Their server bent in close. “Well, I’ll take great care of y’all on your special night.”
Dill played the little peg game at the table while they waited for their Diet Sprites (the most pathetic of all beverages, according to Lydia). Dill was about to win the game when Lydia casually reached out and flicked it onto the floor, scattering the pegs.
“Sorry, Dill,” Lydia said as Dill scrabbled around on the floor to gather the pegs. “Winning the Cracker Barrel peg game is not pathetic. It’s a triumph of the human spirit. Come on. You invented this idea.”
The server returned with their Diet Sprites. “Have y’all decided?”
“Yes,” Lydia said. “I’ll have a bowl of fried chicken livers; a stack of blueberry pancakes with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top; and a piece of Double Chocolate Fudge Coca-Cola Cake, also with vanilla ice cream on top.”
Dill started to speak. “And I’ll have—”
“He’ll have what I’m having.”
The server looked from Dill to Lydia and back.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Dill said, with happy resignation.
The server gave Lydia an admiring look. “Yes, ma’am. Coming right up.” She shuttled off.
“Look me in the eyes and tell me that isn’t objectively the world’s most pathetic meal I ordered us,” Lydia said.
“What if you got a scoop of ice cream on the chicken livers?”
“Yeah, then we’re entering postfood, performance art territory. Which is not pathetic. I appreciate the thought, but please, follow my lead tonight.”
“This all was my idea.”
“I don’t care.”
“Got it.” He sipped his soda and pointed at one of the pictures hanging on the wall. “You ever think about how many pictures of dead people there are on the walls of Cracker Barrels?”
“I think you’re supposed to say ‘Crackers Barrel’ if you want to be grammatically correct. What if when they hang your photo up at Cracker Barrel, your ghost has to forever haunt Cracker Barrel?”
“We should sneak a framed photo of Travis into a Cracker Barrel and hang it, just in case,” Dill said. “I think Travis would enjoy haunting a Cracker Barrel.”
He and Lydia laughed. She felt a sharp, fleeting twinge. “I miss Travis,” she said. “I wish he were here.”
Dill looked down and toyed with the peg game, suddenly less cheery. “He’d have had a lot of fun tonight. He would’ve asked Amelia.”
“What do you think Travis would have thought of…our current situation?”
“He’d have approved. I know for a fact. We talked about it. He tried to get me to make a move with you before he…” Dill’s voice trailed off.
Tears flooded Lydia’s eyes and began to fall. It wasn’t only because of Travis. Yes, mainly Travis. But it was Dill too. Specifically, the impending lack of him. It was even a bit that there were no Crackers Barrel in New York City. There’s no way I could have played this night straight. I’m a mess even with the jokey premise.
She reached out her hand. Dill took it. He’d started crying too, right as their server walked up with their food.
She eyed them with concern. “Are y’all okay here? Everything all right?”
“Yes ma’am,” Lydia said, wiping at her eyes gingerly with her ring fingers, taking care not to poke herself with her fake nails. “It’s that we both keep losing the peg game and we’re emotionally fragile.”
“Well, honey, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the game make someone this upset. Maybe y’all should just let it be for a little while if it’s upsetting you, okay?”
Lydia sniffled and laughed.
“Here we are on prom night, crying at a Cracker Barrel in Cookeville, Tennessee. I’d say we’re getting the hang of this Pathetic Prom thing,” Dill said, after the server left.
Lydia wiped her nose with a tissue. “Let’s get a quick selfie while it still looks like we’ve been crying.”
“Good thing it’s a nice night,” Lydia said as they pulled into her driveway.
“I’m afraid to ask,” Dill said.
Lydia gave him a mischievous grin—the one Dill had come to know all too well. “You won’t need to ask. You’ll find out.”
She opened her front door. “Dad?” she called. “Bring the limo around.”
“Sweetie,” he called. “Are you sure about this?”
“Pathetic Prom.”
He sighed.
“We need to head to the dance. Come on.”
“Sweetie, look, I’ll drive you. Having your dad drive you to prom is pretty pathetic. I’ll wear a goofy outfit.”
“As opposed to your many outfits that aren’t goofy? I said bring the limo around.”
Dr. Blankenship shook his head and disappeared around the corner. He returned, wheeling a creaking, rusty, thrift-store Huffy mountain bike.
“Oh man,” Dill said, laughing. “I haven’t ridden a bike since I was a little kid. I’m not sure if I remember how.”
“They say it’s like riding a bike,” Lydia said.
“Be careful!” Dr. Blankenship called after them as they tottered away with Lydia perched on the crossbar.
Dill peeked down at Lydia as they rode. She watched the street with a blissful air. She turned and reached up to brush an errant shock of hair from his eyes. I’m really glad I’m here, now, and not lying at the bottom of the Steerkiller River.
They could hear a lawnmower somewhere. The herbaceous smell of cut grass mingled with lilac. The combination smelled like honey in the warm early May air.
“Will any part of you miss this?” Dill asked, as they turned onto Main Street and passed Riverbank Books, waving at Mr. Burson.
“What? Hanging out with you? Or”—she made a sweeping gesture at the town—“this?”
Dill mirrored her gesture as they approached Good News Coffee, the town square with the gazebo, and Forrestville’s abandoned 1920s-era downtown theatre. “This. Of course you’ll miss hanging out with me.”
“Flatter yourself much?” Her tone turned wistful. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I’ll miss this. Now that I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, this town doesn’t seem so bad anymore. Good News made a halfway decent Luke Latte. And New York City may have a lot of bookstores, but it doesn’t have Riverbank. How about you?”
“Yeah. A little bit. I’ll miss our trains and the Column.” He allowed a contemplative moment to pass while he pedaled. “I thought I’d live my whole life and die in this town. I don’t know how I existed like that.”
Lydia adjusted her position. “We’re gonna be college kids, Dill.”
“Yeah. We are.”
“Like with classes and stuff.”
“We’ll both have lots of college classes.” The thought of school had never made him excited. But that was Forrestville High.
“We’ll be able to talk about them. Or we could talk about literally anything else that’s more interesting, which is probably everything.”
They laughed.
Lydia leaned back into the hollow of Dill’s body, warm and snug against his chest. Dill leaned down and kissed her on the spot between her ear and her jaw.
“We made it, Dill.”
“Yeah,” Dill said softly. “We made it.” If only we were making it in the same direction and the same place.
And their twoness made him think of Travis again. Lying alone under the ground, in the dark, while Lydia and I live and move forward and laugh. What tempered his guilt was the hunch that if Travis was watching them from some lofty vantage point, he was happy for them. Travis would have wanted us to be doing exactly what we’re doing.
They rode on a bit farther before Dill spoke again. “This part would have been hard to do with Travis.”
“Even if we had him pedal, and you sitting on the crossbar with me sitting on your lap, we wouldn’t have had room for the staff.”
“We’d have broken the bike. I think Travis weighed more than both of us combined.”
Lydia gazed into the distance. “You’re going to make me cry again. I’ll smear my mascara.” She turned back to Dill. “Oh wait.”