I decide to cut in with an introduction. “Hal, this is my mom’s new neighbor, Nick.”
Hal nods. “Always nice to meet another U2 fan in the wild.”
“They put on a great show,” Nick says, before adding, “I worked a leg of this tour.”
Hal and I must have matching baffled expressions.
“You did?” I ask.
“In another life, pre-kid. It was one of my first jobs. Kind of a miserable gig until I got the hang of being on the road.” He pulls at the shirt. “This is LaundroMerch—my clothes went missing from a laundromat in Raleigh. I had to borrow merch so I’d have something to wear.”
The shirt explanation seems to throw Hal off his game because he forgoes whatever additional U2 material he’s been devising for the two minutes.
“I’ll pass on the drink.” Nick hands the menu back. “I spent all day trying to get my bartenders to upsell more cherry margaritas.”
“You’re in the industry?” Hal asks.
Nick gives a noncommittal shrug. “I’m a GM at a Chili’s.”
“Chili’s!” Hal’s excitement level ramps up from a three to an eleven. “Samantha, is this guy trying to poach you?” He turns to me. “Did you show him your flair? She does an ice toss.”
“He stopped by to see if I wanted a ride,” I say.
“A ride?” Hal looks from Nick, to me, and then back to Nick, with a puzzled, almost amused expression. “How neighborly.” Then he turns to me. “Samantha, I need a hand with those bottles of sparkling wine.”
Ordinarily, the prospect of a slightly jealous Hal asking me to join him in the back hallway would make me giddy as fuck. But there’s something caustic in his demeanor that’s beyond our standard workplace snark.
“What’s this?” Hal exclaims after I close the storage closet door behind us. “I thought you deleted Christian Mingle.”
We look at each other for a moment, but I can’t get a read whether this a bit—if he’s playing the role of the possessive would-be boyfriend or genuinely agitated.
“He moved next door to my mom,” I say. “He has a daughter. He’s being nice.”
Hal laughs. “I’m sure he goes out of his way to offer the neighbor on theotherside of his apartment a ride home from work.”
“His other neighbor is a sixty-seven-year-old retired man,” I point out.
“That guy wants to sleep with you.” He says it so plainly that I have trouble processing it. With Hal, I’m always looking for the sarcastic bite.
“Wow.” I scan his face like I’m probing for a weak spot in his armor. “Are you actually threatened by my neighbor?”
Hal puts his hand on my shoulder.
“Hey—”
I hold my breath again, preparing forthatmoment.
Jughead:
We’re only sleeping with each other, right?
“—you don’t owe me an explanation.” His tone is all false sincerity. “You don’t have to ask permission.”
I can’t stand when his words don’t match his delivery. It’s a trick he does—verbal sleight-of-hand. Having this argument among the plastic palm fronds we keep in the storage closet only adds to my confusion.
“Do you want me to come over tonight?” I ask. If he’s not willing to be straightforward, I will. Maybe I’m practicing self-disclosure.
“I think it’s fantastic that you’re into older men now,” he says. “Broaden those horizons.”
