“And was I not clear? This is not just a ride. This car is yours. All paid for. We can drive it back to Boston together.”
I don’t even have words.
“Just as I thought!” he yells as we reach our destination. He slams the car into the valet parking. “Some dingy shithole!”
There are still no words, but I laugh as we walk up to the inn. I managed to find a place not far from my dad’s that’s run by a local Kansas family. They’ve only got ten rooms, but each one has a large bedroom and an en suite with a walk-in shower and a tub. Plus, the inn is set on forty acres, so we could roam for ages.
After we’re checked in by the owners and after Patrick has frolicked a bit and investigated every cute thing about our room, I hold up a hand and stop him. “This is important. Want to order in some Vietnamese rice noodles loaded with cilantro and take a bath together? There’s a really good restaurant nearby. And then we can talk about all the stuff. Us.”
He raises an eyebrow. “One, I grew up in Cleveland. You think we ate cilantro?”
I cock my head. “And I grew up in Kansas. Think we ate much there?”
“Fair point,” he says.
“But trust me on the noodles?” I ask.
“Of course.” Patrick wavers. “But do you think a bath together is a good idea after I assaulted you?”
“Shut up. And don’t misuse that word. And I didn’t say anakedbath. I meant a platonic one. Partially clothed. It’s like being on a beach and wearing bathing suits.”
“Noodles and a bath it is!” He raises his eyebrows up and down excitedly and gives me the sweet and funny friend wink.
Before I have even placed an order, he’s ripped off his shirt and headed to the bathroom.
Over the rush of water, he calls out, “Come tell me about your dead criminal dad who you know nothing about and who probably left you with way messy shit! I’m in my undies!”
I smile broadly. I so, so missed him.
After our delivery arrives, I meet him in the soapy tub. I’m wearing a tank top and shorts, he’s in briefs, and we’ve got two cartons of great noodles and chopsticks.
So, I tell him that there’s nothing to tell because I truly have no idea who my dad was or what he did. He was just a greedy asshole in too many ways to count. Not one who was ever really capable of loving me or my mom. Or anyone. But it’s okay.
He inhales noodles, then asks, “Diana?”
“What, Patrick?” I am so happy that I’m back together with my friend; I couldn’t care what he asks or says.
He jabs his takeout container for ages and finally looks up at me. “I’m so fucking sorry about that kiss. It was gross. So very fucking wrong. I’ve never—”
“Never felt that way about me,” I cut him off. “I know. Same. You’re all cute and shit, but no. It was a horrible time, and you had a moment. We’re good.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you back more.”
After we have been soaking for too long and are both getting wrinkly, we step out and towel off, and I pull robes from the closet.
“Fucking hotel robes,” he comments. “These are always the best.”
“Agreed.”
As I’m blow-drying my hair, just enough to not soak my pillow, Patrick pats my arm. “Hey!”
“What? Two minutes!” I keep the hair dryer going.
He slaps my arm a few times until I turn off the dryer and turn around. “Okay, what?”
But instead of saying anything, Patrick is just pacing. He’s smiling and stressed, wandering around the suite with such a mix of expressions.
