There was a liquor bottle in a red velvet sack on the gift table. She grabbed it on the way out the door. A hard gust of wind slammed into her face, smothering her briefly before it eased and she could breathe again. She could hear Matt’s footfalls against the foyer tile. He matched her pace but didn’t go much faster. He didn’t want to catch her.
CHAPTER TWO
Hiding in a public bathroom stall wasn’t how Nathan Vasquez usually dealt with awkward social scenes. Although, to be fair, the bathrooms at the Oasis Springs Drive-In weren’t the worst place to spend your time. There was something cool and a little creepy about how the sterile walls glowed under the buzzing fluorescents. The apple-shaped air freshener plugged into the wall made the room smell like industrial soap and cinnamon. If it weren’t for the toilet paper under lock and key, he could have been in someone’s Williams Sonoma’d, rarely used guest bathroom.
Nathan knew that the night’s downward trajectory was partially his fault. A boring night out usually called for one of two options: make things interesting or leave. Only assholes suffered in silence, which was exactly what he was doing, sitting on a decorative pouf that he’d stolen from the sitting area, with his legs propped up against the door, ignoring his best friend’s text messages to draw on a hot dog wrapper against his thigh.
Dillon: Are you hiding in the shitter?
It would be nice to think he was evolving—that turning twenty-six had triggered some adult gene lying dormant all these years. But he’d always hated conflict, and hiding was his newest avoidance tactic. That could count as evolution if you squint.
Dillon: Come on Nate. Where are you?
Nathan had sketched a large cheeseburger with razor-sharp teeth gnawing on the leg of a rough self-portrait. The movie playing a few hundred feet away had ramped into high gear with raised voices battling blipping laser guns. He drew lips on the burger before he responded to Dillon’s text.
Nathan: Third stall on the left.
It took a few minutes for Dillon to find him, which gave Nathan time to add a pair of walking french fries to the scene. The sketch took a darker turn, with the fries reaching for Nathan’s likeness, slobbery drool streaming behind them.
“You’re not jacking off in there, are you?”
Nathan unlatched the stall door. “I just needed some air.”
Dillon frowned and glanced at the wall of urinals to his right. “Cool. Cool. It’s just uh… the girls keep asking about you.”
The girls were two college students Dillon had picked up at the gas station earlier that evening. He’d arrived at Nathan’s apartment with his arms draped over their shoulders, grinning as though he’d won the lottery instead of saddling their night with the awkwardness of two strangers who were old enough to drink but young enough to make the whole thing embarrassing.
“I think Laura really likes you,” Dillon said. “She’s cute, right? All that red hair.”
“What do you think?” Nathan showed off his sketch. “New tattoo?”
The excitement on Dillon’s face faded as he focused on the actual image. He glanced at the tattoos covering Nathan’s right arm as if trying to picture greasy french fries next to corrido lyrics.
“It’s interesting.” He squinted at the killer burger. “Very… Adult Swim. But who cares what I think? You’re the artist.”
There was a whiff of pity in the compliment. They both knew that posting fan art online and doodling cartoon characters on fast-food wrappers wasn’t an actual art career. Dillon was starting to make a habit out of lying to protect Nathan’s feelings. Last week it was an apology that went on too long when Dillon bailed on plans. Two weeks before that, he claimed a food truck Nathan recommended “was fire!” with the same disgusted eye twitch that appeared when someone mentioned sushi. It made Nathan feel like a guy who needed handling, when in the past, he’d always been the handler.
Nathan stuffed the wrapper inside his jeans. “The movie’s almost over. We should probably head back to the car.” He left the restroom with Dillon trailing close behind, struggling to match Nathan’s longer, faster strides.
As always, Dillon never complained. Not even in elementary school when Nathan was a head taller than everyone else, and Dillon had to cheat on the height test to ride a Ferris wheel alone. Back then Nathan was a constant barrier between his friend and whatever bully he unintentionally antagonized that week. Despite getting his ass kicked on a monthly basis, Dillon had never met a bully in his life. He had two labels for people: best friend and God-tier ride-or-die brother. The day they met, Dillon had the brilliant idea to point out that his favorite cafeteria worker wore the same cherry-red Vans as Trunk, an ogre-sized twelve-year-old named after the place he claimed to store his alleged victims. To Dillon, pointing out that his “favorite lunch man” and his grunting buddy Trunk were “shoe twins” was just a way to bring two like-minded people together.
Dillon had smiled and turned his back, thrilled with his good deed for the day. That smile is what Nathan would remember an hour later, sitting in the nurse’s office with a busted lip and a fresh suspension. He’d instinctively known that Dillon was a guy who needed protecting. After that day, Nathan ascended to Dillon’s God-tier list, while Nathan did his best to make sure no one ruined his new friend’s optimism with another sucker punch from behind.
But ever since Dillon traded his Henley collection for dress shirts and a pharmaceutical sales job, their dynamic had shifted. Now Dillon was the one planning ego-stroking boys’ nights where he tiptoed through serious conversations like they were riddled with land mines. And Nathan couldn’t help thinking that he’d failed at some point. That as Dillon moved forward, it was obvious that Nathan was standing still.
They walked in silence, weaving through the maze of cars at a strolling pace. The new drive-in was still a novelty, which meant almost every available parking space was occupied. Like the bathroom, everything was a little too perfect. There were no potholes in the pavement. The vintage neon sign announcing showtimes sparkled in the moonlight, free of graffiti and bird shit.
Dillon glanced at Nathan’s profile. “So, you’re not feeling Laura?”
Nathan shoved both hands inside his pockets. “She’s nice. But I don’t need help getting a date.”
“Hell, I know that. It’s just been a while since you met anyone. Not since Inez.” Dillon’s voice tensed, as though mentioning Nathan’s ex-girlfriend violated some unspoken code. “I thought you might be depressed or something.”