Page 16 of College Town
He’s afraid he’ll make some sort of scene – God forbid, he might burst into messy tears.
Instead, he focuses on the girl in front of him, forces a smile that leaves her recoiling a little, and takes her order. And the next, and the next. He steals glimpses of Tommy and the woman, now standing at his side; a ring winks on her left hand when she tucks her hair behind her ear and asks Tommy something low and offhand, without looking at him. Lawson’s heart throbs painfully in the apple of his throat, and his palms sweat, coins sticking to his fingers when he tries to hand them over.
He needs to leave. He needs torun. He can’t do this, hecan’t–
Tommy’s right in front of him. No time to run, no time to even barf. There’s no one to call over to take his place.
Lawson closes his eyes a moment, and takes a deep breath, even if he looks crazy for doing so. Oh freaking well.
Talk to him, Dana’s voice says in his head.
He doesn’t know that he will, not really, nottalktalk. But he can stand here, and take his order, and the order of his beautiful fiancée.
“Lawson.” Tommy soundsstrangled, and that gives Lawson the courage to open his yes, and let his breath out in a rush.
He’s not a shock this time. Tommy isn’t looking at him with wide-eyed surprise, but with his brows pinched together, and his mouth turned down. He looks like his stomach hurts, like maybe his heart is throbbing like Lawson’s is.
“Welcome to Coffee Town,” Lawson says. He doesn’t manage to rattle off the day’s specials, but whatever. “Can I take your order?”
Tommy’s frown deepens. “Law,” he starts.
Lawson says, “Sir, we’re very busy this afternoon. Can I please take your order so I can get to the next customer in line?”
Lawson would never speak to an ordinary customer that way, but he can feel his heart beating in his tongue, and he wants to smooth open the lapels of Tommy’s fancy coat, and he wants to turn and throw up in the sink, so he puts a little snap in his voice.
Tommy’s lips compress, and he stares at him. Twenty years later, and it’s the samecome on, manglare he used to give Lawson when they were bullshitting one another. When Lawson gave him a noogie, or tried to convince him that time that the ghost of a little girl lived in the handicap toilet of the Schneider building bathroom in high school.
But they’re not in school, and it’s been twenty years, and Tommy’s all grown up and dressed up, so he says, “Yeah, two tall flat whites, please.”
The woman lifts her head, pushes her sunglasses up onto her head to reveal lovely blue eyes ringed in dark liner. She glances between them, and says, in an accented voice, “Actually, I want a macchiato.”
“One flat white and one macchiato,” Tommy says. “Please.” The last is said through his teeth.
“I’m going to grab a table,” the woman says, returns her attention to her phone, and navigates the crowded shop without stepping on a single toe, making for the empty window table where Lawson sat with Dana days ago.
Lawson punches in the order. “That’ll be eight-nineteen.”
Tommy gives him the look again.
“Eight-nineteen,” Lawson repeats.
Tommy slides over a black credit card and says, softly, checking over his shoulder first. “Lawson, can we talk? Please?”
Lawson swipes the card, wondering how rich Tommy is these days. Wondering why the fuck he’d want to talk here, now, after what went down the last time they spoke.
He remembers the big SOLD sign in the Cattaneo front yard; the car gone; the windows empty. Tommy gone, and not a single word of explanation, not even a goodbye.
“Sir,” Lawson says, firmly, sliding the card back. “The line.”
Tommy steps sideways with a sigh. “Lawson, you can’t just–”
“What name?” Lawson picks up a cup and a Sharpie, poised and ready. “For the drinks?”
Tommy’s nostrils flare in a way that Lawson remembers, and which twists his stomach up in a dozen knots. “Tom,” he grits out.
Lawson adds an M and a Y, just to be a dick.
And because no matter the years and distance, the man standing across from him will never beTomto him.
