And if I stand, do I shake his hand? Lean in for a hug? Get really crazy and kiss his cheek? Or dial it way the fuck back to ashy wave? Though, if I’m going with the wave, it’s probably best not to stand.
Either way, the moment is here. Time to dosomething.
“That was fast,” I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind even as I’m turning my head back around to face him.
“We were all on the bus and ready to go when you mentioned pancakes,” he says, sliding into the booth to sit beside me.
I guess I can chalk the last sixty seconds of my life up to another minute of time wasted on overthinking things that were never going to be an issue.
The next few seconds are more productive, mostly because they involve a lot of scooting and situating and getting another five people comfortably seated at our table.
Once we’re all at eye level and no one is scootching around anymore, Knox raises his hand to get everyone’s attention. “Time for official introductions. Imma make it fast, so everyone pay attention.” Then he starts pointing at his band mates, rattling off names. “My boy, Matti, you’ve seen on the bass. Next to him, Jason, plays lead guitar and that’s his girl, Cass, who’s also our drummer.” He pauses to adjust before he picks things up again on the other side of the circular table. “You’ve probably never seen Winston, but he’s always with us doubling as driver and security.” Makes sense. Dude isbuilt. Like, bodybuilder built. “All my people, the short one with the insults and favors is Arizona, and this,” he turns to smile at me before he says it, “Is Kenley.”
I wave at the group. “Hi all.”
“I’m not that short.” Arizona seems unimpressed with her introduction.
“You are pretty short,” Winston says eyeing her from his side. “Cute though.” He winks.
Arizona shuts up about being short.
“Oh, shit. Forgot one.” Knox gestures at Jake who’s been staying at an undecided distance from the table, taking one step forward and two steps back on repeat, ever since they arrived. “What’s your name, man?”
Jake seems temporarily speechless. So, I help him out, one panicking fan to another. “That’s Jake, or as we like to call him, the pancake god.”
He laughs nervously. “I’m pretty good with coffee, too.” This seems to trigger some sort of recollection regarding the reason he’s here, standing at our table, with a tray in his hand. “Um, can I get you guys started with something to drink?”
The answer is yes. From everyone. And while they’re at it, they all place their orders for all you can eat pancakes as well.
“I feel like I just found my people,” Arizona sighs. “An entire table of pancake lovers. It’s a beautiful thing.”
It really is. And surprisingly comfortable considering a bunch of us only just met each other. Winston seems particularly charmed with Arizona, and I notice they continue to have their own quiet little chats separate from the group. Who knew the boys from Trip Three could be so easily forgotten?
The rest of us carry on an even flow of conversation, covering everything from how long everyone has known each other (Matti and Knox go back the longest, having met in first grade when they were six) to more random topics like favorite pancake toppings and songs you love but only listen to when no one can hear you, which then turned into remembering all the songs we ever thought we knew the lyrics to, only to learn we’d been singing them wrong for years. This part may be my favorite. We all keep singing along with everyone’s wrong lyrics. Sitting next to Knox makes this an entirely wonderful experience despite the butchered songs.
Only when our pancakes show up, do we all quiet down again.
Sort of.
“Tell me honestly, how many have you had already?” Knox asks, just as I’m about to take my first bite. For the fifth time.
I grin sheepishly. “This is my thirteenth pancake.” Then I fork the other two. “And my fourteenth. And fifteenth.” I stare at him point blank. “And I’m not stopping there either.”
He chuckles. “Good. Because I’m starving so I’m going to be at this a while myself.”
“Somehow you don’t strike me as the sort who frequently gorges himself on pan-fried breakfast cake,” I point out before I finally get that bite to my mouth.
“You do this frequently?” he answers my question with one of his own.
“I wish.” I don’t really wish. “Actually, that’s not true. I’d probably lose my ability to eat an infinite amount of carbs soaked in syrup if I did this regularly.” I collect another small stack of fluffy goodness on my fork. “Arizona and I have been doing this since we were nineteen and waited tables at the same Mexican bar and grill. By the time we’d get done on Friday nights, it’d be Saturday morning and Denny’s was the only thing open. Back then, we ate the pancakes for survival.” I’m joking. Obviously. “Now it’s more for sake of tradition. Or to celebrate.”
“Are you celebrating something tonight?” he asks. More questions. And I don’t think I’ve gotten him to answer even one.
“I guess you could say that.” I put more food in my mouth to stop myself from giving him a more elaborate answer.
“Don’t wanna tell me what it is?” God. If he’s already calling me out for shit, this is not going to go well.
“I’ll tell you.” Arizona chooses this precise moment to rejoin a conversation beyond the one she’s having with Winston. “We were celebrating that this reallypotentiallygreat guy asked for Kenley’s number.”