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It was in the same lounge they had met six years prior. Nathan had approached and asked if he was the new psychiatrist but Dayton had been so distracted by the electric green glasses washing out his deep copper complexion that he’d had to ask him to repeat himself.
He was much the same though he’d traded the tacky eyewear for a pair of black, square frames.
“This batch of 1101 students are giving me hell and we’re only two weeks in. Right hand to God, I’ve never met a group of kids this thick-headed.” Nathan let loose his weird, stilted laughter. “You should come and check it out if you have some downtime. It’s one of those things you have to see to believe.”
Kenna had given him hell, too. She tested his restraint every day but when she’d parted her sweet lips and demanded that he give her something to do he had lost himself in the possibility of the request before his sanity resurfaced. No doubt they had different tasks in mind.
The microwave’s shrill dinging disrupted the memory. Steaming tupperware in tow, Nathan joined him at the table. Dayton lacked an appetite but he peeled the flesh of the clementine anyway. He always felt off when he smoked his afternoon blunt on an empty stomach.
“Why do you get all of the entertainment? Here I am, living out one of the most anti-climactic careers in psychiatric history. Maybe I can stop by one day. My schedule is a little out of whack since Raza dumped that high-strung senior on me.”
“Oh yeah, how is that going?”
“It’s an experience, alright. I don’t want to talk about it now. I was with the bloodsucker all morning.”
“Charlaine’s been driving me nuts about the wedding cake.” Nathan spoke between bites of his alfredo. Flecks of sauce dotted his chin. “She thinks the world is going to spontaneously combust if we don’t pick the right flavor. What the hell does that even mean, therightflavor?”
“Just nod and go along with whatever she says.”
Superficiality ruled their bubble of male bonding. They didn’t know anything deeply personal about one another and stuck to core topics. Women. College football. Academia.
Nathan did most of the talking, but Dayton didn’t mind. They’d settled into their friendship like one of those rare marriages that lasts an eternity, carrying with it an aura of mystique. It just worked.
“By the way, I got the invite in the mail. Why’d you waste a stamp when you could’ve hand-delivered it?”
“I wanted to bring it to you, but Charlaine insisted that we send all of our invitations by mail. She did the same for her co-workers. Waste of time and postage, if you ask me—of course, she didn’t.”
“I’d have to agree with you but, hey, what do we know about weddings?”
Dayton often felt like an impostor during these interactions. In the beginning, he thought it might have been too complicated to pursue their friendship. He had much to hide. Protect. Moreover, socialization didn’t exactly align with his regimented way of life. But Nathan had weaseled in through the cracks and he’d grown too fond of him to kick him to the curb.
They rose from the table and headed for the door, lingering in the hallway outside of the lounge. That final, cordial hesitance before parting ways.
“Pick you up at 7:30?” Dayton asked.
“I’m glad it’s your turn to drive. I could stand to knock back a few after the week I’ve had, you know what I mean?”
“Trust me, I know the feeling.”
Kenna stared at her open closet for what felt like an entire day as the distorted sound of Led Zeppelin filled her bedroom. It was a casual trivia outing with classmates. She knew she was overthinking it but she couldn’t help herself. A hidden, foolish part of her brain was hung up over the possibility of meeting a guy at the bar. Things had been stagnant in the romance department since she’d been a student at Ponderosa.
She didn’t necessarily mind the absence.
Without a romantic attachment, she was free to study herself into the ground, to play guitar until the early hours of the morning. But sometimes she ached for another’s touch.
A familiar tension spread in Kenna’s chest as her fingers absentmindedly swiped across the rack of fabric. Reid Emerson. His name flowed through her mind like poison.
He’d torn everything within her asunder and she remained convinced that, even after all this time, she hadn’t fully stitched herself back together.
Alex abstained from dating and the longer Kenna was exposed to the preachy philosophy, the more she adopted it as her own. Alex was right. College was a place where one should get to know and learn how to take care of oneself.
“If you aren’t a complete person, you can’t handle being in a relationship.” The clothes in the closet were her only audience as she stated the mantra.
Robert Plant’s suggestive vocals competed with her mantra and insisted that he still loved her so, couldn’t let her go. It was a voice that encouraged sin. She refused to be seduced by his innuendo or anything else.
Besides, she didn’t have time to pursue a dating life now that she’d chained herself to Dr. Merino.
Combing through the scarce selection of clothes a final time, she yanked a chunky-knit olive sweater from its hanger and grabbed a pair of black leggings from the shelf above. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she wiggled her feet into a pair of brown ankle boots. She flipped her head over and shook her hair out of the bun it had been prisoner to all afternoon. Kenna had manufactured it in haste that morning when Dr. Merino, dissatisfied with her janitorial performance, had asked her to scrub his baseboards. She brought her nails to her nose and recoiled. They reeked of cleaning supplies, a sharp malodor that persisted despite countless rounds of hand washing.
