Текст книги "Believe"

Автор книги: Erin McCarthy

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

“Yes. And kitten memes.”

“Well, in that case.” I took his phone because I wasn’t exactly sure how to say no. It seemed super rude, and I doubted he was actually going to ask me out. He would probably send me a typical guy text of “hi” or “what’s up?” and I could say “hi” back or “nothing” and we’d be done with it. Guys put no effort at all into communication or pursuing a girl. If you didn’t go into a huge, long text of explanation of what you were doing and dug deep into their text to get an adequate response back, the conversation just died. A big old waste of time, that’s what most texting with guys was.

So I typed my number into his phone with my name. It was an old smartphone, with a cracked screen, like he had dropped it on the pavement. I set it back on the table.

Tyler came back into the kitchen and looked over my shoulder at my work. “Hey, that’s cool so far. You got Easton’s nose just right.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Phoenix palm his phone and put it back into his pocket, tossing back his hair. Then he just stood up and left.

My phone buzzed in my own pocket as Tyler went to the fridge and started rummaging around. I pulled it out and saw it was a text from a number I didn’t recognize. When I opened it, there was a honey badger video. At your request was the message.

I smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks.

Way better than writing “hi.”

Chapter Two
Phoenix

When I was in third grade, I realized two things: That the doctors thought something was wrong with me, and that my mother loved drugs more than she loved me.

Because while the doctors kept asking me questions and taking scans of my brain and giving my mother prescriptions for me to take, I never swallowed a single one of those pills. She would take me to the pharmacy, collect the pills, then sell them to a guy behind the gas station who smelled like my grandmother’s basement. Then she would use that money to buy little plastic bags from a different guy, the one I thought looked like a Ninja Turtle because he always wore a bandana around his forehead. Then those bags would open and the needle would come out and she would lie on the couch for hours and hours, scratching her arm and drooling, eyes unfocused.

When she was like that, I could do whatever I wanted, and I didn’t really mind that she was checked out, not exactly. I could watch TV and drink chocolate syrup out of the bottle and go play down the street until way after dark and she wouldn’t notice any of it and there was a cool sense of freedom.

But I didn’t like it when she would forget to buy groceries or make me lie to the doctors and say that even though I took all the pills the way I was supposed to, I still felt angry, I still couldn’t concentrate. Because it wasn’t true. I hadn’t taken those pills, and I didn’t feel angry.

It wasn’t until later that I figured out that my meds had a black market value as appetite suppressants and she could exchange them for heroin.

At eight, I just knew there was something wrong with both of us because I was supposed to have the drugs but she was one who couldn’t go a day without them.

So I shouldn’t have been surprised that she had disappeared during my stint in jail, but I was. I kept waiting for the day when she actually gave a shit about me, and she kept proving over and over that she didn’t.

It wouldn’t have mattered so much except that all my stuff was at her apartment, and the landlord had cleaned it out when she ditched on the rent. There was no question in my mind that she hadn’t bothered to pack up my clothes and the miscellaneous crap from twenty years to take with her. An old yearbook, the only one I’d ever had the money to buy, with the inscription from Heather Newcomb of “Stay Sweet, Phoenix,” which I had thumbed my finger over a thousand times, wondering what it meant. A Little League trophy for Best Pitcher. A watch my grandmother gave me. Nothing of value. Stupid stuff, but mine. All I had. Gone.

Wearing nothing but a pair of shorts I had borrowed from Tyler, I texted the girl painting in the kitchen, Robin. I shouldn’t, I knew that. She was way out of my league, I knew that, too. Girls like her didn’t look twice at guys who didn’t even own the shirt on their back. Or, in my case, the shorts on my ass. But for whatever reason—good manners would be my guess—she had given me her number and I was going to use it, because I needed a distraction. Someone to talk to about nothing.

I thought maybe she did, too. There was something . . . bruised about the way she looked. She kept her head down when talking to Jessica and held her arms across her chest a lot. Jessica, who was fucking bossy in my opinion, kept poking at her, and Robin didn’t protest, but she didn’t answer either. Not really.

There was something about the way she had sat in the living room while she thought I was asleep and hugged her knees to herself, stretching out her shirt to cover them, that made me feel just a little bit sorry for her. I’m a sucker for a sad girl, I can’t help it. It’s fucked-up, but it is what it is. Maybe because for once I feel like I actually have something to offer. Understanding, at least. There’s a difference between sad and depressed, though, and even I know not to go there with a chick who is clinical, but I knew Robin wasn’t because of the way her face changed when she started painting.

