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37. Friend Zone

37

Friend Zone

After his apartment and the literary journal offices show no signs of him, I check for Truman in his next usual spot, between the buildings where English classes are held. I can smell the lingering scent of his clove cigarettes before I see him.

Truman, one foot resting on the brick wall of the building, watches me as I enter the walkway and head in his direction. “You’re going in the wrong direction. Shouldn’t you be running from me?”

“When did you develop a sense of humor?” I ask, leaning on the wall beside him, our shoulders touching.

“I’ve always been hilarious.”

“Not because you mean to be,” I say, finding it freakishly easy to talk to him after our last encounter. “The first time we met, you told me the first rule of book club is we all talk about book club.”

“That was funny.”

“It really wasn’t. But I liked how dorky and serious you were. The brooding older college guy thing really fed my age-gap romance fantasies.”

“I’m only a senior. I’m not so much older than you.”

“Old enough, daddy. Are you going to tell me what’s stressing you out or do you want me to guess?”

“How do you know I’m stressed?”

“You’re kind of obvious. We should never play poker. I know all your tells.”

“Are you sure you want the guy who broke your heart unloading on you?”

I laugh.

Truman raises an eyebrow at me.

“See, you aren’t intentionally funny,” I say, knowing he didn’t get it. “What’s up?”

He shakes his head. “Everything. I’m done here at the end of this year. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ve got no job. No prospects. It’s all ending. I guess I could go to grad school, but do I even want to? And when I’m around Scott and his friends, all I am is his college boyfriend. They’ve all accomplished things. Now I’m supposed to get up on a stage and interview all these authors who not only knew what their dreams were but followed them? I’m a hack. I haven’t done anything. I’m a nobody.”

I take Tru’s hand like I used to when we’d walk together after cleaning up from book club. I lace my fingers between his. “You put yourself through college. You became editor of the literary journal. You’re head of book club. You helped put on this festival. You’re not a nobody, because they don’t know who you are yet.”

“You always saw the best in me to a fault.”

“Because you let me. You should let more people see it.”

“I know this is a messed-up thing to say considering our history, but I really do regret not being able to take the rose from you,” Truman says. “I wasn’t fair to you. I never deserved you liking me.”

I squeeze his hand. “You were right not to. We’re better like this.”

We step away from the wall and Truman pulls me into a hug. When he doesn’t let go, I raise my arms up his back and rest my head on his shoulder.

“Do you think we’ll ever be friends again?” he asks.

“Only if you get funnier.”

His body shakes as he lets out a laugh. “Thanks for coming to find me.”

Hugging like this, I’m surprised the only thing I feel is comfortable. There’s no longing. No desire. No heat. No passion. No sorrow. No loss.

Luke stands at the end of the alleyway watching us.

I push back from Truman. In the second it takes me, Luke is gone.

“Is something wrong?” Tru asks me.

“You’ve got to get on stage, and I’ve got to talk to someone,” I say. I give Truman a push in one direction. I take off in the other.

“Stop,” I call after Luke after catching sight of him in the distance when I exit the alley. “Cut me a break. I’m fat and it’s hot and I hate running.”

Luke turns. “Was that your plan all along? To get him back? Or do you just rebound quickly?”

“It wasn’t what it looked like. We’re friends.”

“Same as Roger and I rehearsing wasn’t what it looked like? Or same as you and I were friends?”

I wrinkle my brow. “Wait. Go back to the rehearsing.”

“Why? It doesn’t matter now. You’re with Truman.”

“I’m not. I never was. I came running after you.”

“I don’t want to play games, Bobby,” he says. “I don’t want to be with someone I’m always trading accusations with. I don’t want to have to wonder if you giving me a book or closing a pool door or hugging some guy from your past is all part of one of your schemes.” He runs his hand through his hair, turning back and forth as if he’s trying to decide whether to walk away or not.

“You were never one of my plans,” I say.

“Why not?” he asks. “If you really liked me, why didn’t you plan for me?”

“Because once I figured it out, I thought I was too late.”

A car horn honks. We both jump and look in the direction of a modified hatchback. The guy who gave me the twenty dollars this morning is waving out the window.

“Hey, book boy!” he calls. “Do you know where I can park?”

I swallow and blink a few times before I answer, “A left out of this lot and follow the signs.”

He gives me a double thumbs-up. “Wish me luck. I’m about to meet my daughter.”

“Daughter?” I ask out loud.

He’s pulling away when I catch site of his bumper stickers, I’d Rather Be Raiding and an upside-down chicken with some curved lines coming out of it that make it looks like it’s somersaulting.

“Oh crap,” I say, my hands flying to my mouth. “chickn_backflip. We need to find Wanda, immediately. That’s her dad.”