I go get a drink first and come back with a beer for Callahan. It’s the kind I saw him drinking in Boston, but he looks surprised that I remembered. He toasts me before taking a sip. I open my drink and do the same.
“What’s that?” he asks, turning my bottle towards him.
“Kombucha. Want to try?”
“Don’t do it, it’s nasty,” Farrah yells when he picks it up.
“It’s not bad,” I say in defense.
She scrunches up her face and shakes her head. He doesn’t listen and takes a sip anyway. Instant regret registers on his face. He spits it out.
“That’s vinegar.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is,” they say in unison.
He downs his beer, and I just shrug, taking another sip.
“It’s good for you,” I say.
“I’d rather die,” Farrah says, then instantly flinches. “I’m sorry.”
Even though we are in an open space, the air seems to grow thin. The elephant of my life has just walked in and has taken a shit on our day. Farrah’s eyes are so big, it’s like she is trying to see me in 4K. I don’t know what she is expecting me to do, so I just look away.
“That’s probably what gave you cancer,” Callahan says, smirking.
Farrah gasps, and I burst out laughing. He shoots me a wink before grabbing a cheese fry.
“Now that’s going to giveyoucancer,” I say.
He takes even more, and Farrah finally laughs, the tension breaking. We transition into easy conversation after that, Callahan having scooped away the mess of my new reality, allowing me a little bit of an escape. It’s always so easy to get lost in his presence that I don’t even realize how long we have been here until the sky starts to get orange.
People are packing up, and the crowd has thinned until it’s just scatterings of groups. We stand and throw away our stuff, making our way back to the car. We still keep talking non-stop, even when we pull up outside of my dad’s place. It’s not until it’s completely dark that we get out and he drives away.
Once inside, Farrah throws her stuff by the door and plops onto the couch. Kicking her heels off, she starts rubbing her feet.
“You should have worn sneakers, like me,” I say, sitting next to her.
“They ruined your outfit.” She glares before wincing at the sore spot she touches.
“So, thoughts?” I ask, unable to help myself.
“Hmmm,” she hums while looking up at the ceiling.
“Farrah,” I whine.
“Chill, I’m trying to figure out how to say this.” She stays silent for another moment before she finally sighs. “I like him.” She sits back and continues to rub her feet, not looking at me.
“That’s it!”
“Is that not enough?”
“No.”
She starts cackling. That’s the only way to describe the maniacal sound that comes out of her mouth. When she finally stops, she stands up.
“I’m going to bed,” she says, walking towards the stairs.
