You busy tonight?
The light turned, and I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat. I stared at the dark screen on my phone the entire time I waited for the old man behind the deli counter to make our sandwiches. When his grandson came out to flirt with me like he always did, I barely even said hello to him. With a huff, he disappeared into the kitchen again.
"You want soup?" the old man asked as he rung up my order. "You look like you're coming down with a cold. If my Silvia was here, she'd tell you to have the soup."
"Thank you, but I'm not sick." I pulled out my wallet and handed him my credit card. He held it between his fingers, narrowing his eyes as if he didn't believe me. This was the hazard of living in the same community your entire life; everyone thought they knew you, and sometimes, they took that whole “it takes a village to raise a child” thing a bit too far. Like well into adulthood. "I promise, Mr. Lorenzo, I'm fine."
"Then you work too much," he offered as another possible cause of my fatigue. "You tell that brother of yours it's not fair to work family so hard."
"I promise, Frankie's doing a great job making sure we all have time off," I assured him. With a huff, he swiped my card, tore off the receipt with more force than necessary and slapped it down on the counter. I was oddly okay with that because I was relieved the conversation had come to an end.
My phone finally buzzed with an incoming text as I entered the freeway. It killed me to leave the phone on the seat, but Max's response, if that's even who'd messaged me, would still be there once I was safely parked in the lot at home.
Depends on why you're asking.
Okay, so Max was pissed at me too. Lovely. I typed out a quick response then sat in my car, hoping he hadn't gotten busy again at work.
We all need to talk. I was an asshole, and I'm sorry.
The little bubbles appeared at the bottom of the screen, indicating he was typing a message to me. Then they stopped. And started again.
Max: It's not me you owe an apology. You're right, you were a dick. You fucking promised him it wouldn't make things weird, Tony.
Me: I know. I'm home now, getting ready to talk to him.
Wait a fucking minute. If he knew I'd ghosted Enzo too, it meant they'd still been talking. My chest burned with the realization, and I struggled to breathe.You did this to yourself, asshole.Yeah, I had, but it didn't make it hurt any less to know they'd been able to lean on one another while I was off figuring out my own shit.
Max: He's a good guy. Didn't deserve the way you hurt him. You'd better figure out a way to make this right.
I stared at Max's message long enough the screen went black. With a tap, I brought it back to life.
Me: That's the plan. So, if I grovel adequately, you want to come over later?
I re-read my message and quickly sent another.
Me: Just to talk. Enzo isn't the only one I need to make things right with.
I waited to see if he'd reply. After five solid minutes, I realized I was being an idiot. Whatever he said wouldn't change what needed to happen before his possible arrival, so all I was doing was procrastinating. Again.
The apartment was quiet when I pushed the door open. I couldn't see any lights from the living room or kitchen, and I wondered if Enzo had gone to bed rather than talk. Then, I heard music playing from his bedroom.
I knocked, which was weird because we never knocked before barging into one another's rooms. "Hey, you in there?"
"Yep." Silence followed. When it became apparent he wasn't going to invite me in, I leaned against the wall, ready to wait him out, thumping my head against the wall. "You're going to leave a dent."
I let out a huff of laughter.
"It's not locked." I supposed that was more invitation than I deserved.
I turned the knob and peeked around the corner as I pushed his door open. I didn't miss the Club 83 T-shirt draped over the back of the chair Enzo sometimes sat in to read or work on projects when he didn't want to sit at his desk. I clenched my jaw until it ached, reminding myself I'd gotten us all into this situation and I had no room to bitch about him spending time with Max.
Enzo didn't look back at me as I set his sandwich on the corner of his desk. Rather than stand around like an idiot, I carefully removed the pile of clothes from the chair, ignoring the whiff of Max's cologne that curdled my gut. The two of them couldn't have planned this sort of torture, even if they'd known today would be the day I came begging forgiveness.
I watched as Enzo unwrapped his sandwich and started picking at the meat. "Thank you."
"It was the least I could do." God, how stupid did that sound? Of course it was the very least I could do to make up for being a dick. "Listen, I do want to talk about what happened."
"I'm pretty sure that much is clear to everyone," Enzo shot back, spinning around in his seat. "You were drunk, convinced Max it'd be fun to pull me in for a night of fun, then you freaked when reality slapped your hungover face the next morning. That sound about right?"
