“Your surprise,” Tommy prompted.
Lawson swallowed hard. “It’s a good one, I promise.”
“Hm,” Tommy hummed. “Guess I’ll have to trust you.”
“Guess so.”
They spent the rest of the drive in silence, Tommy leaning against him, the weight of his head like a benediction on Lawson’s shoulder. For a moment, just before he turned onto Lancaster Road, Lawson considered driving straight. Just…driving. On, and on. Maybe looping back through town, but maybe not. Tommy’s hair tickling his neck, and his fingers squeezing his thigh, and the scent of his shampoo, and dryer sheets, and the faintest whiff of fresh sweat all that Lawson could, or wanted to smell. Inside the car like this, as dark began to chase the afternoon away, was a liminal space: anything was possible here. His state of pre-arousal, of quiet wanting and having all at once, was almost sweeter than what he had planned for the rest of the night.
Almost.
From Lancaster Road, they turned onto McGarry Road, and Tommy picked his head up with a sharp little inhale. “Wait. Really?”
Lawson tried and failed to parse his tone, so he drummed his fingers nervously on the wheel as he slowed to account for the gnarly potholes near the edge of the road. “Yeah. I know it’s kinda cliché, but, you know.” He shrugged. “Maybe we never came because it was dumb…but maybe we never came because we didn’t have a car to use. So.”
He slowed as the road began its upward slope, and risked a glance sideways.
Tommy had scooted up to sit at the edge of the seat, both hands on the dash as the car rocked side-to-side over the uneven paving. His head was up, gaze flicking over the rutted street, the close-leaning trees that flanked it, the trash that had been thrown out of countless cars behind them, beer cans and chip bags fetched up in the tangled weeds. He lookedexcited, and Lawson’s stomach unknotted.
“Thisisso cliché,” Tommy said, but grinned hugely. “It’s stupid.”
“Yeah, just like your face,” Lawson said, and meantyou’re beautiful, you’re so goddamn beautiful it hurts to look at you.
17
The universe isn’t smiling kindly on Lawson right now.
Or maybe it’s less nebulous “universe,” more God specifically. Maybe the Big Guy’s not a Lawson fan.
The next day, Dana shows up at Coffee Town on her lunch break, laptop bag over her shoulder, hands shuffling dozens of notecards. “We need to have an official Reunion Planning Committee meeting,” she informs him at the counter, in lieu of ordering.
He stares at her, and hopes he’s in fact asleep right now, head down on the breakroom table, and this is nothing but a nightmare.
Dana lifts her brows, and waggles the notecards at him.
He says, “I sorta forgot about that.”
She purses her lips in a look he knows means she isn’t really annoyed, but she’s going to pretend to be anyway.
“You didn’t say anything last night.”
“Last night was about personal business,” she says, crisply, and raps her knuckles on the counter. “Today is about reunion business. Take lunch, and join me.”
He does, though grudgingly, taking his brown bag sandwich, chips, and Coke over to the corner table she’s snagged. Her laptop’s already open, and she slides him the notecards.
“Okay, so, there’s a problem with the venue that’s already booked, and we might have to book another, depending on how many people are coming. Those are the contact info cards. I’m gonna read off the ‘yes’es and you’re going to makeyes,no, andno responsepiles.”
“I feel like this is a one person job, really.”
“Sort the cards, Law.”
“Yes, generalissimo.”
They’re somewhere deep in the D last names – thank God the cards are alphabetized – when someone clears her throat right beside their table.
Lawson lifts his head, and–
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he groans.
