Page 41 of Happy After All

“You mentioned,” he says.

“I mentioned the movie,” I say. “But there will be food. Of course you’re invited. We kept on doing these barbecues after the fire and ... it’s been good for the community. You really helped that night, Nathan.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“I’ll think about it,” he says as the first of his meals begins to go across the belt. I can hear thenoburied in theI’ll think about it.

“I’m turning thirty-two,” I say. “The same as your room number. I just ... I thought it was funny.”

It’s been so long since I’ve gone on a date, or really had to work at getting to know somebody, that I feel like I might be out of practice. Because that was a very silly thing to say.

He lifts an eyebrow. “You’re young.”

I know how old he is because I’ve seen his driver’s license. His birthday is in April, and he’s closer to forty than thirty.

I’m not entirely sure if I should act like I know that or not.

“I’m trying to decide how weird it would be if I told you I know when your birthday is,” I say finally as he pays.

He looks at me like I’m an alien. Which forces me to conclude I’ve made the wrong move.

He takes his receipt, and I’m ready for him to bolt out the door, but he lingers as my groceries start to go across the belt.

“I’ve seen your driver’s license,” I say.

“I’m aware of that,” he says.

“I have a good memory.”

Which is true, but it’s also a little bit of a lie. Because I do specifically remember his, when it isn’t like I know everybody’s.

“I could have pretended,” I say. “I could have pretended that I didn’t remember.”

The cashier, who I know, is looking at me and telling me desperately with her eyes to stop talking. But I’m in too deep.

“Youcouldhave,” he says.

“Sorry I didn’t hide my eye for detail.”

He laughs, and I’m struck dumb by the sound because I’ve never heard it before. Then he takes my bags from my arms and begins to carry my groceries and his out of the store. I’m immobilized. Then I remember how to move, and I race after him.

He begins to head back to the motel, and I follow at a quick pace.

“If it were April,” I say, “I would go to your barbecue.”

Granted, I’m having a week of celebration dedicated to me, as I like to prolong such things, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Would that be customer service?”

“No,” I say.

He looks at me like he has no idea what to do with me. It takes me a moment to realize that he’s stopped walking. Like maybeI’veimmobilizedhim. I take an extreme amount of pleasure in that.

“So, what are you working on?” I ask. “New series, same series?”

“A never-ending project,” he says. “But it’s got to be done. I can’t ... It has to be done.”

He really is being deliberately evasive. Which I guess is fair. He’s a big deal. Maybe he can’t talk about it. Maybe it’s a secretive TV thing.

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