We took a booth seat toward the back, facing each otherwith the menu spread out on the table. “You know I don’t have any money on me, right?” I peered up at him.
“I didn’t ask you to pay, did I?” He smiled.
I rolled my eyes and focused my attention back on the menu before me. I still hadn’t eaten today, and I was starving, but I didn’t want Crescent to know that. He still wore his dirty apron, white powdery stains decorating it. He’d never shown an interest in baking when we were in high school. In fact, he could barely cook back then, never mind make baked goods.
The sandwiches caught my eye, all of them packed with carbs, a mound of meat, and hopefully juicy veggies. My stomach growled beneath the table, loud enough for Crescent to pick up on it.
“Order whatever you like. My personal fave is the Philly cheesesteak.” He moaned, his eyes fluttering closed. “God, it’s so good.”
“Going based off your reaction, I think I’ll get that, then.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Good choice.”
We ended up ordering the exact same meals, down to the soda choice. It reminded me of simpler times, always getting the same thing because our tastes were almost identical. Neither of us was picky, but we both despised asparagus and beets. Anything else was fair game.
Crescent had this look on his face, like he wanted to ask questions. It was the same as years ago, where his mouth would part slightly, and his eyebrows would dip just enough to be noticeable. I knew I wouldn’t be able to truthfully answer any of them, so before he could ask them, I interrupted him.
“Never thought I’d see you at a bakery, Mr. Burns Everything He Touches.”
He snorted, shaking his head. “I’ve gotten a lot better, just so you know.”
Fuck, I’ve missed that snort. His laugh could heal a hundred wounds. “I’ll believe it when I see it. Is that why you moved here?”
“Nah.” He paused when our server came by with our food. “I wanted to be somewhere smaller and start over, you know? I needed a clean slate with no memories attached. Baking was added later.”
The sandwiches were stacked high, full of juicy-looking cheesesteak and all the fixings. I immediately dived in, taking a huge bite and scarfing it down. I couldn’t control myself, fueled by the starving need to get food into my stomach as quickly as possible.
I felt his eyes on me, but I was too hungry to stop. I shoveled a few more bites into my mouth before I slowed down and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “This is so good.”
“Damn, dude. I guess so.” He was laughing, and it didn’t sound like he was judging me, but I couldn’t be sure. After all this time, something must’ve changed in him.
Shrugging him off, I took a long sip of my soda. “Do your mom and dad still live in Heaton Springs?”
He tilted his head down, staring at me. “You’re kidding, right? Don’t you remember Star crying at the dinner table when we were, like, fourteen because Mom said she’d bury her bones in that house?”
I laughed, much too loud for the tiny place we were in. “Holy fuck, yes. She had so many tears in her eyes, they just started falling, and your mom was all, “Oh, honey. Don’t cry.” But it only made Star cry harder.”
“And then Moon told her that when we’re old and senile, we’d have to watch over Mom and Dad’s ghost in the house to make sure their spirits didn’t get lonely.” He waslaughing too, hunched over the table, a full belly laugh erupting from him.
The memory played so clearly in my mind—Mr. Miller scolding Moon, Mrs. Miller putting her face in her hands, shaking her head in disappointment. Star was terrified of ghosts at that time, and that family dinner had only made it worse.
That memory spawned another one, then another, until we were crying from laughing so hard as we rehashed all of them. So many joyous tears, embarrassing moments, and times we should’ve gotten into big trouble, but didn’t. I’d spent so much of my time with the Millers; they were my real family.
Our plates had been empty for a while now, and our cups were refilled at least seven times before I noticed the sun setting lower than before. My heart rate picked up, a dark patch looming over my very soul as the invisible wings between my shoulder blades began to wilt and die.
“Shit,”I cursed, pulling out my phone and checking the time. 6:02 PM.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,fuck.
I stood from the booth, cutting Crescent off mid-sentence. How had we been here for so long? How had I gotten lost in our memories, when I knew I had no place in them anymore? There wasn’t a shred of the old Elio in my body, not when he’d been beaten out of the shell I called my own.
“What’s wrong?” Crescent looked up at me, his eyes frantic, his brows up and alert.
“I gotta go.” I tried to grab my phone, which I’d dropped onto the table in my panic, but instead, I knocked over my soda. It spilled everywhere, the ice clattering and falling onto the floor. “Fuck!”
Crescent stood from the booth as well, placing a hand on myshoulder. I flinched. I couldn’t help it. I fucking flinched and moved away, a burning starting just below my diaphragm. My breaths were too choppy, too uneven. “Hold on, what’s wrong? El, you’re scaring me, dude.”
“I gotta go home. I gotta go home.” My tongue couldn’t form anything else, repeating the phrase over and over.
