Page 49 of Run Away Home: Tempered

“Absolutely,” he responds eagerly. Then he looks down at the floor.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

“Nothing...Everything...” he laughs. “Life is so strange, you know? One minute you feel like you finally have everything under control, and then the next minute absolutely nothing is under control.”

“I believe in fate.”

“Fate? That’s such horseshit.”

“No, really, I do,” I say. “Whatever is meant to happen, will happen. It makes me feel better. It makes me feel like all the fucked-up things that happened in my life aren’t all my fault. Que sera, sera, you know?”

“I speak Gaelic, not Italian.”

“I know you know what that means, Peter.”

“I do know what that means,” he says with a smile. “I’ve thought about that, as well. That maybe some higher force rolled the dice and decided what my life would be like before I even set out on it. Wouldn’t that be nice? If I had no hand in contributing to half the mess I wound up in.”

“Your life isn’t that messy. Mine, on the other hand—”

“You don’t know the half of my life.” He turns around and continues putting the dishes away.

I want to ask him more, but I don’t want to push—not yet. Maybe as this thing grows, this “relationship” thing, I can try to find out more. I pick up my phone and start playing “Que Sera, Sera” by Doris Day on YouTube. He puts the dishes down and laughs.

I stand. “Will you dance with me in the kitchen?”

“To this?”

“Yes!” I approach him. “Cheers to what was, what is, and what will be!”

We join hands and prance across the cold tile. I feel like I’m back at the winery again. I try to hold onto that image as long as I can, but then he steps on my toe accidently. The sun rises, illuminating the chipped paint on the walls of apartment 93A.

Danny

KNOCK, KNOCK

Someone’s at my bedroom door. I hide my head under the pillow, using it to cover my ears.

Knock, knock

“What do you want? I’m trying to sleep here.”

“It’s noon,” Peter says.

“Yeah, so?”

“If you don’t get up now, you won’t be tired until very late at night. Tomorrow’s Monday. That’s no good.”

“You’re the one that kept me up all night with Buffalo dip and a terrible movie.” I flip over and stare at the ceiling.

“You picked the movie, Danny.”

“I can’t help it if I have bad taste in movies! You should have steered me in another direction!”

He laughs. “You’re right. My bad.” He opens the door, walks over to my bed, and takes a seat next to me.

Really? Even I know I’m being ridiculous.

“Exactly... Are you working tonight?” I ask.

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