Page 67 of Down Bad

And I don’t have much time to dwell on it, because: “Wyatt!” I barely get my head turned before Bonnie’s thrown her long arms around me. “You look adorable! Ahh, I can’t stand it!”

“S-Same!” I manage while squished against her chest. (There’s a lot of chest.) I free myself to find her bearded husband Kirk next to her offering an apologetic grimace. Ten-year-old Kirkland sulks next to him. Or is he eleven yet? “Enjoying the festivities?”

“Hardly,” blurts Bonnie. She may be a few drinks in. “Anthony’s so boring now that he doesn’t drink as much as he used to—I blame Bridger—and Pete and Juni don’t wanna travel with their newborn, which I guess I get, but—” She finally notices Diego sitting next to me. Her whole tone changes. “Well, hi there. Are you the new hunk at the auto shop Joel’s been goin’ on about?”

Diego stares back at her, appearing understandably uncertain how to respond.

She turns back to me. “He’s quiet.”

Kirk shouts, “Yo, Jeremiah!” and heads off. Bonnie chases him, grumbling, “As if you don’t see these people every day,” with her sulky kid trailing behind.

We don’t have a second to breathe before Tanner and Billy show up making the rounds, with Tanner already cracking jokes about his brother Jimmy’s big dance number later tonight. “Dude’s been rehearsing his booty off like he ain’t done one of these things every year!” Lance and Chad get involved, Chad insisting there’s no way they can outdo their number from last year. “Y’all better pay attention tonight,” chimes in Billy, uncharacteristically loose and carefree, his bowtie cockeyed, “because Jimmy added a crazy lift at the end that’s gonna have Cissy prayin’ she has insurance.”

A little girl races between the tables with three balloons tied around her wrist, soon followed by an apologetic father—oh, it’s Dr. Emory, not her father—attempting to capture her before she goes and clotheslines someone in heels. Is that his granddaughter? Does he have a granddaughter? Who the heck’s the girl?

The table behind us explodes into laughter. Someone’s drink is spilled, narrowly missing me. Tanner and Billy get lost cracking Tyrone and Omar up over a shared experience involving rogue sparklers this past Fourth of July right here in this backyard. Kelsey, the Kings’ daughter, is bored stiff, until something catches her eye and she springs from the table with a, “Toby! Vann! Over here! Hey!” then flying away squealing, her fathers chuckling to each other.

I turn to Diego, worried this is all too much.

Instead, I find him with a strangely calm expression, eyebrows lowered slightly as if in deep and immersive thought, taking it all in with an eerie sort of peace.

I recognize Marcos in his eyes at once.

The pensive, observant, kicking-back-watching-the-craziness expression that would take over his face at many a gathering.

I wonder if Marcos’s brother was like that, too. Wielding that specific sense of not quite being detached from the world. Just taking the madness in slowly, one breath at a time.

“You alright?” I ask.

I worry I was too quiet to hear, until after a moment, he says, “Yeah.”

Not sure if he means it. Or trying to convince himself. Lance explodes into laughter again, shaking the table. The little girl—still as free as an open flame—rushes by yet again, with the pursuing doctor stopping for breath, hunched over, gasping.

I notice Diego’s glass is empty. “Wanna get another drink?”

He glances at me.

Studying my face.

I gaze back at him, taken by the serenity in his eyes. All of the madness around us seems to dull whenever we look at each other.

Then he gives me a nod. “Sure.”

We’re out of our seats.

No one notices.

—14—

Diego

I don’t need another drink.

Neither does Wyatt.

We both know that.

“Is it always like this?” I ask after dodging two kids racing by our legs.