5. Inkling
FIVE
INKLING
Ian
“I take it you guys had a good time?” Trish’s small body is near-flush against mine, both her arms curled around one of mine as we walk.
“Mmm-hmm.” Trish, for being so obviously inebriated, is steady in her heels.
The bright light of the Texas sun hits us as we exit the shop, and Trish slips on a pair of sunglasses from her small bag.
“I’m parked down the street.”
Oversized tortoise shell shades in place, she looks like a modern-day Jackie Onassis. “Lead on.”
It’s a beautiful day in Houston. For once the humidity is low, Texas giving way to autumn. All nearby restaurants’ outdoor seating areas are overflowing with people out for brunch. “Want to grab something to eat before we head back?”
“Hmmm, food sounds nice.” She looks around at all the different offerings. “How about you take me to your favorite place.” She smiles sweetly at me. “Your treat.”
I bark out a laugh, drawing a startled glance from the couple walking past us. “Okay then, my treat.”
“Your favorite place is a food truck park?” Trish lifts her shades and looks around in disbelief at the paved lot, cleared except for a circle of eight food trucks. It smells of fried food, international spices, and exhaust.
“Yeah, this place is great. There’s a variety of cuisines, and sometimes they have live music, like today.” I point to a small stage set back away from the food trucks and their noisy generators. Picnic tables fill the center of the lot, with several around the stage as well.
Trish slides her shades back down, and I’m worried now that I can’t see her full reaction. She did ask to go to my favorite place. But maybe she was expecting someplace swankier. We were right in the middle of the Galleria, after all.
I realize I’m holding my breath, and I exhale, wondering if I’ve disappointed her.
“Mac and cheese egg rolls?” Trish points toward the Soul Food Fusion truck to our left. “Now that sounds like heaven.” She tugs on my arm. “Come on, money man, buy a girl some egg rolls.”
And I do. Along with a lobster quesadilla, a chicken and waffle sandwich and fried whoopee pies. And those were just her selections.
Our feast is spread out over a picnic table meant for six.
“Is this too much?” Trish pops her shades back on top of her head and bites her lip. “I just couldn’t decide, and I don’t come into the city that often. I didn’t want to miss out and regret it later.”
“This is fine. It’s like our own buffet.”
Her smile is worth all the indigestion I’m facing later.
“Okay, great!” She runs her hands together and scrutinizes our choices. “I think I’ll start with an eggroll.”
For a while, our talk revolves around the food.
What’s good, what’s amazing. She always looks like such a lady with her perfectly applied makeup, heels, and nails.
And of course, there’s her accent, which makes me think of slow dripping honey, hot, sweaty nights on a porch swing, and a bunch of other things that are definitely not appropriate in a family-oriented food truck park.
“How often do you come here?” Trish asks after taking a bite of my gyro. She isn’t shy about stealing food.
“Not very often.” I shrug. “But I follow the park’s page on Facebook and keep an eye on which food trucks will be here on the weekends.”
“They have a Facebook page?”
“Yep. And they update it every day with which vendors will be here, who’s scheduled to play music, that sort of thing.
” I sneak a slice of her quesadilla. She squints at me before smiling and popping the last bite of gyro in her mouth.
“Sometimes they have events. Do you know Rebecca Sato? She works at NASA.”
“Yeah, the NASA doctor. She married that hot young fireman.”
I pause at her description of Rebecca’s husband. “Yes.”
“What about her?” Trish wiggles her fingers over the table, trying to decide what she wants to nibble on next. I wish she’d nibble on me.
I clear my throat, focusing on not letting the lobster slide out from the slice of quesadilla. “Becca’s holding an animal adoption event next month.”
Picking up some utensils to slice into the waffle, Trish nods. “Cool. Are her husband’s co-workers going to be here to help?”
My quesadilla smacks back down on my paper plate. “You have a thing for firemen?”
Trish smirks down at the chicken and waffles plate as she cuts a small piece. “Who doesn’t have a thing for firemen?” She looks at me before sliding the bite of waffle off her fork. A drop of syrup rests on her lower lip.
I manage an answering grunt, making Trish laugh.
Her tongue sneaks out, catching the drop. “I always wanted a dog,” she muses, looking around the table for her next selection from our smorgasbord.
“We’ll go, then.” I’m taking the opportunity to make a date with her, firemen be damned.
“You can try more food trucks, and we can look over the dogs needing a home.” A vision of the two of us playing catch in my yard with our dog makes my chest feel tight.
It’s such a normal, mundane sort of thing, living in the suburbs, owning a dog, but I want it.
