can be honest with her without coming across as a guy with an agenda. There’s a difference between trying to get in a girl’s pants when she’s vulnerable and genuinely wanting to let her know how much you care about her.”
I let that one sink in. “I do care about her.”
He nods and stares at me with that same frustrated expression, like he’s got a piece of the puzzle I don’t. “I know you do.”
We move onto other subjects for the rest of the meal, but I’m still thinking about his advice by the time we leave the diner and part ways. I make it a few blocks up the sidewalk before lowering myself onto an empty bus stop bench and pulling out my phone.
I open DeeDee and I’s conversation. The last thing there is her text from last night. I feel the same sharp pang shoot through my chest when I read it again.
Hey, do you have a meme about a girl who doesn’t have anywhere to sleep tonight because she just walked in on her boyfriend screwing his ex?
She made a joke out of it—even in the midst of emotional turmoil, she found a way to put her sunshiny DeeDee spin on things—but the thought of her in pain like that makes me feel like tearing a mountain apart with my bare hands just to get to her.
I start typing in the message box.
Hey. I know you’ve got a lot going on, and maybe this isn’t the best time in the world to say it, but there are some things I want to tell you. Can we meet up?
God, it sounds like I’m about to announce the death of all her immediate relatives. I pound on the backspace key and start again.
Thanks for the patch up job. My spine will survive another day. If you’re not too busy, do you want to come over for dinner?
And now I just sound like I’m asking for Netflix and chill.
In the end, I send her a particularly poignant meme about tripping on air and a text Dylan would sucker punch me for writing.
Thanks for the patch up job. My spine will survive another day. You’re a great friend, and if you need to crash at mine again, it’s all yours. What are bros for, eh?
This is what we are to each other, what we’ve always been, and whatever anyone says, I can’t lay that on the line.
Seven
DeeDee
BITTERS: plant-based liquids with highly concentrated flavours used in the making of various cocktails
“And she was just there?”
“Yes,” I answer Roxanne. “Sucking his dick like a vacuum cleaner.”
“Sacrement, that’s horrible.” Roxy puts down her coffee and reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s no big deal. He was always kind of a jerk, wasn’t he?”
She nods. “You said it, not me, but...yes, he was. So where did you go after? I wish you had called me.”
We’re sitting at one of the tables in La Bareille, a microbrewery and cafe that Roxy is some sort of director person for. The place looks like a classed-up warehouse, with big front windows, high ceilings, and all the pipes and air ducts exposed. The back of the room is a huge glass wall that shows off all the beer making gear behind it.
I didn’t want to deal with X right away, so I texted Roxy after leaving Zach’s place to see if she wanted to hang out. She said she could take an early lunch and get us free pastries, so here we are.
I lick some croissant flakes off my thumb before I answer. “I just went to a friend’s place.”