Chapter Fourteen
Harley
When morning comes, he’s wide awake and showered, parked on the end of my bed, drawing.
I yawn. “What are you working on?”
“Cherry blossom tree. It’s gonna be hard as hell, but totally badass. By the way, do you like sandwiches?”
“I love sandwiches, and you know that.”
“Then get your fine ass in the shower, because I’m taking you to Ben’s Arcade and Sandwich Emporium.”
My eyes light up. “I’ve heard it’s amazing and that the Brutus is delish.”
“Made with Caesar dressing. Now go, because I have an appointment to see a tattoo artist down the block who’s going to give me some tips on this design so let’s get lunch first.”
An hour later, I’m dressed, blow-dried, and walking into the combo sandwich shop and retro arcade. The sound of PacMen or PacWomen gobbling ghosts bounces past my ears, then fake guns shooting down spaceships, a kaleidoscope of noise, of theme songs and sound effects, and quarters sloshing into machines landing on top of more silver coins. It’s Saturday afternoon and the place is packed. There’s a counter for popcorn, fries, burgers and Cokes with two gangly college-aged students running it, slapping up basket after basket of fries on the counter for gamers. The crowd is a hipster one. It’s as if everyone got the memo to wear faded black pencil jeans, high-tops and band tees.
I never used to feel like I fit in. Back in high school, and even in my first year of college, I felt like a liar, even when I walked through the hallways. I might have been a student like the rest of them, but I was a call girl at night, with a clandestine life, a secret wardrobe, and another name. Here, today, I fit in perfectly, and I love it. I no longer feel like a girl leading a double life.
I am one girl; I am whole.
I survey the menu above the counter and it has all my favorite kinds of sandwiches on it. “Have I ever told you that sandwiches are my favorite food in the whole world?”
“Only twenty times. That’s why I brought you here.”
I laugh, and then it’s our turn so I order the Brutus.
We make our way to a table in the back, but Trey points to the Frogger machine. “Want to go for a round? I’ve been watching this video-game show Let the Wookie Win, so I’ve got all my Frogger skills down.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Really? Frogger tips on a web show?”
“Yeah. Watch,” he says, sliding in a quarter, then proceeding to dart and dodge around every truck, car and cab on the street in the game.
“I had no idea you had this hidden talent,” I tease, and then he loops his arm around my neck, kisses my forehead, and for a moment I feel like we’re just a regular guy and a girl having lunch on a Saturday, our only cares whether we’ve studied for our test on time. And yet, it doesn’t entirely feel like an illusion, because we both know the score, we’re not fooling ourselves. We’re allowed to do normal things, aren’t we? Just because we’re going to be parents in seven months doesn’t mean we can’t play an arcade game, right?
I answer the question for myself.
Right.
We finish the game, and he beats me handily. When our food order is called, he grabs our sandwiches and we sit down and eat.
“So, what do we do now?” he asks when he’s done with his sandwich.
“Well, generally speaking, we bus the tables, and toss out the napkins,” I say, teasing him.
“Ha ha. Funny girl. What are we going to do about the baby? Are you going to finish school? Work full-time? Drop out? Get a shack in Jersey?”
I’m surprised by the simple directness of the questions. How he asked without a preamble or awkwardness. Most of all, he asked without freaking out. My guy is making progress. Majorly.
I snort. “Hopefully not the shack in Jersey.”
He shifts over to my side of the booth, taking my hand in his, grasping it for emphasis. “I want you to finish school, Harley. You can’t drop out.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“We have to be smart then, about everything, and I have an idea.”
There’s a nervous look in those green eyes.