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“Me too.” Norman follows suit.
Person after person steps forward and marches out the door, until the kitchen is nearly empty and only a few people remain.
I take one more look around before I walk out the door, too.
In front of the building, I find Maggie and the gang.
“Come on,” she says. “Drinks at the Blue Fox.”
I definitely need one.
Or twenty.
7
August
I rub my hands over my face a yawn as I settle in on the train. It’s been the week from hell. Everything that can go wrong has gone wrong, my mood is worse than ever before, and now I’m exhausted because my constant screw-ups at work meant I had to burn the midnight oil for two days straight.
Not that being at home holds that much appeal. My apartment feels even quieter than usual, making it abundantly clear how alone I am. Being lonely in the city is an interesting feeling. Technically there are millions of people around me, but since all but a few of them have no idea I exist, it somehow makes the loneliness even more pronounced.
I’m moping again. It’s my go-to setting ever since Caleb. Even Ryan noticed something was wrong, and that was through a phone with hundreds of miles between us. I was trying to sound normal, but I guess I didn’t pull it off.
I lean my head back and stare at the ceiling of the subway car as the train rattles on. The clack-clack-clack of the wheels on the tracks is a comfortable source of white noise.
“You’re a real dick!”
My eyes fly open, and I scramble to straighten myself, ready to apologize for whatever slight I’ve committed.
The words die in my throat when I see the man standing in front of me. Caleb is swaying slightly like he’s standing on a windy cliff. He’s wearing black pants and a white chef’s jacket and nothing else. No coat, no scarf, no gloves.
“Where’s your coat?” I blurt. It’s really not the weather for rolled-up sleeves. I’m staring, but I can’t help it. Caleb’s exposed forearms are most likely going to play a starring role in my fantasies for a while to come.
Caleb looks confused for a second.
“Fuuuck!” he groans before he mutters, “Pub.”
He slumps down next to me and throws himself back against the seat, head lolling. He stares at the ceiling for a second before he turns toward me.
“You’re a dick,” he repeats, words more than a little slurred. “A real, grade-A dick.”
He’s a mess. Doesn’t mean I want to sit here and listen to him insult me.
“You’re one to talk,” I mutter.
I can feel his eyes on the side of my face, but I stare right ahead. It’s not my first rodeo with a closeted guy married to a woman. The moment I confront him, he’s going to let out a sob story where he and his wife are on the brink of divorce. I’ve heard it all before.
Shit, I should really make better choices in life.
“What’d I do? You’re the one who fucking stood me up.” He frowns. “You did, right? This isn’t some alternate reality shit where it’s only tomorrow, but I think it’s been a week?”
I blink. “I have no idea what you just said.”
He straightens himself and points his index finger at me.
“By all means, let’s get the facty-facts straight. I asked you out. You said yes. Correct?”
I nod.