It was like her shoulders dropped and her forehead smoothed out. She was content with that brush in her hand or at least not miserable. Pretty, too. She had a tiny nose and cherry red lips and dark hair that spilled over her shoulders and made me want to bury my face in it.

So I got her number and then she left the house and I texted her and she answered me twice and then nothing. That was that.

College Girl wasn’t going to play with me, and hell, who could blame her? It had been an impulsive long shot. Disappointing, but I was used to that feeling.

Shoving the phone back in my pocket, I went into the kitchen to see if I could borrow Riley’s car. I needed to see about getting a job, as fun as that sounded. When I came into the room, conversation between Jessica and Riley came to a stop, making it pretty freakin’ obvious they were talking about me. I didn’t quite understand the new dynamics in my cousins’ house. When I had gone into jail, my aunt Dawn had still been alive, and everyone here walked on eggshells around her. Now she was dead, and Riley’s girlfriend was in the house, and she was possessive and territorial, it seemed. She had done some home improvement shit like pulling up the nasty carpet and putting cookies in the cookie jar and washing dishes.

Weird. That’s what it was. Disorienting. I think maybe she was what you call maternal, but I had such little experience with the concept I couldn’t exactly be sure. All I know is that she was a bitch to me and I wasn’t so crazy about her myself.

“What’s up?” I asked, casual. Friendly. I could kiss ass and be nice. No one had to let me stay there, and Riley and Tyler were being cool about it, so I had to watch what I said. Besides, they were the only family I had, and I didn’t want to lose them.

“You know that Riley just got custody of Easton, right?” Jessica asked, twirling her blond hair around one finger and looking nervous.

I nodded. I had been glad to hear it. The system would chew that kid up and spit him out. I knew Riley had worked hard to get custody and that his girlfriend, even though she and I rubbed each other the wrong way, clearly wanted the best for Easton and Jayden, too. I’d seen the family photos she’d hung in the hallway, like families who weren’t fucked-up did, and I personally appreciated her no smoking in the house rule.

“Well, it’s not out of the realm of possibility that a social worker could drop by at any time unannounced. And Tyler is already living here when he really shouldn’t be.”

That was all she said, clearly waiting for me to volunteer the conclusion.

So I did. No sense in beating around the bush. “So having two convicted felons in the house is maybe one too many?”

She nodded, biting her lip.

Riley looked pained. “Look, bro, you know you can stay here until you get a job and a place, but you probably can’t stay here forever, that’s all we’re saying. I can’t lose custody of Easton, not now.”

“I understand.” I did. I also understood that Easton was lucky, despite his shithole parents. He had his brothers.

Their bond was a steel cable. Mine with them was more like cooked spaghetti. We were family. They cared. They would help. But the loyalty wasn’t the same, and I was jealous of that, I admit it. I felt alone.

My mom had figured out birth control after me, unlike my aunt. My mom made a point of telling me that once was enough for her and she wasn’t taking any chances of making that mistake twice, unlike Aunt Dawn, who got drunk and forgot condoms existed.

So it was just me.

“I’m going to see about getting a job today, actually. Can I borrow your car for an hour?” I didn’t have anywhere to go. No friends I trusted enough to crash with. But I could always go to the shelter if I had to. I didn’t want to be responsible for Easton ending up in foster care. He was a cool kid. In fact, he kind of reminded me of myself at that age. And hey, I was a cool kid, right? Quiet, weird, prone to random outbursts, but whatever. I was comfortable in my own skin now, which was good, because it was about all I owned.

“Sure,” Riley said, fumbling in his pocket for the keys, looking guilty.

It was obvious he felt bad that he was asking me to go, but I didn’t blame him, and the fact that he had guilt about it gave me a warm fucking fuzzy, I’m not going to lie.

“Aren’t you going to eat before you go?” Jessica asked. “There’s still some leftover Chinese food. I can heat it for you.”

I stared at her for a second, not sure what her angle was. Because there had to be an angle. There always was. “I’m okay, thanks.” I couldn’t imagine standing there while a chick heated up food for me. It was just weird.

But I did gesture to the painting that was propped up on the table against the wall, drying. Robin had managed to paint a graphic of Easton in, like, forty-five minutes. It was just a basic silhouette, but it did look like him, and there was something about the bright pink and yellow that smacked you over the head, but in a good way. “Your friend has talent.”

