Page 45 of Courtroom Drama
“ONLY RUDOLPH SHOULD DRIVE LIT.”
I shake my head, smiling. It’s as if Damon never left, his words finding me on my morning and evening commutes for years now.
Just as we’re relaxing into our old, playful selves, Cam finds us and unintentionally swipes a knife straight through the energy between us.
“Hey,” he says, sidling up beside Damon. He grabs a nacho—the most cheese-slathered one left—and speaks before he’s done chewing. “Come to my room. Say, tomorrow night? I wanna show you guys somethin’.”
Before we can ask any questions, Cam is off to return his rental shoes.
22.
Outback Steakhouse (restaurant name)
a popular casual dining restaurant chain known for its Australian-themed atmosphere and Bloomin’ Onion appetizer
restaurant of choice for the California State court system
We cross the parking lot to our next destination at twilight. As we step in, I’m pleased to note that Outback Steakhouse sounds like sizzle and smells like butter. It’s almost embarrassingly exciting to continue our outing with a meal that may include more flavor than too much salt and stale pepper. As a kid we ate out a lot, but mostly fast food or take-out pizza—an emphasis on quick, easy, and cheap. In response, I taught myself to cook a rotation of basic meals early on.
Cam bumps my elbow and points to the TVs hitched to the bar ceiling. There are four in total facing our direction, all set to various ESPN channels. The thrill is short-lived, though, as the hostess leads us to a private back room where four tables of four are set up, no TVs. There’s a spark of disappointment that we don’t get to sit out with the masses where I can take in new faces. I rebound quickly, though, the high of this day out still rippling through me.
Almost robotically, Tamra, Cam, Damon, and I take over the table in the room’s far corner. Damon sits beside me as he always does. Cam is to my right, and Tamra takes the seat across the table.
“I’m ordering a big-ass steak,” Cam declares, tossing his menu to the center of the table.
“What are you getting?” Damon asks, perusing his menu.
“Not sure,” I say, attempting to stave off the feeling inside me that is declaring to my gut that this is a date. It’s not, of course. It couldn’t be further from a date. But my gut isn’t listening, as it fires flares of excitement.
“What’s the most opposite thing from a turkey sandwich?” he asks, then flexes his jaw.
I evaluate the options. “A big-ass steak?”
Damon sets down his menu. “Yep. That’s what I want.”
“Actually, same,” I say, placing my menu neatly atop his.
After our orders are taken and drinks arrive (there was an eruptive cheer when George announced we could order more alcoholic beverages), Cam and Tamra dive into a discussion of their respective zodiac signs. I take a sip of my cabernet and shimmy my shoulders up and down in delight.
“Did you just do a happy dance?” Damon asks. He leans in, cupping the top of his pint glass. I imagine the inevitably bitter taste of his mouth after he sips that beer.
Heat spreads in all directions from my gut. “I did.”
“I like it,” he says, chin dimple twitching.
He’s known me to do food happy dances since I was a kid. He used to join in occasionally, usually on pizza nights and with a hysterically bad robot.
“Do you remember that ugly hamster statue thing we used to hide back and forth?” I ask. It’s nice to reminisce about the joyful points of our history, rather than what ended our friendship. I feel foolish now for having blocked all the good out for so long. Our years of good should not be erased because of a disappointing end, I decide.
He bites at the inside of his cheek. “Yeah.”
“I can’t remember who hid it last.”
He leans back in his chair. “It was you. You put it in my underwear drawer.”
I snort, nearly choking on my sip of wine.
“I almost broke my ankle after seeing that thing staring at me when I pulled out the drawer.”
