I surprise myself by being sad about that, like when you run into any old buddy from high school, and they say, “Let’s get together for drinks sometime,” and you agree, even though you know you never will.
Duke and I used to be honest, if nothing else.
“What happened to you?” I ask, deciding not to play along with the old friend routine. We were never friends, after all. He may be all bullshit and fake pleasantries now, but I’m not.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“You just disappeared one day.”
“You mean after I got shot?”
“I’m calling the police,” the woman at the stall yells.
Duke glances at her and gestures his wallet in her direction. “Not really the time, man.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised by the disappointment that flares. “Right. Sorry.”
“What about you?” he asks, rifling through bills in his wallet.
“Also not really a story for here,” I say, frowning at the woman who keeps interrupting us. I want to tell her to shut the fuck up, can’t she tell he has the money for her dumb hat, and there’s more important things going on right now.
“Fair enough,” Duke says, fishing a hundred out and pocketing his wallet.
“Hey,” I say, not wanting that to be the end of it. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Right now?” he asks, looking over the choking crowd around us.
“Yeah,” I say. “Unless you have somewhere to be?”
He shrugs. “I guess I could spare a few minutes to talk about your glory days.”
“Mine?” I ask, cocking a brow.
He smiles and leans over the stall, tossing the bill to the grumpy lady, and then turns to go. We weave through the chaos. There’s not one part of the holiday market that’s not bustling with last-minute shoppers and tourists grabbing trendy food items to post on social media. When we finally make it to the street, my head is buzzing from the noise.
For a second, we stand there, the silence louder than the past five years of it that stretch behind us.
“That’s an expensive hat you got there,” I say at last.
“It’s not just a hat,” he says. “It has mittens and a scarf too.”
I think about who he got them for, some girlfriend he’s never told about me, curled in their bed at home, waiting for him.
“Want to go somewhere and catch up?” I ask. “For old time’s sake.”
He hesitates, a frown darkening his brow, and some old reflex rises, to reach up and smooth the lines, to do something for him that no one else does.
Except I don’t know that. I don’t know anything about his life anymore.
“That’s probably not a good idea,” he says at last, his gaze skating away, down the street.
“Scared to be alone with me?” I ask, tucking my hands in my pockets and rocking back on my heel.
“A little,” he admits.
His frankness catches me off guard, especially after the empty formalities he hit me with five minutes ago.
“Don’t make me beg,” I say, keeping my tone light. “You know I don’t do that.”
