“What’s that?”
“To Amanda,” he said. “You texted her, but I’d bet you every beer I’ve ever drunk you didn’t tell her you were with me. I know she’s not the forgiving type.”
“There wasn’t any need to mention you.” But he was right. I had intentionally left Blake out of the message. Amanda and Blake had fallen out, which had caused me not to see him for six months, and there was no need to stir that pot. I sipped my coffee. “But, seriously, ten minutes.”
“Sure. I understand.” He lifted his steaming mug and drank. I expected him to wince from what must have been the scalding temperature of the coffee, but he didn’t flinch. One brown droplet clung to his beard.
I studied his eyes. It had been a long time since I’d seen them as clear as they were in the bright light of the coffee shop. No red. No fog or glaze from alcohol. Or weed. He looked more like the fresh-faced guy I had met during our first year of college than he had at any time since. And when I’d seen him laugh with that older couple, I understood what had been appealing about him in the first place all those years ago. His natural ease with everyone he met. His jokes that always seemed organic. His ability to get along with just about anyone. Almost everyone at our small college knew his name. Partyers and studiers. Football players and honors students.
And I wasn’t different from anyone else who had met him back then. He was the flame, and I was the moth.
“You seemed a little jumpy when I said your name.” Blake eyed me over his mug. “Everything okay?”
“Just busy. You know.”
“How is the PR firm?” he asked. “On steady ground?”
“Steadier every day,” I said. “Three years since we opened, and we’re making it. We’re hoping to land a contract with the Warren Manufacturing Group. You know, the outfit that makes screen doors.”
“Sexy.”
“They have a lot of money. And I think it’s going to happen. A whole social media and branding campaign for them. That would be a nice shot in the arm.”
“Look at you,” he said. “A businessman.”
“Kind of.”
“And you’re looking good, Ryan,” he said. “As always.”
“Bullshit. I’ve gained five or ten pounds since Henry was born. They don’t tell you that when you have a kid everybody on earth brings you food. And you eat it. And then you just sit around, taking care of a baby. Maybe when he starts crawling I’ll lose a little.”
“Five or ten pounds?” He looked me up and down, even dropping his head and peeking under the table as though the extra weight might have been hidden there. “Where? You’ve always been so trim. So disciplined. In college, two slices of pizza when the rest of us ate four. Usually just two beers when the rest of us . . . Well, you know. Some of us had far too many.”
“I didn’t always stop at two,” I said, looking down at my own steaming mug. My face flushed, and not from the heat of the coffee. “You know that better than anyone.”
“It was rare.”
“I’m flattered you think of me as such a model of virtue and restraint, but usually I didn’t eat or drink as much because I didn’t have enough money to buy it. Unless you bought it for me.”
“No charge,” he said. “How’s your mom? She good?”
“Yeah, she’s good. She’s busy teaching. She’s going to come and see Henry in July.”
“Will you tell her I said hello?”
“I will. She always asks about you. And speaking of Henry . . . I really need to know what this emergency is. I have a growing baby who likes to poop and cry. And a wife who’s been stuck with him all day. And I don’t want to miss bedtime.”
“Sam has shown me the pictures. Instagram, Facebook.”
“Sam has? You mean . . . ?”
“That’s what I’m here to talk about. But, yes, Sam has shown me the pictures.”
“And she hasn’t convinced you to join the social media world? You’re still a Luddite?”
He dismissed me by waving a hand. “That’s your thing, not mine. I just don’t need to put all my business out there. Some things are meant to be private. But he is a beautiful kid. You all look pretty damn happy. And you sure post often enough.”
“Well, you know, first child and all that. If we have another, we’ll be too tired to take pictures. Although I don’t know if either one of us can be more tired. But you’ve got me curious. . . . Sam? Did you bury the lede when you asked to talk? What’s going on with Sam?”
He smiled and scratched at his beard, swiping that drop of coffee away. “Yeah, okay, I have good news of my own. Samantha and I are getting married.”
It took me a moment to respond. His clear brown eyes were beaming like a child’s, and I knew he wanted me to be happy for him. As happy as he appeared to be for himself.
But . . .
“Are you surprised?” he asked.
“Kind of. But that’s not an emergency, is it?”
“Didn’t you see it on Facebook?” he asked. “You’re on there all the time. Sam posted about it today.”
I stalled by taking a big drink of my Americano, which suddenly tasted less appealing than it had a few moments before. I felt Blake’s eyes on me the whole time I swallowed, as he anticipated my reaction to his big news. If Sam had posted that day, I’d missed it.
“Well, come on,” he said, impatient. “Aren’t you happy for me?”
“I am. I am. Congratulations.” I put the mug down and offered my hand across the table. We shook, which felt as strange as it must have looked to anyone who saw us. Two men shaking hands across a table in a coffee shop as though they’d just closed a business deal. “That’s great, man. Really. You know I think very highly of Samantha. She’s wonderful.”
“You think she’s too good for me,” he said.
“I didn’t say that—”
“It’s okay. Everybody thinks that. Hell, I do. She’s organized and proper. She knows which fork to eat with first and how to fold a fitted sheet.”
“It’s not that,” I said. The caffeine made my heart run faster, like a galloping wild horse. My fingertips tingled. And if I couldn’t be honest and forthright with an old friend, then what was the point? “This is the . . . Is it the third time you’ve been engaged to Sam now? And the other two times it—you know—didn’t work out. So, I just . . . I’m wondering if it will stick.”