Page 31 of Untouchable

He’s nervous, talking a little too loud, a little too fast. He hopes Harp likes his choice, likes the food, likes—

He hopes Harp likes him, he realizes. He wants Harp to see him as more than some dumbass kid who only talks about sports, who can’t go more than two words without saying like or um. He doesn’t even bother hoping for something as unlikely as friendship with a person as interesting and unusual as Harp. But he wouldn’t mind if Harp didn’t… not not hate him.

“So, welcome to The Salad Shack,” Parker says over his shoulder as Harp follows him inside. In the tiny shop, Harp seems especially tall and broad-shouldered, a giant standing in a dollhouse. “I really like the black bean burger, but I usually get the quinoa salad.”

“Hey, Parker,” the cashier says. “No Mindy today?”

“Nah,” Parker says, shaking his head. “Can I get the usual? And Mindy’s, too, I’m bringing it back to her.”

* * *

Tunnel vision kicksin when Harp enters behind Parker. There's simply too much to look at in the small restaurant, and Harp is convinced he's going to look at the wrong thing at the wrong time. He struggles to concentrate on what's just in front of his face.

The cashier knows Parker by name—and his order. Harp thought that was something that only happened in movies, but he wouldn't put it past Parker to know everyone in town by name, too.

He grabs a paper menu and pretends to be engrossed as he listens to Parker's order, wondering if Mindy is the woman at the front desk, and how often Parker must come here to have a usual. The menu is a goddamned wasteland of insubstantial salads and boring sandwiches smeared with what Harp knows are supposed to be artisanal condiments but really just sound like spiced mayo and vegan versions of the same.

Parker takes a number marker and walks off to grab them a table. A couple comes in behind Harp and lines up without talking, clearly ready to order. Harp finds himself ordering what's probably too much food in an attempt to end up with at least one thing he likes.

He's about to drop the menu before he notices there's a dessert section he didn't see at first.

"And two milkshakes in to-go cups," he adds, fumbling a few bills out of his pocket. Harp had agreed to let Parker ‘take him out for lunch’ only on the condition that Harp paid for his own lunch.

"What flavor?"

Harp shrugs. "Surprise us, I guess."

* * *

Parker sits down,feeling jittery. His leg is bouncing wildly under the table, and he tries in vain to still it, knowing he will probably annoy Harper. In desperation, he grabs his straw and begins to fold it over into increasingly small shapes.

What if I say something dumb? What if I offend him… again? What if he starts talking about literature or some shit and I can’t keep up? What if I get something in my teeth and don’t notice? What if the conversation stops and I can’t think of anything to say? What if it’s awkward? What if it’s boring? What if what if what if—

He shakes his head, stopping himself.

He bites back a grin as he covertly watches Harp order. There’s something strangely endearing about the way Harp eyes the menu almost suspiciously, the way he frowns as he places his order.

* * *

The dining areais cramped and Harp feels like he's lumbering as he approaches the table Parker picked out for them.

"Do you mind if we swap?" Harp asks sheepishly.

"Hm?" Parker says, cocking his head.

"Can I sit where you're sitting? I think it'll be better for my back," he lies.

Really, he just can't stand sitting with his back towards the exit. He'll be shivering and distracted every time someone walks in the door unless they swap now—and Harp is really trying to make it through this lunch without acting like a complete nutcase.

“Oh,” Parker says. “Uh—sure.” He gets up and they do an awkward dance, navigating around one another as they sit down once more, in opposite spots. As soon as they’re seated, Parker starts talking. “So, um, what’d you get?”

"A little bit of this, a little bit of that," Harp says, wishing suddenly they'd chosen a place that served beer.

"Can we, um," Harp continues abruptly. "Can we push this out a bit?"

The table is so close to the booth on this side that it's digging into his gut. What a disaster. Why oh why is nothing in Colorado Harp-sized?

Parker nods and they scoot the table out together. It makes a regrettable squawking noise as it skids across the floor and the couple from before now give Harp a dirty look. He grabs the paper wrapper keeping his silverware and napkin together and silently begins to fold and shred it between big calloused fingertips under the table.

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