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I paused. Is this a good idea?
Not sure I wanna hang out with you, Parker. It was too much fun the last time.
C’mon, Ace. I’ll be on my best behavior.
I tapped my fingernails against the desk as I thought about this. Finally, I said, Guess I’m a glutton for punishment. What’s your schedule look like for tomorrow?
My schedule is decidedly freer, given the circumstances. When do you get off work?
5 PM.
Great. Meet at the old spot? Our park?
Our park.My heart sighed. He still thought of it as our park, too. Memories of us pointing out penis-shaped clouds—me, reluctantly, Andrew, enthusiastically—along with us sitting on the cement bench while it was still drying, flooded my memory. Our park. So much had changed since we christened it so.
Sure,I said finally.Works for me. See you then.
Until then.
“So what do you think they did with it?”
I laughed and shrugged. “Who knows? It took them long enough to replace it.”
“Indeed.”
We both looked down at the new wooden bench that had replaced our old cement one. Andrew stroked the wood with one finger, teeth worrying his bottom lip. For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of sadness in his eyes, but then he looked at me and smiled. I closed my eyes against the sudden onslaught of tingles, the breath knocked from my body with just one awkward-kid smile.
“How are your shoulders doing?” he asked.
I opened my eyes and frowned at him. “My shoulders?”
“Yeah. Are they comfortable up there by your ears?”
I rolled my eyes but consciously lowered my shoulders to their regular position. “Very funny.”
“I like to think I’m hilarious, actually. A barrel of laughs, even.”
“Yeah, maybe you should become a comedic writer. Or join Clown College.”
“Alright, alright, Jones. You wanna sit or what?”
We both plopped down on this decidedly lesser bench and sighed. I unpacked our ice cream from my plastic bag and handed Andrew his cherry ice cream. He shook his head and pushed it away from him. “No, thanks.”
I raised my eyebrows and turned toward him fully. “Andrew Parker, turning down food? Are you sick?”
“Nope, just watching my figure.”
I gave him a once-over, feeling the laughter bubble up from the depths. When we were in high school, no matter how much he ate, Andrew never seemed to gain weight. Granted, he packed on the pounds now, seemingly all in muscle. I laughed to cover up the fact that I, too, was watching Andrew’s figure. Or trying not to.
As I wiped tears from my eyes and hiccupped, he said, “Okay, you don’t have to laugh that hard. Give me the Cherry Garcia so I can eat my feelings.”
I handed it over and opened my Phish Food. “I haven’t laughed that hard in years.”
“Well, you never did laugh as hard at anything as you laughed at me.”
We smiled at each other.
“So, you’re getting married.”
