Page 105 of The Guy in the Alley

“Lemme put it this way, son,” Ben started. “If anyone ever tells you the water is nice in Lake Superior, you need to cross a bridge and head south because you’ve been talking to a Yooper.”

I cracked up, wishing Armas were here. Every time I came across a U.P. joke, I went to him. He was from there.

“Okay.” Alvin jotted that down.

“Enough joshing around, boys,” Elsie said. “Come eat. What we had on the road doesn’t deserve to be called breakfast.”

What? We’d bought donuts.

“Did you ever hear that joke about two Yoopers walking out of a bar?” I asked Ben.

He laughed and nodded. “Classic.”

“I don’t get that one.” Alvin grasped Ben’s arm. “Explain it to me?”

Ben put his arm around his boy. “You know how a lot of those jokes start with someone going into a bar?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard many of those,” Alvin confirmed.

I grinned to myself and walked over to Elsie, and Ben handled the explanation like a champ until Alvin was laughing too. Or snickering, at least. Sometimes, I could tell he mostly wanted to mirror his dad, and it was sweet.

Eventually, Ben and Alvin sat on the blanket too, and our offers to help were turned down. Elsie looked to be happy about slinging food to us, so I had zero complaints. She’d made us sandwiches, cookies, and a pasta salad with kielbasa, feta, greens, and sun-dried tomatoes.

Ben brought out his phone to let me know Angie was on her way. Twenty minutes to go. He texted her back with our exact whereabouts, and I did my best to manage my nerves. I mean, I knew he was right. I had no reason to worry. Ben and Angie still met up for lunch at least once or twice a week, and he’d told her plenty about me. But still. For every day that passed, I fell even harder for what we had going on, and it’d destroy me if I lost it.

I’d been vocal about that too, which I was sure had helped Ben relax more. ’Cause it was still his default mode to take up less space, and I wanted the opposite.

We were getting there.

“I think you might be right,” Alvin said. “I’ll probably need to go to the truck after we’ve eaten.”

“You say the word, and I’ll walk you back there,” Ben assured.

“You feeling overwhelmed, Alvin?” I asked.

He nodded hesitantly. “I can feel it coming sometimes. Like a little headache.”

I could relate to that, at least. I didn’t get overwhelmed or anxious; I just got moody as fuck and suffered the occasional tension headache.

“When I was a kid, my ma would keep me close and put a towel or blanket over me,” I mentioned, nodding in thanks as I got my sandwich. “It actually helped. Till it got too hot.”

He quirked a curious smile. “I could maybe try that.”

Either way, we were prepared. We’d parked in the shade for a reason, in case he needed breaks.

Ben gave my leg a squeeze and bit into his sandwich, and I followed suit.

Fuck, that was good. Couldn’t go wrong with cold cuts and cheese.

“What kind of cookies did you make, Ma?” Ben was eyeing the container.

“Your favorite—chocolate with white chocolate chip,” Elsie replied.

“Fuck yeah,” he and I said in unison. I’d tried them once before, and they were out of this fucking world. Because she sprinkled some extra salt in there. They were just amazing.

As we ate and talked, it was easy to lose track of time. We made loose plans for Thanksgiving, mostly because my mom had asked me to put feelers out. They were hosting Thanksgiving at Sarah’s house, and Ben and his family were obviously invited.

“That sounds lovely, dearie,” Elsie said. “Give me your mother’s number so I can call her. I will not show up empty-handed, and Ben needs his roasted green beans.”

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