Finally, Forever(8)

The waitress hands us our check and she looks out at the window at the hazy sky.

“Ya’ll drive safe,” she says. “Storms are on the radar.”

I look at the waitress and raise my eyebrows. Literally or figuratively? I want to ask.





Dylan





I follow Nick out of the restaurant into the scorching heat of the parking lot, soaking up the sun’s rays like a sponge. Gray and Rachel are still inside, saying goodbye to her parents. We stop next to Orson.

“Why did I have to run into him, Nick?” I look up at the sky like I’m asking a higher power. “Why did this have to happen? Why?”

“Dylan, you of all people know that life never happens the way you expect it to. Shit happens, and how you deal with it—that’s life.”

I sigh. “I can’t believe you told him you’re my boyfriend.”

He gives me a devious smile. “Was I convincing?

“Convincing?” I say. “That performance was Oscar worthy. Definitely deserving of a Golden Globe award. At the very least, a nomination for best actor in a drama from the Screen Actors Guild.”

He smiles at my sweeping compliments.

“It was too fun,” he says. “That boy gets even hotter when he’s angry. I can totally see how he’s amazing in bed. All that passion? Yum.”

“Since when do you know anything about baseball?” I ask.

He takes off his sunglasses and wipes them clean with his shirt. “My dad’s dragged me to Milwaukee Brewers games since I was eight. We had seats right behind the home plate. It was great ass viewing—made me want to get to home plate if you know what I’m saying.” Nick laughs and slides his glasses back on over his forehead to keep the hair out of his eyes. “Poor man, if only my dad knew what I actually used my baseball glove for.”

I cringe at the thought but then Nick points behind me and I turn to see Rachel and Gray walking outside. They stall at the front doors to say goodbye and I look away so I don’t have to see Gray touch her.

“Listen to me,” Nick says and turns my shoulders back to him. I feel like my bones have turned as malleable as rubber. I want to slump to the ground. “She’s not right for him. He’s not in love with her.”

“How do you know?” I ask.

“Guess who he spent all his time watching over dinner?”

I shake my head. “He hardly ever looked at me, Nick. He was avoiding me.”

“Exactly, because he was too busy glaring at me. Which I didn’t mind, he has gorgeous eyes, even when they’re plotting my death. You could see a landslide of jealousy streaming down the kid’s face.”

I look down at the ground. “I can’t lie to him.”

“You don’t have to. I did the lying for you. It’s what friends do.”

I watch Rachel get into the driver’s seat of a bright blue hatchback. As she drives away I catch sight of her personalized license plate and my mouth drops open. It says HORSES.

Horses? I try to envision Gray living on a horse ranch. Equestrian gear, wranglers, chaps? He hates country music (unless it’s alt-country, he claims). Even my wildest imagination can’t visualize it. She is so wrong for him. What is the girl version of a tool? An accessory? Yes! That’s what she is. A safe, simple accessory.

I remind myself to breathe. Jealousy is toxic. It’s unattractive. It’s like poison in my brain, and even worse, it’s a waste of time. I extract every bad thought I have of Rachel and I put them in a glass jar in my mind. I tighten a lid around the jar and toss it over my shoulder. I feel a little better. I’m determined not to think another negative thought about Rachel. I’m determined not to think about her, period.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay if I leave now?” I ask Nick.

He nods and looks longingly at his car.

“I’ll stay with Orson until the end,” he says and rubs the hood of his car. “He deserves that much.”

I stroke Nick’s cheek. “He’s had a good life,” I say. “This wasn’t your fault. It was just his time,” I say.

Nick inhales a sharp breath and nods. He squeezes his eyes shut as if he’s trying to block out a painful image. “I wish I understood. Why Orson? He was such a great car. He never got in an accident. He never even got a flat tire.”

I grab his hands in mine.

“Because somewhere, up in heaven, an angel needed a car. The strongest, most reliable car, and God looked down on Earth and searched for the perfect, German made vehicle that was safe enough for his angel to drive. And he chose Orson.”

Nick nods.

“Now, whenever you see a shooting star at night, you’ll know it’s an angel driving Orson through the sky.”