18. Pick Up
T he hostess greets me with a half-pinned updo. “Daniel Whitmire,” I tell her, “for pickup.”
“Yes, please,” she replies, motioning me aside before turning toward the kitchen’s swinging doors.
I’m dressed well enough for a pickup—black jeans, charcoal button-down, sleeves rolled to the forearms. I promised Naomi I’d grab something special, my treat, partly to make up for the friction last night. We agreed on Thai, and I’m here ten minutes early.
“Sure, thanks,” I reply, relaxing to take in the atmosphere.
It’s a nice place, busy but comfortable, and I make a mental note to suggest we eat here next time.
I glance at the patio tables behind me while I wait.
How many couples? How many groups of friends?
How many of those two tops are on a date?
The restaurant is busy, but it is a Friday evening.
Warm lighting falls from the strings of overhead bulbs crisscrossing above the patio, casting a soft glow onto the outdoor tables.
The familiar smell of ginger, lemongrass, and something slightly charred—wok-fired basil at its edge—fills the air.
The place is cozy yet upscale, featuring reclaimed wood and potted orchids, with just the right amount of noise to blend the sound of individual conversations.
“Party of two—it’s under Bennett,” I hear behind me .
The voice stops me cold. I don’t have to turn—I already know it. My heart thuds once, hard. I keep my back to him, eyes fixed on the patio through the glass. Six feet. Maybe less. I could reach out and touch the edge of the hostess stand.
I remain frozen, hoping for a few more seconds of invisibility.
“Daniel Whitmire?” one of the hostesses calls, checking the receipt stapled to the paper bags.
“That’s me,” I say, slowly turning to take the order from her hands.
“Enjoy.”
Looking away from Kevin at first, he’s now clearly visible—and unavoidable.
The blond boy stands beside Kevin as the hostess confirms their table.
There are precious few seconds of unawareness when strangers are close together in crowded spaces—boarding a plane, piling into subway cars, drifting through restaurants.
I take full advantage. I notice how the guy leans in when he talks, the shine on his shoes, his hair lightly gelled and combed back.
How their shoulders nearly touch without trying.
Then Kevin glances up, and those precious few seconds of unawareness vanish forever.
His face shifts—not quite surprise, more like a wince softened into a smile. He looks as though he doesn’t know what to say or whether to say anything at all, so I save him the choice.
“Hey, Kevin,” I offer, light and casual.
The companion—Bennett apparently—turns toward me at the same time.
“Daniel?” Kevin sounds less surprised to see me than he hoped I wouldn’t say his name out loud .
Bennett, who I now see is probably my age, looks at me politely but curiously. “So you two know each other?”
“Yeah, this is—Daniel,” Kevin says. “He’s an old friend. From Bayview.”
“Oh,” Josh says, engaging me with a warm handshake. “Josh Bennett. Nice to meet you.”
His grip is warm. Friendly, even. I can tell from Kevin’s body language and Josh’s openness that Kevin hasn’t mentioned me. It makes me feel protected and exposed at the same time.
“Nice to meet you,” I say. The smile comes more easily than expected.
We stand there momentarily, Kevin not quite meeting my eyes while Josh studies me like he’s trying to place a half-remembered name.
“From school?” Josh asks, gesturing between us.
Not even close , I think to myself.
“Ah, no. Worked together,” Kevin says quickly. “And went to the same high school—hung around with some of the same guys.”
Josh glances at me again. “Good old friends, then,” he says with a smile. “You guys will have to catch up.”
“Are you picking up?” asks Kevin. It’s a clumsy pivot.
“Bennett, table for two. Right this way, please,” the hostess interrupts.
“Yeah,” I say, holding the bags up. “My neighbor and I are watching a movie at home.”
“Sounds fun. Enjoy the movie,” Josh says, stepping aside to follow the hostess. “It was great meeting you, Daniel.”
He might mean it, but he also appears to want to say more. Instead, he just nods .
“You too,” I reply. “I mean—enjoy your dinner. And yes, good to finally meet you.”
Kevin nods and starts to turn before I realize what I’ve just said. I don’t know why I say the next part. Maybe I can’t just let him walk away.
“Hey, Kevin.”
They both turn.
“It’s a good idea. Let’s catch up sometime. I’ll leave my number with the hostess.”
They both smile. Josh signals with a slight wave. Kevin’s face flickers with something like pain behind his eyes.
As I turn to leave, I catch sight of the restaurant’s name above the door.
“Baan Sookjai: House of Contentment.”
Of course it is.