“Give the man a second,” Desmond mutters gesturing us off to the side so we’re no longer standing in front of the door. Parker peers up at me, waiting.
“Uhm, yeah, I work here. And I’m done for the day.”
His face brightens visibly. “Do you want to come to lunch with us? We were going to get Subway and eat it in the park and maybe throw the frisbee, because Desmond thinks I don’t go outside or run around enough.”
“Neither of us go outside or exercise enough is what I actually said,” Desmond corrects, before looking at me and raising his eyebrows. “Well? Sound like your type of fun for a Sunday afternoon? Open invitation.”
I look between them, and run a hand nervously down the front of my work shirt. They look so much alike, it’s a little unnerving. The same pretty eyes and curly brown hair. This close, I can see the similarities even in the shapes of their faces. The only difference between them is the lack of freckles or a tan on Parker, although I wonder if more time outside would produce both. Desmond’s sister must have been a spitting image of him.
“Uhm,” I start, forgetting for a second what the question was. “Sure?”
“Are you asking or telling?” Desmond clarifies, one corner of his mouth lifted in a playful smirk.
“I’ll come. If you’re sure? I don’t want to intrude on?—”
“Please come,” Parker interrupts, widening his eyes at me. “Please save me from an afternoon alone with Desmond playingfrisbee.”
“Awesome,” Desmond deadpans, which makes me laugh. Suddenly, my ordinary, and somewhat lonely, afternoon is looking up. I probably shouldn’t be spending money on Subway when I don’t get paid for another three days and my workday was just cut short, but I can get the cheapest thing on the menu and that will be okay. It’s all right to treat myself every now and then, I decide, while looking at Desmond who is more of a treat than Subway will ever be.
“I’ll come,” I tell them decisively and Parker smiles wide enough that I can see several crooked teeth crowded into his small mouth.
“Sweet,” he says, and we set off walking down the sidewalk. Desmond is near the street, walking with his hands in the front pockets of his shorts. Every now and then he tips his head back, as though trying to get more of the sun on his face. Parker is between us, messing with the frisbee, and I have a momentary feeling of unreality as I realize how much like a family we probably look.
There’s a line at Subway, everyone apparently deciding they want a sandwich more than they wanted to ice-skate today. Desmond waves Parker forward to order first, and smiles down at his feet when the kid asks for a foot-long sandwich. I step behind him so that him and Parker can order together, but he shakes his head and nudges me forward with a hand on my shoulder. My face burns when I realize he’s trying to pay for mine without saying the words out loud.
“I can get my own,” I tell him weakly.
“Don’t worry about it, Bluey. What’ll it be? Same thing as Parker? We can see who’s able to pack away more food—the hockey player or the kid.”
“My money would be on the kid,” I admit, making him laugh. He turns to the guy waiting to take our order.
“Foot-long for him, too,” he tells him, before nudging me toward the counter to finish.
When I join Parker at the condiments section, he’s carefully instructing the woman prepping his sandwich on the amount of pickles he wants. Which, if the empty container behind the glass is anything to go by, it’sallof the pickles.
“What kind of chips do you like, Jack?” Parker asks me. “Do you drink soda? Probably not. Desmond says you guys have to eat good. I won’t tell him if you get a soda, though. We can pretend it’s water.”
“I don’t eat a lot of chips,” I admit, looking at the choices. Parker grabs the Salt & Vinegar and holds it out to me.
“Desmond likes these,” he says, somehow knowing that will be enough to get me to like them too. Jesus, I’m in real trouble if a nine-year-old has picked up on how attracted I am to his uncle.
The total that is ringed up and charged to Desmond’s credit card makes me sweat, hand clammy where it’s clenched tight around the plastic Subway bag. Is he even allowed to do that? Would Coach Mackenzie be mad about it, if he found out we had Subway together in a park? Subway that Desmond paid for. Subway that cost nearly ten dollars for mine alone. Surely that’s not allowed?
Fishing my phone out of my pocket with my free hand, I trail behind Desmond and Parker as we walk toward the park.
Jack
I got off work early and ran into Desmond and his nephew and they invited me to Subway and to the park to hang out with them to play frisbee and Desmond paid for the subway and that’s not illegal or anything right??
Nate
Ohhhhh picnic date.
Very romantic.
Jack
Oh God! It looks like we’re on a date, right? Fuck!!
