Finally, Forever(5)
I’ve never cared what anyone has thought of me before. Why start now? I don’t see limitations. I see opportunities. It’s my superhero power. Captain Optimist.
I turn and walk out of the bathroom. My self-esteem gives self-doubt a flying ninja kick out of my head and I start to smile. I spot their table in the corner of the restaurant. Gray and Rachel are sitting across from Nick, and another older couple is sitting at the table. I pull back an empty chair next to Nick, across from Gray.
“Where were you?” Nick asks as I sit down.
“In the bathroom,” I say. “Well, first I took a quick tour of the kitchen. Did you know they have a walk-in cooler, the size of a bedroom, just for pies?”
They all stare at me, but I ignore the disbelief in their eyes.
“The cooks are really nice guys,” I continue. “Brock, Gus and Steve. Two of them are brothers and one of them builds motorcycles. He works here to supplement his income until his business takes off. Oh, and they say that the bacon scrambler is the house specialty. It’s not on the menu—you have to ask for it. The locals call it The Cardiac Arrest.”
Everyone is still staring at me.
I raise my filthy hands. “What?”
The woman next to me introduces herself as Rachel’s mom, and her father is sitting next to Rachel on the other side of the table. I shake their hands and I’m already assessing the lunch predicament.
Parents? A send off dinner with her parents? This is beyond a summer romance. First comes a family-infused goodbye. Next comes the engagement announcement.
I glance at Gray and a memory snaps on in my mind. After a birthday party when I was little, my favorite helium balloon slipped out of my fingers and floated away in the sky. I screamed and cried helplessly as I watched it go. It was my first experience with loss. My mom was calm and consoled me and told me there were hundreds more like it. She told me I might even find one I love more, waiting somewhere for me to discover it. She told me, “Let it go, Dylan.” I always remembered that story because I’ve used it before in my life when I’m letting go of a place, or a person that I love. But looking across the table at Gray, I’m starting to lose faith in that fable. Experience is a valuable messenger of truth. There aren’t a hundred more people like Gray. Maybe what my mom should have said was, “Dylan, the next time you love something, hold on tight.”
Nick takes my hand and examines my fingers.
“Couldn’t get the grease out?”
“I hear the grunge look is in,” I say and my hand slips out of his. I pick up the menu and open it like I’m opening a treasure map. Emotional drama is an excellent appetite stimulant. I’m starving.
“You’ll love this menu,” Nick says. “Breakfast is served all day.”
“As it should be,” I say.
The waitress comes by to take our orders and Rachel is showing Gray some photos on her phone. He’s leaning close and they’re smiling and laughing at some inside joke and I hate sitting here. It’s like sitting bare naked under a hot sun, feeling your skin burn.
I watch Rachel’s eyes and when they aren’t staring into her phone they’re focused adoringly on Gray. Just like he deserves. Maybe she isn’t a rebound. Maybe he finally found his constant sun.
Nick nudges my arm and the waitress is waiting for my order. I order a grilled cheese sandwich and curly fries. Gray and Rachel’s dad order the bacon scrambler. Rachel asks for a garden salad with dressing on the side. I try not to gape. Who orders a salad at a greasy spoon diner? Another huge strike against her. I wait for Gray to state the same fact, but he just ignores her ordering misdemeanor.
Rachel explains my situation to her parents and they nod and seem concerned and relieved.
I glance across the table at Gray a few times while everyone’s talking. His eyes never once meet mine, as if he’s immune to my presence. Or highly allergic. He’s mostly staring at the white, paper table covering. He’s changed over the past year. His arms are more muscular and defined. His chest is broader and thicker and fills out his t-shirt. Any boyish looks Gray had before have vanished. His hair is the shortest it’s ever been, almost buzzed. All the curls are gone. It’s thick and dark and he’s as tan as teak wood and his blue eyes stand out, like two pools of sky. I wonder if his hair is still long enough to run my fingers through. Wait, scratch that. I wonder if it’s long enough for Rachel to run her fingers through. Gagh.
I look from Rachel to Gray and jealousy kicks at my heart. She must wear pointy high heels because her kicks are sharp and they hurt. But my mind fights back. Have they listened to every single Ryan Adams’ album in the dark? Have they dissected the seven voices of a harmonica (depressed, angry, happy, exited, withdrawn, reminiscent, melodramatic and heartbroken)? Highly doubtful.