Out of Nowhere (38 page)

Once the food comes, things are a little less awkward. Daniel starts leaning over Rex to answer Ginger’s questions about when he starts teaching at Temple and something about Christopher’s cousin, so Daniel and Rex switch seats.

“Daniel was telling me that you built the cabin you guys live in,” Rafe says to Rex, who’s paying a lot of attention to finishing Daniel’s plate of spaghetti and meatballs.

“Yeah,” he says. “Well, not from scratch. It was… it was going to be torn down, so I started working on it. I saved what I could, but it was kind of a mess.”

“Do you know where you want to live in Philly?”

“Um, well, I’m not real familiar with things here,” Rex says, “but—”

“That’s bullshit,” Daniel interrupts, tuning back in to the conversation. “Rex took one look at the map and knew the city in, like, ten minutes.”

“Well,” Rex says, shaking his head, but he’s smiling a little, so maybe it’s true. “We were talking about… is it called Fishtown?” he asks Daniel, who nods.

“Yeah, there are all these converted industrial spaces—like, living space over what used to be an ironworks or a welding place. So Rex could turn that space into his workshop. We’re looking at some more places tomorrow.”

Rex nods and then starts eating again, clearly uncomfortable being the center of attention.

“You know,” Christopher says, “I have some friends who are opening a bar near my shop and they’re looking to do custom built-ins. A bar, some shelves, a few booths. I wonder if you could talk to them about putting in a bid for the work?”

Rex’s head snaps up and he nods immediately. “Yeah. Yes. That’d be great. I could do that. Do you… they’d want a… formal bid, I suppose?” His eyes dart to Daniel, who just smiles.

“I think you could probably talk with them first, then write down whatever you agreed on later,” Daniel says.

Rex lets out a breath and nods. “Thanks, Christopher. That’d be great. Really great.”

“Rex,” Rafe says, “I know you’ll have your hands full, with your work and moving and a new city and everything, but if you ever have some free time, maybe you’d want to run a workshop at YA? I know the kids would love to learn some carpentry and woodworking. It would need to be stuff that isn’t too dangerous, but if they got permission slips….”

I squeeze Rafe’s knee. It’s not surprising to me at all that he’d be thinking of ways to help the kids even though he can’t work at YA anymore.

Rex looks a little anxious, but he smiles. “Yeah, I—I think I could probably do that.” He turns to Daniel. “It’ll give me something to do while you’re hanging out at Ginger’s shop.”

“Yeah, seriously, babycakes,” Ginger says, “I’ve missed out on, like, a whole year of you, so you’d better be ready to hang hard.”

Christopher says, “Yeah, I don’t know what
I’ll
do when these two kick me out. Maybe I can come hang out at YA too?”

“Maybe,” Rafe says. “What do you have to offer?”

“Um. I make sandwiches.” It’s clear Christopher’s joking, but in the pause that follows, I can almost hear Rafe scouring every last corner of his mind to think of how he can translate that into anything but a workshop that would imply he thought the kids were going to work at McDonald’s someday.

“Well,” he finally says, “you could just volunteer to supervise programs they’ve already got running.”

“I can supervise with the best of them,” Christopher says, smiling. Ginger snorts.

“What? I can!”

“Yeah, sure, babe. That wasn’t you the other day totally letting your cousin walk all over you. And you definitely don’t let your employees get away with showing up late and taking extra time off.”

“Okay, okay,” he says, “so I’m a lenient boss.”

“It’s no way to run a business,” Ginger says, her eyes narrowed intensely, like probably this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation.

“I think I’m doing fine,” Christopher says, his tone lazy. He leans back, looks her up and down, and winks at her. “Yup, I’m doing just fine.”

I swear, if there wasn’t a table between them, they’d be making out right now.

“Um,” I say, desperate to change the subject, “did you see Brian since you’ve been back?” Brian’s guilt over the way he—we—treated Daniel growing up was out of control for a while. He kept calling Daniel to apologize. So often that I think eventually Daniel just told him he forgave him to stop the incessant phone calls. After which, Brian showed up at my door one evening and was so relieved that he didn’t even notice Rafe, just said, “Dude, it’s okay now!” and plopped his ass down on the sofa with the remote while Rafe and I eyed each other over his head.

“Yeah, I went by there last night.” When Daniel heard that Brian was looking to bartend, he put him in touch with his old boss. “Dude, he’s wrecked!”