“Yes, she does. She did that other piece, too, just for fun. We wanted to make it more . . . cheerful in the house.”

Riley laughed. “That’s a polite way of saying it was a dump here, babe. It’s true, isn’t it, Phoenix? Our mothers did not excel at housekeeping.”

That actually made me cough up a rusty laugh. I hadn’t laughed much lately. “That is true, cuz. My mom isn’t much for decorating either.” I actually thought that her reaction to an art piece that spelled out YUM in tiny pieces of old candy wrappers would be to rip it off the wall and toss it in the trash disdainfully. She didn’t like the idea that anyone could be happy or enjoying something. “What does Robin like?” I asked, but it was too obvious.

Two sets of eyebrows shot up, and Jessica’s mouth fell open. “What? Why?”

“Never mind.” I shrugged. It didn’t matter anyway. If she hadn’t answered me in an hour she wasn’t going to.

Jobless, soon to be homeless, with a criminal record and an ex-girlfriend who had stuck me with her cell phone bill before I went to jail, the last thing I needed to be fucking around with was a rich girl who looked like she might cry if I pinched her. Not that I would. Pinch her, I mean. It’s just an expression. She just seemed fragile or something, and it would be stupid. A huge, dumb-ass, fucking idiotic, stupid idea to get involved with her in anyway.

So how come I couldn’t seem to get the image of her bent over that canvas, pursing her plump lips in concentration, out of my head?

Because I was the guy who always ran headfirst into danger, and I usually wound up blacked out and bleeding, on the ground.

But in this case it wouldn’t matter because she wasn’t going to answer.

Riley narrowed his eyes. “How’s Angel?” he asked.

“Pregnant. And no, it isn’t mine. She says she’s only two months along.” I had to admit, my heart had almost stopped for a second when she’d made her announcement. But then I had known immediately it couldn’t be mine because she wasn’t showing at all, and yeah, I was relieved. Because what kind of father would I be? I’d never even touched a baby, and I didn’t know jack about taking care of anything besides my mom’s loser boyfriends when they outstayed their welcome.

“I guess that’s good and bad. Sorry, man.”

I shrugged again. It hurt more when she didn’t see me in jail. It hurt that I had only had one visitor in five months and that had been Tyler, because he’d been there, done that. He knew it sucked.

Feeling suddenly angry, I concentrated on my breathing, slowing it down, drawing it in and out steadily. I made sure my entire body was still, that nothing twitched or shook or jiggled. It was a trick I learned a long time ago, that if I quieted my body, I could quiet my mind and the anger would escape like air from a balloon instead of a firework shooting off.

“It’s no big deal,” I said, which was a lie, and Riley knew it was a lie.

“I’m going in the basement to work out,” he said. “You want to come down and hit the bag with me?”

“I thought you were going on a beer run,” Jessica said, straightening the napkin holder on the counter, stuffed with paper napkins with cherries printed on them. Cherries? For fucking real?

Riley gave her a look. “I changed my mind.”

Of course he had. He knew. “Sure,” I said. “Then I’ll see about a job afterwards if you don’t mind me borrowing the car.”

“Not at all. Come on, let’s break a sweat.”

“Sounds hot,” Jessica said. “Can I watch?”

“You can’t handle all the testosterone we’ll be displaying,” he told her, giving her a teasing pat on her ass.

“Oh, I can handle anything you’ve got,” she said, and her expression wasn’t subtle.

Neither was the flare of Riley’s nostrils. “Later, babe, later.”

I walked out of the room, heading for the basement door. I needed to punch something.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

It was Robin.

It didn’t even matter what she wrote. The smiley face at the end was enough to have me unclenching my fists.

Not good. Or damn good, depending on how I looked at it.

But just to be sure, and in control, instead of answering, I slammed my fist into Riley’s boxing bag at the bottom of the stairs and felt the adrenaline rush through me.

Only drug I’ve ever needed. Pain.

Chapter Three
Robin

“Thanks for doing that,” Tyler said to me as he drove me home. “You know, it’s cool for Easton to feel kinda special.”

“Sure. I was happy to do it.” I felt my phone vibrate in my lap, and I pulled it out, seeing it was another text from Phoenix. I hadn’t saved him as a contact yet but I knew it was him. I had sent him a kitten pic back in response to his honey badger video. Just a fluffy white kitten with a black mane of fur around its face. It was the first kitten I found when I did an online search and it didn’t actually say anything. It was just the kitten drinking from a tall glass of milk.

