But never too close to outshine.
It’s one of the things I like about him. He knows exactly how to fit into my world without trying to make it his.
For half an hour,
I laugh where I’m supposed to,
smile as if my stomach isn’t strangling itself,
pretend my mind isn’t trapped in a waiting room, desperate for an answer from a Jersey boy that might never come.
Then I see Raymond.
He’s slicing through the crowd,
laughing,
shaking hands,
patting shoulders.
He spots us.
He’s closing in.
I grab Ben’s arm, fake a smile.
“I need a fuckin’ breath. Don’t wait up.”
He catches the nerves in my eyes I can’t hide.
“Yeah, aight,” he says. “I’ll be at our table.”
I don’t walk. I escape.
My breath curls up in the corner of my lungs
until I break from the crowd.
Then it scatters out in scraps.
I want a drink—God, I want a drink.
One with alcohol
to take the fucking edge off.
But not here.
I don’t trust anyone in this place.
I don’t get sloppy where hands could grab
and mouths could lie.
I’m halfway to the bar,
Cranberry Soda on my mind,