“Huh?”

“That girl? Callie?”

“Oh yeah.”

“So, Brian fell for this girl he met, like, once,” Daniel tells Ginger and Christopher. “And he blurted out that he loved her over the phone, so obviously she freaked.”

“Obviously,” Ginger agrees.

“But now they’re dating and he’s all… mushy.”

“Mushy?” I ask. I haven’t seen Brian at work much since he’s not in the shop anymore. He’s still living in the house, though. The mortgage was paid off and Pop’s insurance money was enough to get Brian through a few months of expenses before his job turned full-time.

“Yeah, he’s all… squishy about it. He was talking about buying her… something, and I don’t know. He’s kind of an incoherent storyteller; have you noticed?” Daniel asks me.

“Um. Not really. Well, when he said the thing about puking on her cat, I was a little thrown, but—”

“He puked on her
cat
?” Ginger says so loudly that everyone turns to look at our table. She just gives them a grin and ignores it.

“He… yeah.”

“And cat is a euphemism for…?” Ginger asks me.

“No, he vomited on her pet cat,” Daniel explains. “I know, I know, it’s better the other way.” Ginger pouts and nods. “Anyway, he was basically raving. I think he might do something insane like propose in a hot air balloon or… with skywriting or whatever. He’s out of his mind.”

“So, what are you going to do?” Rafe asks us.

“Uh, about what?” I say.

“Brian.” Rafe looks at Daniel this time, but Daniel just raises his eyebrows and looks from side to side, like a kid who got called on in class but doesn’t know the answer.

“Um….”

Daniel and I look at each other for clarification, but we both shake our heads.

It’s like a scene in a movie where everyone has a gun pointed at someone else: we’re all silently looking around, all sure we’ve misunderstood. Finally, Rex and Rafe lock eyes and both start to laugh. It’s Rafe’s real, genuine laugh, not his polite, on-my-best-behavior laugh, and Rex has this low, warm chuckle. Rafe kind of gestures between me and Daniel and they nod. Daniel and I look at each other blankly and they laugh even harder.

THE KIDS
are jammed together in the gazebo that they’ve decorated with streamers and glittery feather boas for Mikal’s birthday. Dorothy sees us first and waves. She jabs Mischa, who jabs Carlos, who spins around and yells, “Conan! Winchester!” as the others scramble toward us.

“Ow!” Mischa says as someone elbows her to get to us.

Rafe is grinning hugely as they all jump on us and start talking at once. When Mikal texted me to invite us to the party, Rafe was clearly thrilled but he talked all this shit about it not being appropriate for us to go, clearly wanting me to talk him into it. When I told him he was being an idiot and of course we should go, he looked relieved and agreed in about five seconds. What I didn’t tell him was that they were having the party in a park at the Wissahickon even though it was still kind of chilly outside precisely so he
could
come, because when Mikal had asked for permission to have the party at the YA, it was made clear to him that Rafe was not, under any circumstances, allowed on the premises.

“Happy birthday,” Rafe finally says to Mikal, who’s decked out in an entirely glittered outfit—sparkly leggings and a T-shirt with a print that looks like an Easter card of a pastel kitten that’s covered in rhinestones. His eye makeup is glittery. He even has glittery shoelaces in his purple Keds.

“Yaaaay!” Mikal says, bouncing on his toes. “You’re here! We’re just waiting for—”

Mikal breaks off as a guy I’ve never seen before walks up, hands in his pockets, looking around suspiciously. He looks older than the other kids and he’s limping a little.

“—Philip, yay!” Mikal calls out, bouncing over to the new guy and drawing him into the circle. “Philip, this is Rafe and Colin.”

We shake his hand, but he doesn’t quite make eye contact.

“Philip’s my new friend from school. You should totally start coming to YA,” he says to Philip. The guy doesn’t say anything, but he keeps his eyes on Mikal.

“Okay,” Mischa says, clapping her hands together like a camp counselor. “The stations are: sponge-painting T-shirts at this table and nail polish at that table. And snacks and drinks are right here. Go for it!” Then she pushes a button and disturbingly upbeat music pours out of speakers plugged into her phone.

“Omigod, Colin, can I
please
paint your nails. I see you in purple—maybe a purple ombré?” Mikal’s looking up at me, his eyes bright.

“I—um, well… I—” I look to Rafe, who seems totally relaxed and amused by this turn of events.

“It’s his birthday” is all Rafe says, smiling at me warmly.

