“I can’t believe you never come to Phoenix,” I say. “It’s like driving through a hot, beige wormhole of soulless shopping malls and cookie-cutter houses. What’s not to like?”
Logan grins at me. “You may have a point there.”
By the time we arrive at the university campus and park, it’s already hot and pushing ninety degrees, unfortunately, not unusual for the Valley of the Sun in early April. With the giant man-made lake nearby, it’s humid as well. I swipe at my moist forehead as we wander around the campus.
Despite the heat, the place has a lot of energy. Around us, students hurry past, stuffed backpacks and craned necks giving the impression of oversized speedy turtles. There is an absurd number of skateboarders whizzing past. In the distance, some traveling preacher is being booed for calling college girls whores of Babylon. A single guy in a ball cap and sunglasses stands under a palm tree with a large poster board that says, “Cereal is just soup - change my mind.”
We start tacking up flyers at a kiosk. It’s littered with glinting staples and ripped announcements: a summer lecture series about ancient cultures and traditions, a talk by a computer scientist on AI, business internships for an engineering firm, and an Italian Club fundraiser for a trip to Rome.
I watch Logan studying the summer lectures flyer. I can feel my face softening as I look at him. He’s so driven and passionate that he would have thrived in an academic setting. He’d probably knock all these other students out of the water, blowing past them with cum laudes or whatever high accolades they bestow.
I give our flyer a little pat and turn to face him. “We shouldtry to figure out which of these buildings is for humanities,” I say.
He’s looking at me so seriously, I press my hand against his cheek. “Is the heat getting you?” I ask. “Let’s get some water and find some shade. Sunstroke is not something to be taken lightly.”
“I used to want to go to college,” he says suddenly.
It matches what I was thinking so closely about him that I bark out a surprised laugh. He frowns, thinking I’m ridiculing his statement.
“No, I was just thinking the same thing. I can see you here,” I say earnestly.
“Did you ever want to go to college?” he asks.
I wrinkle my nose. “Me, an academic?”
“What’s your dream then? I still can’t remember what you put on Mrs. Grove’s vision board project.”
“Dreams change,” I remind him. “Now my dream is living in the moment. You should try it sometime,” I tease gently.
“You should try to finish high school. I can help you—”
“How little faith you have in me! I actually did get my GED,” I say, not without a little pride.
“Good for you,” he says softly. He takes my hand and brushes his lips against my knuckles.
Warmth spreads through me at his praise and easy affection.
“So, Mr. College. What would you have studied, had you gone here?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know what I would have studied, or what career I would have pursued afterwards. Probably a business degree? Turns out I didn’t need a degree to be successful. I call many of the shots at our company and can do as I please. It’s worked out for the best, profession-wise.”
“See, Logan? Look at what you’ve already accomplished. You’re living your best life too. Give yourself a moment to enjoy it.”
“Yeah, I suppose I am.” It’s cute how startled he looks by this realization.
I can’t help leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek. “But seriously, I’m dying out here,” I say, fanning my face. “Let’s take a break and seek some air-conditioned shelter. Are you hungry? We should eat something that they don’t have in Sagebrush.” I pull out my phone and search as we walk toward the parking lot. “Jamaican? Ooh! Ethiopian. Come on, you haven’t lived until you’ve tried doro wat.”
We duck into an Ethiopian restaurant for lunch, and the scent of berbere and simmering lentils makes my stomach growl.
“Okay, Phoenix is a bloated hot mess,” I say as I use the sour, spongy flatbread called injera to shovel the lentil stew into my mouth. “But the food options? Come on, it’s worth coming here.”
“This is good.”
“See? There’s so much more out there than Sagebrush, Logan.”
Logan dips his flatbread into the collard greens dish and takes a small bite. “I don’t need to see it. I have everything I need. I’m comfortable at home.”
“What does that even mean?” I don’t want to examine why I’m pushing this so hard. “Being comfortable is overrated.”
