Page 34 of Over the Edge

“Seriously, what do you have against this town?” Even though I promised not to say anything, the remark rushes out of me.

“I know this place better than you. You chose the couple, and I’m just telling you what I see. It isn’t just people who are happy that come here. You just admitted that.” He levels me with a scrutinizing look. “He feels guilty. He’s overcompensating.”

“Or just wants her to have a good time. Holding doors, actively listening, really putting in that extra effort,” I counter. I plant my elbows on the table and lean forward.

A muscle in Garrett’s draws closer as he picks up where I left off. “And making sure she notices every single thing he’s doing. My guess is that she suggested this place and he went along with it. He more than likely broke it off with whoever else he was seeing before this trip and is trying to redeem himself. He’ll make her feel special and wanted and then she’ll forget until he does it again.” The moment he’s done he reaches for his drink and takes a hearty sip.

“You barely looked,” I say.

“People aren’t all that complicated. You said so yourself. People all like the same song because of some common emotion. Well, they all act the same way if it means getting what they want.” His eyes go back to tracking the couple as they walk further away. “It’s in the details. Body language, tone, the little habits we hate but can’t stop. Those all tell us more than what people are actually saying. Those don’t lie.” It’s like he’s reading from some handbook not talking about people, but maybe those two things aren’t all that different to him.

Every time he makes a dig at his hometown, I feel like he’s also talking about me. Like every comment is subtly saying,how stupid do you have to be to believe in this shit?I shouldn’t have expected anything different from him.

“Do you moonlight as an armchair psychologist or something?” I pour my flute all the way to the brim with prosecco, not bothering with any orange juice.

“I make more money if I can see someone’s holding out in a negotiation.” Something in him tightens again, giving me the impression that there’s more to his evaluations of behavior. With such a strong response to the couple, there’s no way his evaluation was rooted in his love of the law.

“Okay. Then whose song is it?” I ask, trying to get back to why we started this exercise in the first place.

I’m not sure if I would have agreed to our arrangement in the first place if I knew it would be such a hassle. But I’m not one to back out of something like this.

“The person he left,” he says. “Maybe they never knew they were part of an affair and are wondering what they did wrong, maybe they’re left in their guilt wondering if they should tell the girlfriend. It’s them. Whoever they are, they’re the most interesting part of the story. The couple gets a happy ending. They’re left to manage the fear that the people in their life will always want something better than them.”

“I guess I know why we’re invited to all the same parties, you really know how to lighten the mood,” I say.

“It’s just a hypothetical for a song that’s never going to be written. For all we know those two are faithful and he just forgot to set the alarm clock this morning.” He brushes off the moment with a non-answer.

Our food arrives as we continue. Garrett and I take turns picking tourists and coming up with their stories. An older couple who comes back every year because they want to relive the magic, proof that good things last if you care for them.

“They visit every year,” I say.

“And neither of them will admit that it’s never the same as the first time,” he counters. “But they pretend anyway.”

I jump in. “It’s better that way because it becoming mundane means they’ve built something stable that doesn’t rely on fireworks.”

Another couple walking their dog in silence have come here because they’re giving their relationship one last chance and Garrett is determined it will fail because they refuse to communicate how desperately they want it to work.

As we go his cynicism wanes, like he’s slowly using up a store of negativity with every critique. Even so, the way he describes his scenarios draws me in. I know that not every relationship ends in a happy ending. I know that some have to end so people can find a better life or chase what they really want.

I wonder sometimes if I’ve ever really been in love or if I wanted to be loved so badly that I tricked myself into thinking that’s what it was. I know what I had with Oliver was special. We took care of each other without having to ask. We had the same friends and liked the same movies. All the important things were there built on a foundation of years long friendship. We worked and he gave me a place where I fit so well. Well, the version of me who was desperate to be loved fit well with him.

It’s hard to trust my emotions sometimes about if I want something or if I’m just caught up in the idea of it. I’m terrified of one day thinking I’m in love with someone new only to find myself in that same state of desperation. At least I’m not under any illusions with Garrett—he’s with me out of necessity. It’s kind of refreshing.

“Holy shit! Is that Garrett Larson, bassist of Fool’s Gambit!” a chipper voice calls from down the sidewalk. “Can you autograph my arm so I can get a tattoo of it?”

A few heads whip our way at the commotion causing Garrett to glower.

The man walking toward us has a paper bag hitched into the crook of his arm. His tousled hair is the color of natural clay. Stains are splattered across his coveralls as if someone has used them to experiment with abstract art.

“Fletcher,” Garrett says cooly.

The man, Fletcher, closes the gap between us with brisk strides. “Larson, how the hell are you? I didn’t think you’d still be around. This is longest you’ve graced us with your presencesince you fucked off to Tennessee. You won people good money staying so long. Not me, but people.”

“So, you’re Fletcher of pub-slash-garage-fame,” I say as I recall my glimpse of the betting pool chat.

“Mostly garage now, haven’t worked at the pub since I was trying to earn enough money to impress my prom date.”

“Did you?” I ask.

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