“What’s wrong with you?” Dorothy says to Mikal. “He doesn’t want that.” I take a deep breath and turn to Dorothy in relief, ready to give her whatever she wants for getting me out of it. “Look at what he’s wearing! It’s gotta be gray. Ooh, maybe use the crackle topcoat,” she says, nudging Mikal with her shoulder. Then she looks up at me and winks, nodding. I shoot her a look and she just laughs and goes to the sponge-painting station.

“Well, who’s gonna do Rafe’s, then?” I say, and the smile on his face becomes slightly forced.

“Me!” Mischa yells. “Please, me,” she says to Rafe. He nods at her and sinks down on the bench next to me.

Of course, within five seconds all the kids are gathered around us, not doing anything but eating snacks while they watch me and Rafe get our nails painted.

“Colin, your hands are
so
messed,” says Mikal.

“What?” I say, mildly offended. My hands are spotless. “Dude, have you seen most mechanics’ hands? Mine are the cleanest you’ll ever find.”

“Oh, um, right. No, sorry, Colin. They’re nice,” Mikal says, patting the back of my hand and shooting a look over my head. “There you are!”

DeShawn walks over and nods at everyone, setting his white backpack down carefully in the corner of the gazebo. Anders creeps along at his side, his all-black outfit an almost comical inversion of DeShawn’s.

“Happy birthday, Mikal,” DeShawn says, kissing him chastely on the cheek, and Anders follows suit.

“DeShawn, I got white especially for you,” says Tynesha from the other side of the nail polish table.

Once they have DeShawn and Anders settled at the table, Carlos says, “Hey, maybe Anders should get white and DeShawn should get black. Or you could mix them.” He winks at them both lewdly. DeShawn braces himself on the table and pushes himself off the bench slightly, leaning into Carlos’ space. I’ve never seen him the slightest bit aggressive before and everyone freezes. He keeps eye contact with Carlos, his expression never even changing. After about thirty seconds that feels like an eternity, he sits back down and picks up the white nail polish.

“Sorry, bro,” Carlos mutters and DeShawn nods peacefully, placing the black nail polish in front of Anders.

“Aaaanywaaay,” Mischa says. “So, I’m thinking of doing galaxies on Rafe. It’s awesome ’cause his hands are so big that I’ll be able to get really good detail. What do you think?”

The table agrees, but I stopped listening the second she mentioned Rafe’s big hands because all I can think of is waking up to them all over me. Recently, he likes nothing better than to wake me up by slowly stroking me to an aching hardness and then going down on me the second I’m conscious enough to nod okay. It’s basically the hottest thing ever and suddenly I’m feeling extremely self-conscious to be sitting at a table full of teenagers. I shake my head to clear it and avoid eye contact with Rafe.

When I tune back in, Rafe’s fully engaged in a conversation with Mischa about the intricacies of a galaxy manicure and DeShawn is weighing in about the relative scale of the cosmos. Mikal is pushing on the skin around my nails with something that looks terrifyingly like an instrument of dental torture, and has apparently selected a gray nail polish for me.

“Dude,” I say, “you’re gonna paint my nails the color of a dirty floor?”

“It’s avant-garde!” Mikal insists.

“Whatever. The gray trend is saturated and over,” Mischa says.

“No way!” Mikal insists, clutching the bottle to his chest.

“Um, never mind,” I say. “It’s cool. It’s… uh… oh, it’s like um, rims—tire rims. It’s cool.”

“Dirty rims,” Carlos mutters under his breath, but when I shoot him a look, he raises his hands in peace. “What should I do, Mikal?”

Mikal looks Carlos over. “Um, neon green?”

Carlos grins.

“Hi.”

I look to my right and Ricky’s standing a few feet away.

“Hey, Ricky. How are you?”

She looks at the floor and cocks her head.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Mikal.

I’m very careful not to bring up anything personal when Ricky’s working at the shop. Rafe was the one who first mentioned it, and it quickly became clear that he was right. That Ricky just wants to work on the cars when she’s at the shop. That she can only focus on that one task and that if I try to ask her about other things, she gets flustered and upset. As a result, though, this is the first time I’ve seen her outside of the shop since she started working there. I crouch down so Ricky’s taller than me.

“Hey,” I say. “You’re doing great at the shop. Really great. You liking it there okay?”

She nods, but she unwraps her arms slightly, bouncing gently on her toes.