Page 123 of College Town

Dad nods and flaps a hand in a wave.

“We’re good,” Tommy assures.

Upstairs in the bathroom, Lawson holds his wrists under the cool tap until his body temperature bumps down a few notches.

Since he hates having to push his sleeves up over and over again with ground-beef-sticky fingers, he swaps his work polo for a t-shirt, and his oldest, softest, comfiest pair of jeans. There’s holes at the corners of the back pockets that allow a little bit of plaid to peek through from his boxers, but it’s not like Tommy hasn’t seen his underwear before. He heads back downstairs in his socked feet and steals one last look into the living room on his way.

“…and then the Battle of the Bulge,” Tommy’s saying, and Dad nods along, lips pursed in sage agreement.

“Nerds,” Lawson accuses as he joins Mom at the counter.

“I think it’s cute,” Mom says.

“Oh, it is. Just.Nerds.”

She snorts. “Says the man with aStar Warsposter on his wall.”

“That’s vintage.”

“So are their airplanes. I think it’s nice when a man can appreciate old things.”

“Mom.” He plops two pounds of ground beef into a bowl and shoots her a look of mock affront. “Are you saying I’m old?”

She doesn’t look up; smiles to herself as she chops garlic. “No, dear. Your crows’ feet say that.”

“Oh,ouch. Damn. Cut me to the quick.” He plays up the hurt, and she titters, and it’s good. It’s all good. He feels something warm and heavy and welcome settle in his gut at the prospect of a pleasant evening. A good meal, and good company. Meatball night is always a hit, but Lawson always feels a little hollow pit in his stomach; a sense of absence.

It’s dangerous, to think of Tommy in the next room, and to feelwhole. To feel like they’re paired off and like things are right. Like an equilibrium has been reached.

Too dangerous by half.

“How was Dana?” Mom asks as they fall into their old rhythm, and Lawson tells her about the boring ins and outs of making reunion-related phone calls.

“When is it?” she asks.

“In December.”

“That works out well, then.” When he makes an inquiring noise, she says, “You and Tommy can go together.”

His next noise isn’t so much inquiring as choking. He turns away from the bowl of meat he’s seasoning until he gets his breath back.

Mom claps him between the shoulders with a garlicky hand. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

So much for playing it off like he choked on his own spit.

He gulps down air and shakes his head. “Yeah, no. We’re not doing that.”

Mom sighs, deep and long-suffering. “You both went to school together. You’re dating. It makes sense.”

“Okay, first off, we’re not dating. And second off…”

He loses steam.

“Second off?” she prompts.

He shakes his head again and returns to work, dumping grated parmesan into the bowl and then working it into the ground beef and pork with his hands. “You know,” he says, quietly, “when I got the first email about the reunion, I had a teensy little panic attack on the sidewalk when I thought he might actually come to the thing.”

“Well. He’s here.”

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