Silas
“Tellme again about the full-trunk embrace,” Gideon says, sitting across from me. “But this time tell me all sexy-like.”
“And explain which one of you is the elephant, because that part’s confusing me,” adds in Wyatt, on the couch next to Gideon, grinning like an asshole.
I flip them both off.
“The full-trunk embraces are allowable when her ex is within range,” calls a voice from the kitchen, interrupted by some clanging. “And preferably on a direct line of sight, whereas you can caress but not pet her hair any time you like, but you can never get weird.”
Gideon, Wyatt, and I look at each other.
“So when I say your name twenty times in a row and you don’t respond, are you fucking with me?” I call out in response.
“Only sometimes,” says Javier, his words followed by the annoyed rattle of a drawer slamming shut. “Sometimes I’m deep in conversation with my muse.”
I’m ninety-nine percent sure that Javier refers to his muse as a joke, but not a hundred. You never know with artists. They can be odd, and I’ve never quite gotten up the courage to ask him in case he’s serious about her. It? Them? Do muses have gender?
“You’re welcome to let ‘er rip with the date ideas,” I tell the two on the couch opposite me, gesturing with the cherry soda I’m holding. “Go ahead, thrill me.”
Wyatt blows a too-long lock of orange hair from his forehead, and Gideon gives the far wall a consternated frown.
“What’s that French joint in Grotonsville?” Gideon finally asks. “Le… something red.”
“Being in Grotonsville defeats the purpose,” I point out.
“Lainey and I went to that new Thai place on George and Lafayette,” Wyatt offers. “It was pretty good.”
“Was it a date?” I ask, trying to sound as neutral as possible.
“What? No,” he snorts. “Just a good restaurant.”
“So you’re saying that somewhere you took Lainey would be a good place for Silas to take a date, but you weren’t on a date with Lainey when you took her there,” Javier calls.
“People have friends,” Wyatt calls back.
“Sure,” calls Javier, packing a whole lot of meaning into a single word. There’s more rattling. “You guys know where my spatulas are?”
The three of us on the sofas look at each other, and Wyatt stands.
“You know this is your kitchen, right?” he calls out as he pads across Javier’s loft, bottle hanging from his fingers. “Where do you usually keep the spatulas?”
“I already looked there,” Javier says, and then Gideon clears his throat.
Pizza? he mouths when I look over, and I give him a subtle thumbs up, meaning that I’ve got an order all ready to put in the moment Javier’s lasagna turns out to be inedible. Gideon nods approval.
“Pack a picnic, toss some pillows and blankets into the back of your truck, and wine and dine her below the stars,” Wyatt says from the kitchen.
“Unless I’m doing that in the middle of Main Street, that misses the point,” I call back.
“Take her to a movie,” Javier says. “Pick a restaurant, any restaurant. What about that wine bar that opened up down the block from Walter’s?”
“The county fair’s this weekend and next,” Gideon offers.
“Yeah, win her a giant teddy bear,” says Wyatt. “Women love giant stuffed animals.”
I take the last sip of my cherry soda and try to imagine Kat at a county fair, giddy with pleasure over the prospect of an enormous stuffed toy.
I cannot. I can’t imagine her giddy over anything, least of all a teddy bear. All I can imagine is the way she’d push up her glasses as she looked at it, and then at me, and then asked what she was supposed to do with it.