Reaching out toward the whoopee pies, Trish pauses, glancing up at me. “I won’t be here next month.”
The food in my stomach churns, my chest now feeling hollow. “Oh, yeah.” We both stare at each other for a moment before Trish finally blinks and focuses back on the treat in her hand.
Trying to move past the uncomfortable truth, I clear my throat and grab a pie for myself. “You don’t have to wait for the event, then. The Space City Animal Shelter is right by NASA. You can stop by anytime and play with the animals, see if there’s one meant for you.”
Trish nods absently. “Yeah, but it wouldn’t be fair to the dog.”
“Why?”
“I move around so much, and it isn’t like the temporary hookup spots in trailer parks have large, fenced-in yards. It would be cooped up or on a leash all the time.”
I let that sink in, as well as the sad expression on her face. “Then why do you move around so much? You could sell the trailer and get an apartment, or even use the money for a down payment on a house. The housing market right now is great.”
She doesn’t say anything.
“Or you could set up your trailer more permanently if you bought some land. If you did that, you could put up a fence.” I realize I’m sounding a bit desperate. But if she won’t stay for herself, or her friends, or me, then maybe a dog? Yeah, that’s pretty desperate.
“No. I can’t do that.” She won’t meet my eyes.
Sliding my hand over hers, I squeeze gently. “Why do you move around so much, Trish? It’s obvious you want to stay.”
I don’t think she’s going to answer until her full lips part. “I?—”
“Audrey?” A woman a few years younger than Trish steps up to our picnic table.
Trish stiffens and yanks her hand from mine.
“It is you!” the woman exclaims happily. “I thought you never came to town except for class?”
I wait for Trish to correct her, but she doesn’t. Instead, Trish slides her sunglasses back down and turns on her bench toward the woman, a large smile on her face. “Mandy, wow, what a surprise seeing you here.”
Wait, what? I glance between the two women.
“I know, right?” Mandy does the same, her eyes bouncing between Trish and me. “So,” she drawls out. “What are you up to?”
Trish takes a sip of her drink, avoiding eye contact. “I was, uh, just shopping in town.”
Mandy rocks back on her heels, shooting glances at me. I sigh, realizing Trish has no intention of introducing me.
Standing, I extend my hand. “Hello, Mandy. I’m Ian.”
Wide-eye, Mandy slips her hand into mine. “Hi.”
I wave to the table. “Please, have a seat.”
Trish purses her lips but says nothing.
“Thanks!” Mandy bounds around the table, sitting next to her friend.
I drop back down onto my bench. “Please, help yourself to anything you’d like.”
“Wow. So polite.” Her wide eyes blink rapidly for a moment. “I mean, uh, thanks, but my friends are coming.” She turns to Trish. “Some of the other girls from our class, actually.”
Trish pales.
“Class?” I ask.
“Yes, at U of H.”
Managing to hide my surprise at that statement, I look at Trish. “You take classes at University of Houston?”
Before Trish can answer, Mandy pipes up. “I know, right? Who would think a best-selling author needs to take creative writing classes?”
As “best-selling author” reverberates around my brain, Trish continues to sip on her drink.
Mandy glances around the lawn area at all the other food truck patrons. “How do you know our all-star pupil here?” She thumbs in Trish’s direction.
“Oh, well, I know Audrey from our mutual friends. I didn’t know she was a star pupil though.”
Mandy slaps Trish on the shoulder. “Girl, why aren’t you bragging to everyone?” She leans toward me conspiratorially. “This girl here tells the most amazing stories. I couldn’t believe that I didn’t realize who she was until halfway through the semester.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling.” I tilt my head at Trish, who pretends to take an interest in the guitarist singing on stage.
“It took me half the semester before I put two and two together.”
“I see.” I don’t see, not at all.
“She just introduced herself as Audrey on the first day of class. It wasn’t until we did narrative critiques and I saw her full name at the top of the page that I realized who I was in class with.”
“Mandy…” Trish tries to cut in, her tone pleading.
Mandy’s too engrossed in her story to notice. “I told my parents, who are always complaining about college bills, that it’s tuition money well spent if I get to have creative feedback on my stories from bestselling romance author Audrey Cole.”
Mandy waves at someone by the food trucks, but my eyes never leave Trish. Who is studiously looking down at her lap.
“Look who I found, guys,” Mandy calls to two girls with arms full of paper plates loaded with food truck treasure. “It’s Audrey!” Mandy jazz hands around Trish, who looks ready to sink under the table, but musters up a weak smile and a wave.