I opened the text. It said, Is this you? I see the resemblance.

Furry? I tapped back.

Milk drinker.

Feeling like I might smile when I shouldn’t, I shoved the phone back in my pocket without responding. But I did ask Tyler, “What’s the deal with your cousin?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is he . . . I don’t know . . . nice?” That wasn’t what I wanted to ask exactly but I didn’t know how to really express myself.

But something about what I said seemed to tip Tyler off. He turned and glanced at me. “Oh, no. No, no, and no. You are not allowed to be interested in my cousin.”

“Why?” I asked, stung by his vehemence. “Not that I am, but I mean, I know I’m like a total mess and I’m not exactly hot these days but . . .” I stopped speaking, appalled by what was coming out of my mouth. And because there was no “but.” I could no longer claim to be a fun party girl, or a loyal friend, or someone with a healthy dose of self-respect and confidence. I had none of those things anymore.

Nor did I bother doing my nails or getting a bikini wax or wearing anything other than saggy jean shorts and huge T-shirts anymore either.

“Robin, that is not what I meant, Christ.” Tyler shook his head. “I meant you are way too nice of a girl to be getting involved with him. Phoenix, well, he has problems.”

Didn’t we all.

“What kind of problems?”

“Big ones. He just . . . it’s just . . .” Tyler shook his head. “Just don’t go there with him, seriously. You’ll regret it.”

“But he’s your cousin,” I said, my phone vibrating again to remind me I hadn’t answered Phoenix’s text. “And I’m not going anywhere. I was just asking about him.”

“I care about Phoenix. I do. But he’s not easy to get close to.”

“What do you think about his girlfriend? Angel?” I knew I should have dropped the subject, but I couldn’t seem to help it. I was morbidly curious.

“I’d never even met her before tonight. But he usually picks head cases. Like his mother. Freud would have something to say about that.”

“Freud was full of shit,” I said, because I was annoyed with the whole conversation. I didn’t want to be talked out of feeling a little twinge of pleasure at the fact that Phoenix had shown interest in me. Whether it was just to be friends, or something more, was irrelevant. I just wanted someone to look at me, in all my pale, non-drinking glory, and think I was someone they wanted to talk to. That’s all.

“You know you’re going to have to move into the house you all rented,” Tyler said, totally changing the subject. “Unless you’re mad at Rory or Kylie, there is no reason you can’t. So either clear the air or drop the whole thing.”

I bit my fingernail, and stared out the car window as we pulled into the driveway of the house we had rented for the school year. “I’m not mad at anyone.” Except myself.

“Then why do you want to move out?” Tyler parked the car and stared at me. “Seriously.”

“I don’t know,” I lied. It wasn’t even a lie of effort. It was just a lame shrug off.

But Tyler didn’t let it go. “It’s because of Kylie, isn’t it?” he asked.

Startled, I turned to him, my heart rate kicking up a notch. “What do you mean?”

“Look, Robin, I saw you and Nathan making out at the Shit Shack at that party that night, the one where Riley got into it with the frat dude. You were in his car and you were kissing and I saw it.”

Mortification caused a blush to stain my cheeks. I wasn’t sure what to say. “I don’t remember that,” I told him honestly. “I blacked out that night.”

“But you know you did, don’t you?” Tyler held out his hand. “Look, I haven’t said anything to anyone, not even Rory, so just be honest with me.”

“Please don’t,” I begged him, terrified he would tell the truth and Kylie would be devastated and everyone would hate me. “I would never do that sober, I would never hurt Kylie. I feel awful about it. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done, and that’s why I can’t live there. I can’t even look at Kylie without thinking I am the worst sort of friend ever.”

Tyler drummed his fingers on the wheel, taking one last drag of his cigarette before tossing it out the open window. “It was just that one time, right?” he asked.

“Yes.” I nodded vehemently. “It was vodka, plain and simple. It will never happen ever again.”

“And that’s why you haven’t been drinking.”

“Exactly.” I looked at the house, tears welling up in my eyes. “I just can’t act like nothing happened . . .”

“But you have to,” Tyler told me. “You have to try to be normal or it’s all going to come puking out and then Kylie will just be hurt. You know Jess. She’s like a dog with a freaking bone. She won’t let this go. So the best thing to do is to stay in the house like you planned. That way you won’t fuck Kylie over twice by sticking her with extra rent, too.”

“I was going to pay the rent,” I protested weakly, stung by his use of the phrase “fuck Kylie over.” It was the truth, the unintentional truth, and it was horrible.

