“Really?” she asks, suddenly not understanding the bit. I can smell the alcohol wafting off her breath.
“No.” I don’t elaborate and lean away, but not enough to where she’d notice, I hope.
I feel more than see Declan’s arrival as he ambles over to our lane. His face is serious, the freckle on his lip and neck visible even in the dark bowling alley. I can’t choose which one to pay attention to more.
Lip freckle. Neck freckle. Lip freckle.
“Ohshiiiii—” Harper sputters, swiping the clear jug off the table and knocking the rest of the liquid back before Declan comes to a stop beside us.
“Harper,” he says, voice even like a father who was kind but meant business. “Can we have a word, please?”
Harper only nods, getting up and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
She walks in front of him, head hung low as he saunters behind her. His limp is in clear view as he walks away.
Are you not allowed to drink outside of work? Or is this considered a work event? Maybe she used a fake ID.
I mull over the strange interaction between Declan and Harper, trying to understand what I’ve just witnessed. Their relationship seemed to go beyond manager and employee. It didn’t seem romantic, more sibling equivalent if anything, but that, too, didn’t make sense. I’d never seen Harper in all my years growing up here, so where did she come from?
I take my turn to bowl, distracted by my thoughts, and offer a cheer and a whoop to meet the minimum social requirements for my coworkers on their turns. I order a strawberry lemonade from the QR code on our table, and then swipe over to the Apartment 302 group chat.
Roshi
How’s being a barista treating you, Blink?
It’s the closest thing to “How are you?” I’ve received from either of them. I spin my thumbs, considering how to respond to the text and the stirring sensation I feel in my chest every time I think about Roshi and Faye. I miss and resent them at the same time.
The ripped leather of the bench sags to the left as someone sits beside me—moss-green carpenter pants and loafers, his fancy shoes. I can tell who it is without lifting my gaze. Isn’t it funny to have the ability to recognize someone by the precise position of their legs, the degree each foot faces, the exact angle at which they relax when they sit?
“Where’s Harper?” I ask, setting my phone beside my thigh.
“I got her a ride,” Declan says, looking at the scoreboard on the screen above us.
“A ride where?” I push.
“Home.”
“Why—”
“I think I saw your mom’s car parked in my neighborhood yesterday,” Declan cuts me off.
I would’ve kept pushing about Harper had he not taken me so off guard.
“Oh?” I feign shock, considering how I should play this. “What neighborhood do you live in?”
“A little further downtown from the coffee shop. Off Maple and Brickstone.” He motions the directions with his hands like an eighty-year-old man.
The sight makes me want to smile before I think better of it and suppress it. Declan always gave the vibe that he was a grandpa inside a young man’s body. It was wholesome in a way I could never credit other men being.
“Oh!” I pretend for recognition to hit me in this moment. “Near the beach, right?”
He nods in confirmation.
“Yeah, she was there. I was too, actually.”
He looks at me, waiting for me to elaborate. I allow myself one second to stare at the hair falling over his brow in perfect disarray before obliging him. His hair had never decided whether it was blond or brown, so it settled on being both.And the glasses haven’t made an appearance in a while, I think.
“Lottie, uhm.” I clear my throat and feel self-conscious that he’ll think I’m incapable of keeping it together at the mention of her. He wouldn’t be wrong, and yet. “She left me a house.”
