David was confused. “Interrupt? It wasn’t—” He glanced back and saw Matteo still standing there, strong arms crossed over a strong chest, looking slightly annoyed. “You didn’t,” he finished, turning back toward Phillip. “I was early. I was just having… a drink.”
Phillip’s eyes narrowed a little at that. “A drink?”
“First one I’ve had in over a year,” David said. “It’s not… anything. I promise.”
Phillip watched him for a moment before nodding slowly. “Okay. If you… okay. Do you want to sit here or…?”
“We could get a table,” David said. “Just—a table would be fine. You know?”
“Yeah, buddy. I know. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to stay at the bar or not.”
Yeah, buddy. Like it was nothing. Like they were both twentysomethings again, chips on their shoulders, not giving two shits about most anything if it didn’t directly affect them.
“No,” David said quickly. “It’s not—we can sit wherever you want. I’m just here for you.” He winced at how that came out. It wasn’t quite what he’d meant to say, but he couldn’t take it back now.
“For me, huh?” Phillip said, never one to let anything go. “How about that.” He wasn’t smiling, but David could hear it in his voice. He felt a little better because of it.
“Just let me—” He turned back toward the bar, reaching for his phone. Matteo smiled at him. David gave a weak one in response. He picked up the phone. “I guess we’re getting a table,” he said to Matteo, unsure of why he sounded vaguely apologetic.
“Sure,” Matteo said easily. “You want to tab out now, or do you think you’ll be staying after dinner?” And it was—well, weird, the inflections he put on certain words, like he was trying to say something without actually saying it.
“I don’t—probably now? It’s just, I drove, and I probably shouldn’t—”
Matteo was already nodding and moving toward the register. David glanced over his shoulder to see the same hostess from before taking Phillip’s jacket and terrible scarf, giving the same promises she’d given David earlier, telling him that she’d be right back with some menus and then she’d seat them.
David turned back toward the bar. Matteo and a receipt were in front of him. “Oh,” David said. “Thank you. Thanks—I—” He reached for his wallet, grimacing slightly as his finger bent at an odd angle before it closed on the wallet. He pulled it out, flipping it open, grabbing the first card he saw. He set it on top of the receipt without looking at the charge. Matteo grinned at him, snapping them both up and turning back toward the register.
Phillip was still behind him, the hostess gone. He was running a hand through his hair, messing it up even further. He looked ridiculous, hair stuck up all over, his purple Chucks with the blue laces. David thought it was one of the nicest sights he’d ever seen. Phillip looked—he was a year older than David but looked far younger. It’d always been that way.
“Sign this copy for me,” Matteo said, and David turned back around, a pen being placed in his hand. He looked up at Matteo, then back down. He signed his name, a messy scrawl that probably wasn’t intelligible to anyone. There was a line for a tip. He put down twenty before setting the pen back down.
“Thank you,” he said seriously. “Thank you for—” David didn’t know how to finish that.
“Of course,” Matteo said, he of the eye-crinkles. “It’s what I’m here for. Here’s your copy. Make sure you don’t throw it away before taking a look at it.”
That—he didn’t know what that meant. Why would it be any different? It wasn’t as if—he picked it up. It crumpled a little in his hand. He opened his mouth, but then from behind him, the hostess said, “If you’re ready, you can follow me.”
David picked up his phone and his bourbon, the receipt getting a little wet in the process, before nodding at Matteo and turning back around.
Phillip was grinning now, that grin that said he knew something David didn’t. David used to both love and loathe that look all at the same time, because it usually meant he’d missed something important, something obvious.
“What?” he asked, trying not to scowl.
Phillip shook his head. “Oh, buddy. Never change.”
David didn’t know what to do with that, so he nodded at the hostess. She smiled her little bubble-gum and candy-heart smile at them, ponytail bouncing as she began to lead them through the restaurant. Phillip walked behind her and David behind him, and he tried not to think of all the staycations they’d had here when they’d done just this, Phillip wearing his silly shoes and David following him like he was on a leash. It was hard, though. Sure, the restaurant had changed a few times over the years and it certainly didn’t look like it had when they’d first started coming here, but the basics of it were the same. The bar, the tables, the people already seated, murmuring to each other, forks and knives scraping against plates. To the right, a harried woman wiped the mouth of a cranky toddler. To the left, a man was laughing a little too loudly, his face flushed. David knew that look well. Been there before, my friend, he thought.
The table the hostess stopped at wasn’t one of the secluded ones toward the back. They could have asked for it if they wanted to, but David was unsure of what this was, unsure why Phillip had said I want to see you. Those back tables were for staycations and whispered conversations, hands held under tables as if they were really fooling anyone, the remains of an appetizer or their dinner out before them. They took their time at those tables, never in a rush, knowing the night stretched out before them, and the day after that. It was theirs and theirs alone, and maybe she’d call. Maybe Alice would call, and he’d always answer, no matter what, but it would be short. Always it would be short.
Because she knew.
She knew what they were doing.
The hostess waited until they sat down before she handed Phillip his menu first, much to David’s amusement.
(“They always give it to me first,” he’d said once. “I know they’re supposed to give it to women first, but why me? Why can’t they ever give it to you?”
“My shoulders are broader than yours,” he’d teased, and how they’d laughed at that.)