They both look at me.
“Wilma, it was nice meeting you. Elliot, it was nice seeing you again.” My gaze lands on Wilma. “Please let Pastor Thomas know I’ll expect his call by tomorrow morning.”
She looks at me tentatively. Maybe she thinks I’m going to become unhinged at any moment. Given the conversation I’ve just had, it’s possible.
“Will do, Ms. Davies,” she answers warily.
“Lennon,” I remind her. Being called Ms. Davies makes me think of work. And my work, although sadly necessary, is nothing short of depressing.
I wink at Elliot and back out of the small room, making my way down the too-familiar hallway.
* * *
“This is betterthan I remember it,” Brady says, biting into a green chili chicken sandwich.
“Um hmm,” Finn and I mumble, our mouths full of the same.
At a little hole in the wall at the northernmost point of Agua Mesa, lives the best sandwich that has ever been created. When Finn called this afternoon and asked where I wanted to eat, my answer was automatic.
“Can’t get this in Chicago.” Brady wipes his mouth with a flimsy paper napkin. “It’s all deep-dish pizza and pickles on hot dogs.”
“This exists in Texas. But for some reason, it’s better here.” I take another bite.
“How about you?” Brady asks Finn. “Do they have green chili in Silicon Valley?”
Finn shrugs. “I’m not sure. I didn’t make it out much. I worked constantly and ordered delivery from the same four places.”
“But not anymore?” Brady asks, his tone light on purpose. He glances at me, then back to Finn. Yesterday afternoon, after Finn left my mom’s house and Brady and I were on our own for dinner, we imagined the type of job Finn had before he landed in the space between jobs. Brady suggested whatever he did it was probably borderline illegal, and I guessed he was working with the government to dismantle Russian hacking rings. The thing is, either of these guesses could easily be true.
Finn shakes his head.
“What happened?” My arm reaches, my fingers touching his forearm.
Finn shrugs, his thumb running across the space between his chin and lower lip. “Two failed apps.”
“I read somewhere that you can’t make it in Silicon Valley until you’ve had a least two failed start-ups. Or apps, in this case.” Brady pushes a few fries into his mouth and shrugs.
A smile tugs at the corner of Finn’s mouth. “Something like that, yeah.”
The fingers I have on Finn’s forearm dig in a little deeper. His gaze falls on me.
“You’re lying,” I say in a low voice.
He sighs, his expression exasperated.
I look at Brady. “Maybe your guess is right after all.”
He points his cup at me before capturing the straw and drinking. “Your guess might be right also.”
“Would you two knock it off?” Finn says irritably. “I was fired, end of story.”
My stomach sinks. I feel awful. I study his profile as he talks to Brady.
My Finn. A study in opposites, the epitome of a tortured soul. He came back even though he knew he’d have to face Brady, the golden boy of Agua Mesa, and admit he’d been fired. Such a tough pill to swallow, especially since the trajectory of Brady’s life has only soared higher since we all left.
My arms long to wrap around Finn. I keep my hands to myself, because I don’t want to see Brady’s frown, the one he’ll cover up as quickly as it appears. He’s always felt what runs between me and Finn, the connection born from being more similar than different. Brady’s upbringing gave him almost everything, except the ability to empathize with our struggles. Despite this, his role in our triangle is irreplaceable. He is our steady, our reason, our unconditional love.
Finn’s gaze drifts over to Brady. He reaches across to the end of the table and runs the tip of his finger down the glass salt shaker. “Do you remember the time we mixed the salt with the sugar?”
