Part 34 (2/2)

4/17/13 8:58 PM.

CHAPTER.

34.

I was a jangly ball of stress all day at Cellar. Too many hunks of turkey and plops of mayonnaise missed their bread, and my feet were surrounded by casualties.

”Are you on the rag or something?” accused Doug. ”You're sur- lier than ever today.”

”Maybe. Want me to pull out my b.l.o.o.d.y tampon and show you?”

That shut him up. Guys seemed much better equipped at handling the hypothetically hormonal aspect of menstruation than the actual act.

My s.h.i.+ft ended at seven. Brew Town was only two stores away, and I used the extra half hour to change out of my subby s.h.i.+rt and into one that didn't smell quite as much like roast beef. At 7:25, I ascended the stairs and walked out the door of Cellar. There, two doors down, leaning against the storefront with a cigarette in his hand, was Leo.

-1- He wore a heavy black down jacket and a black winter hat over 0- his buzzed hair. He looked around nonchalantly, either not in a rush

1-

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to fi nd me or really just taking in the sights. When our eyes met, he brought the cigarette to his lips, took a long drag, blew out the smoke, then stamped out the rest of the cigarette with his shoe. It could have been a calculated move to show me that he was smoking again, that I had no infl uence over him. Or maybe he started smoking again because of other reasons. Because the world was oh- so- far from revolving around me.

I approached Leo, and he eased himself out of his window lean.

”Hey,” I said.

”Hey,” he repeated. He held the door open for me with his back, hands in his pockets. Without taking off his coat, he slid into a table near the window.

”What do you want?” I asked, standing next to him. He looked at me, almost annoyed. ”Coff ee?” I pushed.

”Oh. Large. Black.”

I didn't bother asking him which brew. I guessed that wasn't something he cared much about. At the counter, I ordered him a medium roast and hoped it was the right choice. I selected a mocha for myself. When the barista asked for the name on my order, I told him, ”Ash,” the name of Bruce Campbell's character in the Evil Dead movies. I thought maybe it would soften the situation. I waited by the counter for the drinks, and when the barista called, ”Ash,” I looked over at Leo for approval. He watched pa.s.sersby at the window. I was p.i.s.sed at myself for bothering.

”Your black coff ee.” I delivered the cup in front of Leo, drawing his attention back inside. I shook off my coat but left on my gloves, fi ngerless ones that converted into mittens.

”Thanks,” Leo off ered fl atly, and poured a heaping amount of --1 sugar into his cup.

-0 -+1 2 0 5.

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I felt like I was supposed to talk. But what about? The easiest segue into conversation was Dead of Winter Con, so I took it.

”How was Reanimator?”

”The same as it always is.” Leo didn't look at me when he answered.

He stirred his coff ee. I blew on mine. An imaginary clock ticked loudly in my brain.

”Why are we here?” I broke the silence. He managed to look at me. I wanted to drown in his green eyes. Until he said, ”f.u.c.k if I know. Brian made me text you last night.”

”He made you? Like, held a gun to your head and threatened your fi rstborn?”

Leo stared at me drolly. ”This was your idea. Total mistake.” He abruptly pushed his chair back but didn't stand.

”I don't feel like it is,” I told him.

”What do you feel, Alex?”

s.h.i.+t. Was this the moment where I was supposed to excrete emo- tions? Was that the only way to make this thing right?

”Do you still love me?” I asked.

Wrong question.

”Seriously. Seriously? You are royally f.u.c.ked up, Alex.”

”Oh, is that why you asked me here? To be a total d.i.c.k and tell me s.h.i.+tty things about myself? Because I don't need you for that.

Perfectly capable of self- loathing on my own, thank you.”

We stared at each other through squinted eyes. If we were bulls, steam would have come snorting out of our noses.

”Why did you ask me here? And don't tell me because Brian -1- made you come.”

0- ”I don't know. It's been a s.h.i.+tty few months, and as much as I

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