Page 23 of Getting It Twisted

“Is that so?”

“For sure. You look good though. Real good.” I give him a deliberate glance, sliding my gaze up and down his body. He really does look good with a bit more weight on him. The jean jacket he’s wearing stretches tight across his shoulders, and he’s got a new confidence to his stride. The hair’s still throwing me off though. With it cut short like that, he looks more like a jock than the hippie stoner I remember. “But you look far too . . .healthy and shit. Gotta hop back on that weed habit, get that jaded look in your eyes again.”

“Really?” he says doubtfully. “And you’re gonna help me with all this?”

“’Course I will. What are friends for?”

“We’re not friends,” he says, but the twinkle in those baby-blue eyes can’t fool me. He enjoys this. He can barely keep himself from smiling. It won’t be long before I have him throwing his head back and punching my shoulder with seized-up laughter. Just wait.

When we arrive in town, I’m hungry enough to eat just about anything. We park outside Albany Steakhouse—the only semblance of fine dining Springvale has to offer.

“You won’t get a meal here under twenty bucks,” Daniel says.

“No worries, babe. I’ll pay.”

“This is not a date, you know,” he grumbles.

“Didn’t say it was. You saying two guys can’t go out for dinner together?”

“Let’s just go inside.”

It’s quiet this time of day, frequented only by a couple of stray truckers and a group of younger guys at the bar. Daniel and I settle down at a corner table, and when my order arrives, I wolf it down as if someone’s gonna take my plate away. I get mayo all over my fingers and lick them clean one by one with a wet pop. Meal finished, I lean back with a contented sigh and close my eyes.

“What are you all smiley for?” Daniel asks.

“Maybe I’m happy. I’m not hungry anymore. I’m nice and warm.” I open my eyes, pinning him with my gaze. “And I have my friend back.”

He stabs at his own half-eaten steak. “It’s not as easy as that.”

“Why not? It’s like I’ve always said—you think too much, Daniel. Stop overcomplicating shit that doesn’t have to be so complicated. Sometimes you just gotta go with the flow.” I wave my glass of Coke through the air to underline my point.

“I told you, we’re not friends.”

“See? This proves my point.” I fold a leg underneath myself and point at him with my fork. “Georgehasbeen a bad influence on you.”

“He’d say the same about you.”

“Oh, I know exactly what George would say about all this. Just wait, he’s gonna freak out when you tell him.”

“He already knows you’re back in town.”

I wiggle my eyebrows. “But does he know aboutus?”

“There’s nothing to tell. I’m just helping you with the house so you can leave.” His tone is calm on the surface, but I hear the underlying anger.

I roll my eyes and mash a couple of stray peas into mush on my plate. This new, uptight Daniel is starting to piss me off. I can play the long game, sure, but he’s gotta give me something to work with.

Our friendship in the past used to be so easy. We both wanted the same thing: to have fun. We got up to all kinds of crazy shit, and while age has somewhat mellowedmeout too, I thought . . . Frankly, I don’t know what I thought. All I know is he used to be more focused on having fun and avoiding responsibilities, like me. I guess that’s what age does to people: makes them all boring and stable. Smothers the flame in their hearts and hooks them onto the painfully mundane shit that makes me want to choke on a bullet, like kids, a white picket fence, and a stable job. My own flame still burns bright and hot though. For better or for worse.

Where he used to be an open book, this Daniel has his hackles drawn right up to his chin. How do I get him to soften up to me, and dissolve this cloud of anger around us? How do I make him smile at me instead of giving me that distrustful glare?

Maybe some things can’t be mended. Maybe I have burned all my bridges after all. Maybe I should leave this place again and go back to where I came from. But that’s the thing: I don’t have anywhere to return to. For all that I despised it during my childhood, Springvale is my endpoint, my home base. Daniel used to be too. But maybe he’s not willing to be that for me anymore.

“Is it just me,” he says, “or is that dude looking at us funny?”

I glance at the bar, where one of the younger guys is glaring straight at me. Ball cap, scruffy beard. Is that . . . ?

My lip twitches. “Fuck. We gotta go.”

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