Page 46 of Hot Mess Express
Pete laughs at that. “Nah, I’m just teasing you. Anthony … An-tony. Ignore me, I’m already four beers in and haven’t eaten.”
Anthony glances back at me over his shoulder. “Imagine that. Drinking before dinner. Like it’s a sin.”
Pete is confused by that, unsure what to say, until Cody comes up and claps Anthony hard on the back, surprising him. “Hope you came with an appetite, because for some reason only God knows, Trey went overboard with the entrées tonight.”
“I’m always hungry,” says Anthony, making a scrunched face that looks like he’s either scowling or fending off a sneeze.
His words always sound so cryptic. Like everything he says or does has a second meaning, and somehow that meaning is meant as a jab at me. Except I can’t think about what else he might be hungry for. The whole house smells like Italian herbs.
I wonder why Trey invited him for dinner.
Does Trey know about Anthony? Is this some kind of big town secret? Are we being coaxed toward each other for a reason?
I’m still wondering when the five of us are seated around the table by the back window, and everyone’s chatting away like we’re at the restaurant again.
Well, everyone except for me and Anthony, looks like.
Sitting here at one end of the table, across from each other.
I will say one thing, Anthony’s at least got a reason to not be talking. The boy is putting down his food so damned fast—and so aggressively—you’d think he starved himself all day. I don’t know whether to be impressed or disgusted as he slurps down bite after bite of alfredo pasta with one hand, bites off knob after knob of garlic bread with the other, and somehow chugs his glass of water with a third hand that comes out of nowhere every few seconds.
I guess I’m making a face, because Anthony shoots me those scrunched, watery eyes and grumbles, “The heck you lookin’ at?” I don’t answer. I just continue to eat. Calmly. As if my food won’t run away from me if I don’t scarf it down in five seconds.
Y’know, like a dignified adult at a dinner table.
“The way you saved your pal Bridger’s life in the restaurant!” shouts Cody at Pete after a bite. They were already talking and I’m just now paying attention at the drop of my name. “You damned near retraumatized me, the way you shouted‘MOVE!’before gettin’ up. Shit, I was ready for the table to explode. You realize that word’s a huge trigger for me, don’t you? It was the last thing I heard you shout before the big boom that shipped my shrapnel-filled ass home. Or off to Prairieland Medical, more accurately.”
“I mean, Iwastellin’ you to move,” reasons Pete. “I saw that IED same second you did and didn’t want you caught in it.”
“Yeah, but if I hadn’t covered you, you’d be dead.”
“We don’t really know that.”
Cody snorts. “Of course we do. Shrapnel embedded in my left leg and arm said that bomb was no fuckin’ joke. You’d be dead.”
“Or maybe we would’ve shared the injury, both of us taken to that hospital. My ass would be lying in a bed right next to yours.”
Cody’s eyes narrow. “So what’re you saying, Pete? I shouldn’t have jumped in front of you?”
“I’m just explaining why I shouted ‘move’. This isn’t news.” Pete tries to laugh it off as he twirls pasta around his fork. He stops when he notices the tension on Cody’s face. “What?”
Cody’s stare persists a moment too long to be comfortable. “Nothing.” He averts his eyes, grabs himself a slice of garlic toast, and grows still, like he’s suddenly forgotten how to eat it. Pete just stares back at him, looking frustrated.
“Does it really matter who saved who?” grunts Anthony.
Everyone turns to him.
I didn’t realize hewaslistening.
“What?” Cody grunts back, almost as surprised as I am.
“Or if one of you recalls it differently, whatever actually went down back then.” Anthony takes another bite while Cody and Pete wait, stewing in their own tension, as he chews and swallows. He’s still buzzed. How muchdidhe drink before coming here? “Think of it this way. Everyone’s got their own version of every stupid thing that happens around this town, right? And everyone is kinda right, everyone is kinda wrong. Pete, I don’t know you at all, but Cody here’s been talkin’ his head off about you since I was literally inhigh school. He loves you as much as a man can without bein’ in bed with him. Listen …” He slumps forward, blinking drunkenness out of his eyes as he tears his garlic bread in half, then uses one half in the air like a professor’s pointer as he speaks. “People used to beafraidof this guy. Even my mom fed me crazy stories about Cody when he came back to town from the Army and Trey was forced to be his nurse. Hey, Cody, you damn near lost function in your arm and leg, right? Then had some surgery where they, like, Frankensteined you back together usin’ your own nerves and shit? Shrapnel’s no joke. Now look at you, all fixed up. But that ain’t the point. Trey’s dadhatedyou, thought you were evilwith a foul-ass mouth tryin’ to drag his son straight into Satan’s godless arms …”
“Wouldn’t gothatfar,” Trey puts in quietly.
“Kinda half right,” mumbles Cody, earning a look from Trey.
“But Cody’s got his own way of dealing with what happened,” Anthony goes on, turning back to Pete, “and I’m sure you’ve got yours. Point is, don’t matter what happened, just that it brought y’all together, forever united. And ain’t that beautiful? I envy that kinda connection with someone.Shit.” He makes a snorting sound, almost laughing at himself. “Lord knows I don’t got anything like that. You’re each other’s hero, no matter how you see it. And now look at you two, brought here under the same roof again, enjoyin’ atasty-assItalian meal made by the reverend himself. Hey, as far as I’m concerned, Trey’s a hero, too, knowin’ how to toast garlic bread without burnin’ it halfway to Hell.” He shoves the half he’s been pointing into his mouth and moans, eyes closing as he chews. He pops open an eye suddenly. “No offense, for the ‘Hell’ thing.”