“Robin.” Tyler’s voice softened. “We all make mistakes. Don’t make another one.”

“This wasn’t a small mistake.” I dug my fingernails into my thighs, wanting the distraction so I wouldn’t cry.

“Neither was me breaking up with Rory on Christmas.” He gave me a smile. “I mean, that was a huge mistake.”

I gave a watery laugh. “That wasn’t your finest moment, I’ll admit that.”

“I know you think you’re doing the right thing for Kylie, but seriously, the right thing is to stick to the plan.”

I wasn’t sure what I was going to do anymore, but I did appreciate that he wasn’t screaming at me that I was a drunken slut. “Thanks, Tyler.”

When I got out of the car, I paused on the big, wooden front porch and watched him back out and pull away. Sitting on the steps, I let the hot sun seep into my skin, and I twisted my hair up into a messy bun that I tied off with my own hair. Then I pulled out my phone and answered Phoenix, unable to resist, bad idea or not.

There was too much time in my own head, too many minutes to turn around and around what I had done and why and what it said about me. Too much time to feel the guilt weaving its way into the fabric of me, so that if I tried to tug it out it would unravel all of me.

The urge to talk to someone who was a total stranger, who knew nothing about me, was irresistible.

Milk does a body good.

Then I immediately thought maybe that was too flirty. So I added a second text.

What are you doing?

Which then seemed like a stupid question to ask. What was he going to say? Nothing. And would he think that was suggestive or something? And why did I care?

It seemed like I didn’t remember the rules anymore, the normal way to talk to a guy without parties and booze and hookups. Or maybe it was just I didn’t know how to talk to a guy like Phoenix.

It was ten minutes before he responded. I wasn’t doing anything, just lolling in the sun, cradling my phone and trying to work up ambition to take a shower.

When he did respond, it surprised me.

Working out. Thinking about you.

A shiver ran through me. There was no mistaking that message.

Thinking what?

That I want to see you. Busy tonight? Want to hang out?

There was no question that I wanted to. But should I?

I glanced out at the street, at the cars lining up and down Ludlow Avenue. We had the second and third floors of an old house, and I did like the neighborhood. But it was lonely living in the house solo for the summer, and I had no plans for the night. I could go inside and watch a movie by myself or I could watch a movie with someone else. Someone who just might understand what it felt like to be lonely.

Sure. Want to come over? Watch a movie?

I didn’t think he had any money and I didn’t have any ambition to change my clothes. I didn’t want to go out out. I didn’t want it to feel like a date, and I didn’t want there to be alcohol around. I just wanted to feel comfortable again.

He sent me a picture back. It was a cat, leaping through the air. THIS, it said.

I laughed. He had a quiet sense of humor that I liked. Is that yes?

Yes. Address? I’ll take the bus.

I can pick you up.

Maybe that sounded a little pathetic or overeager, but I was exhausted with the games I had been playing with guys since I had turned thirteen and sprouted breasts. I was tired, hot, and I wanted company, and he was offering it, so why I wait an hour and a half for him to take the bus when I could pick him up? The key to successful distraction was to not have time to talk yourself out of taking the distraction.

So while I felt a reflexive twinge that I shouldn’t make it easy for Phoenix, I got over it.

You have a car?

Yes.

K. Meet me at the corner of Riley’s street in the CVS parking lot in an hour.

He wanted me to pick him up at the drugstore? So he clearly didn’t want anyone to know he was going to be with me. My first instinct was to be insulted, but then I thought about what Tyler had said to me about Phoenix and staying away from him. It didn’t make any sense for me to piss off the one person who knew the truth about Nathan, so I probably shouldn’t be seen with Phoenix anyway. It felt weird that after worrying all summer that someone would find out, I now knew that Tyler had known the whole time.

It made the shame feel fresh and throbbing.

I wanted to run away from it.

Ok. See you then.

With forty-five minutes to kill, I flipped through a magazine but it bored me and I wound up staring into space again, biting my fingernail as my thoughts absorbed the time. Glancing at my phone, I decided I should leave or I’d be late. Not bothering to change or even put on lip gloss, I walked down the driveway to my car. I wasn’t going to primp for him. This was it. Me. Sober. Hanging on by a thread.

