Chapter 1 #6
“Um, no, I haven’t,” I admit. By now I am assuming that Benny is a popular member of their friendship circle, and I imagine a generically attractive, sandy-haired male who lives in a Pacific Heights mansion with his own Jacuzzi and karaoke room.
We leave the club, where the line outside is as long as it was when we first arrived, maybe even longer, and we pull up outside a burger joint, and when I stumble out of the car, I blink up at a massive neon sign that says Benny’s Burgers.
It’s built like one of those classic American diners, with just six parking spots and a single table near the dumpsters out back.
There’s a couple splitting a cheeseburger in one of the parked cars, and two girls in matching leather tops collecting their orders just ahead of us, both visibly drunk.
“What do you want?” Luke asks me.
“What do you usually get?”
“The double cheeseburger and fries.” He grins. “Their serving sizes are generous, and they’re really good, trust me.”
“I do trust you,” I say, my mouth watering already at the scent of grease and grilled meat. “I’ll have the double cheeseburger too.”
“Pickles or no pickles?” he asks as we walk up to the window to place our orders.
“No pickles, thanks. Wait, I can get it,” I say, reaching for my phone to pay, but he just gives me a quick little shake of his head, like I’m being ridiculous.
When our food is ready, we all take over the table.
It’s just large enough for all of us to fit around, and I squeeze into the spot next to Luke, trying not to react at how cold the metal bench is.
For a few moments, everyone’s quiet, unwrapping their burgers and tearing open the packets of ketchup.
The fog has started to roll in through the darkness, and it feels like we’re far away from the city, from the rest of the world even.
“Have you guys heard about that new Kate Diana rom-com that came out?” Caroline asks. “I’m so excited for it, I’m not even joking.”
“Yeah, um, she’s one of my favorite actresses,” I offer.
Her face lights up. “Stop, we should totally watch it together then. Like, for real.”
“I’d love to,” I say earnestly.
She beams at me and offers up her fries. “Try the chili-cheese ones. They’re to die for. You think I’m being hyperbolic, but I would literally lay down my life for them.”
I’m laughing as I take two from her. The fries are so fresh and crispy that I can taste the oil where it’s hardened around the edges, but the potato is still soft in the middle. I pop three more into my mouth and lick the seasoning from my fingers. A soft, contented sigh escapes my lips.
“What?” Luke asks, studying me.
“Nothing,” I say. “I’m just happy.”
Thank u for the ride home!!
I stare at the text on my phone, the five words I agonized over and deleted twice before finally sending. I imagine reading them from his perspective. Is it too formal? Too friendly? Is it too soon? I only entered the front door half an hour ago.
Then three little dots appear. Typing.
Pause.
Typing again.
anytime
thanks for coming tonight
I bite back a grin.
I had fun, I tell him, and I’m surprised to find that I did.
Had it been somewhat terrifying and immensely overwhelming?
Yes, of course. Will I be going out clubbing again anytime soon?
Uncertain. But I’m glad I went, and I’ll remember tonight.
If I had stayed home, it would’ve been just another night, lost to nothing, slowly erased by the passage of time.
I did too, he writes.
Then, a few seconds later: gonna go shower now
ok! goodnighttt
I expect that to be the end of it. I probably won’t hear from him until days later, or he’ll never text me again. But then my phone lights up. An incoming video call from him.
I fumble for my earphones, thrilled, confused, convincing myself it’s a mistake. Even so, I quickly smudge some eyeshadow on my eyes, line my lips, and position myself on my bed before I pick up.
He appears on my screen. He’s squinting slightly, half drunk or sleepy, or maybe it’s simply too bright, the blue glow of the phone illuminating his features against the darkness of his bedroom.
He has the camera raised just above his chest, but I can see the bare, tanned stretch of skin around his shoulders, enough to know he isn’t wearing a shirt anymore.
“Hey,” I say quietly, casually, leaning my cheek against my hand, like this is my most comfortable position. Like I don’t have my shirt strategically pulled down past one shoulder, like my heart isn’t beating hard in my throat.
“Good night,” he says.
I stifle a laugh. “Did you call me just to say that out loud?”
“Is that a really bad excuse?”
“No,” I whisper.
“Why are you whispering?”
I pause and listen for footsteps, creaks, any signs my parents might have woken. “My parents are still sleeping,” I explain, then wince at how childish I must sound, like a teenager afraid of getting grounded.
But he doesn’t seem to be judging me. His expression is thoughtful, almost wistful. “It’s nice that you’re around your parents. I wouldn’t mind seeing mine more.”
I remember how he tensed up at the mention of his father earlier today. “When was the last time you saw them?”
“All of us, together, in the same room, for an extended period of time? Maybe half a year ago? My dad travels a lot for work.”
“God, that’s . . .” I trail off.
“He’s making money for us,” he says, like this is a familiar line of argument, either made by him or against him. “I can’t really complain.”
“Still. It’s natural to miss him. I think you’re allowed to complain about that; in fact, I’ve never heard you complaining about anything before, even in high school. I don’t know how you do it. I feel like I’m always complaining about something.”
He brings the phone closer to his face, like he’s trying to be closer to me. “So you’ve been paying attention to me for a while now, huh?”
I flush. “I—I mean—”
“Why didn’t you ever come up to me before?” he asks. “When we were in high school.”
“I’m not sure. I guess . . . I was scared it’d be awkward.”