When I pulled into the parking lot at the drugstore, he was leaning against the wall, waiting, one foot back on the stucco. His hair was in his eyes again, and he was wearing a black T-shirt and the cargo shorts he had pulled on earlier, when I had been cataloguing his tattoos. I noticed now there was another one on the back of his calf, but I couldn’t tell what it was. He wasn’t my type at all. I was usually into guys who had a lot of bulk, who made me feel petite and feminine next to them, and who were loud and chatty, the communications and marketing majors.

Phoenix looked dangerous. An elderly woman gave him a wide berth when she shuffled from her car to the store, eyeing him with suspicion. Unlike his cousins, though, he didn’t have any accessories, no chains, no studded bracelets. Riley and Tyler would make the metal detector at the airport lose its shit, they were always that covered in hardware. But Phoenix was bare except for his tattoos.

There was something beautiful about him. I knew I shouldn’t think of a guy in those terms, but he was. He had a strong jaw, cheekbones that a model would kill for, and that dark hair that fell with an ease that normally required a pro blowout, when I knew in reality he had probably just finger-combed it. I wasn’t sure if what I felt as I watched him was attraction, or simply appreciation that he was good-looking in a different way, one that spoke to me now, at this particular point in my life.

The outsider intrigued by the outsider.

Because that was how I felt—a self-imposed outsider in my former life.

I waved, and he pushed himself off the wall, raising a hand back in greeting.

When he opened the door and got into the passenger seat, he nodded slightly to the right, the corner of his mouth turned up in amusement. “Woman in the car next to you is debating calling the cops. She thinks you’re here to buy drugs from me.”

Glancing past him, I saw there was a middle-aged woman with two kids in the backseat, and she was shaking her head in disgust, cell phone in her hand poised in front of her face, like she was debating whether or not it was worth it.

“Do I look like a meth addict?” I asked, glancing down at my grubby clothes. “Maybe I should have changed.”

“It’s not you, it’s me. People in this neighborhood can smell when you’ve been on the inside, I swear.” He gave me a shrug, his dark eyes indecipherable. “If I wasn’t so recently out, it might be entertaining. But I don’t want to deal with cops and their bullshit.”

I pulled out of the spot, glancing over at him. “You don’t have drugs on you, do you?” I hadn’t thought about that at all. I didn’t know if he was a user or not. Maybe those were the issues Tyler was talking about. The thought of having drugs in my car terrified me. All it took was one cop and I could find myself in serious trouble.

“No. I don’t do drugs. Or sell them. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke.” His knee came up to rest on the glove box of my car. “I’m a regular fucking Boy Scout, that’s what I am.”

It didn’t sound like sarcasm, but I wasn’t entirely sure if he was being serious or not. “I don’t do drugs. Or sell them. Or drink. Or smoke. But I did quit Girl Scouts in third grade once I realized they wanted us to sleep in a tent.”

He gave a half laugh. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. Nature makes me uncomfortable. And I was very concerned about using an outhouse.”

“Valid concern.” There was a pause then he asked, “So you don’t drink ever?”

“No. I used to, but I felt myself getting out of control with it, so I cut it out of my life.” It wasn’t something I needed and I didn’t mind telling Phoenix that. In fact, it felt empowering to say this was the way it was. I didn’t drink. Ever.

“How long has it been?”

“Ten weeks and three days.” The fact that I knew to the day surprised me. I guess I had been mentally ticking off each day without being entirely conscious of it.

“That’s awesome, seriously.”

As I drove back toward my house, I was very aware of the space he took up in my car, how he didn’t move at all, but his eyes were trained on me the entire time. For a second, I wished that I had worn a different shirt, one that didn’t have a coffee stain on the stomach area. But it didn’t matter. That’s not what this was about.

And I found myself weirdly excited that I had met someone who didn’t drink either. Someone who wasn’t going to be a preachy asshole about it. “Thanks,” I said. “I feel good about my choice. It’s working for me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone else who was totally clean,” he said, sounding intrigued by the idea.

I laughed. “Me either. We could form our own club. The Clean Club. Like the Clean Plate Club, only without the plate.”

He didn’t say anything, and when I shot a glance at him, his nose was scrunched up. “No?”

“I don’t know what the Clean Plate Club is, sorry. Though I’m down with being in the Clean Club. Membership two, huh?” He held his fist out to give me a bump, and at the red light I did, reaching out to him with a quick tap with my knuckles.

“The Clean Plate Club is what my mother always told me I could be in if I ate all of my dinner. It’s some bizarre attempt by parents to force kids to eat foods they don’t like or to essentially overeat in my opinion. So your mom didn’t do that, I take it?”