The Romantics(53)

As such, people took Halloween quite seriously in Chapel Hill, turning three or four blocks into a giant party packed with people wearing everything from mass-produced costumes of the Party City variety to elaborate group numbers that made you wonder just how much the UNC freshmen were actually studying for their midterms.

Gael had been no exception. At the end of September, just a week or so before Anika had dumped him, he’d bought a couples’ costume for the two of them, Marc Antony and Cleopatra, but given the Mason-and-Anika situation, Gael thought it was too weird to use it with another girl. (Not to mention, Cara certainly wouldn’t have seen the Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton film it was based on.) And so, a quick run to Target this afternoon had resulted in enough zombie makeup for a Walking Dead episode. It wasn’t as elaborate as his usual setup—past costumes had included the dude from A Clockwork Orange (bowler hat, eye makeup, and all) and the Joker from The Dark Knight—but it would have to do.

He and Cara had gotten ready in Cara’s dorm. Cara’s roommate took shots while her boyfriend touched up her Bride of Frankenstein makeup. By the time they were finished getting dressed, the roommate was on her third shot (luckily, Cara only had one, so Gael didn’t feel too bad about not joining in), and both Gael and Cara were oozing blood and gore, faces pale and eyes rimmed in black.

Bonus: With all the heavy-duty makeup, Gael didn’t think Cara could even tell that he’d been crying.

So now they were on Franklin, perfecting their jilted zombie walk, while Gael, unbeknownst to Cara, tried to hold it together after the revelation about his parents. Lucky for him, the street offered plenty of distractions.

“Can we agree that mimes are creepier than zombies?” Cara asked, as the black-and-white troupe headed off in search of their next target.

“One hundred percent yes,” Gael said as a swarm of yellow Minions ran past them.

“Come on.” Cara linked her arm through his. “Let’s go this way.” There was a small break in the crowd, where a group of firefighters in high heels had just sauntered through.

She let go of his arm and turned to face him. “Having fun?”

He nodded forcefully, afraid she’d prod if he didn’t sound convincing. He couldn’t deal with any more serious discussions. Not now.

“I’m glad I’m here with you,” Cara said, and Gael wondered if maybe she’d had two shots when he wasn’t looking. It wasn’t exactly like her to be effusive.

A guy in a Jason mask stumbled past them, and for a second, he wistfully thought of Sammy, wondering where she was.

Cara shivered and started to rub her arms.

(Don’t do it, Gael. Do not do it.)

“You want my jacket?” Gael asked. She was wearing a long-sleeve white shirt that they’d stained with fake blood, but had left her jacket at the dorm, complaining that it didn’t go with her overall costume.

She shook her head. “I’m fine.” But her chin was shaking.

“Come on.” He started to unzip it.

“Uh uh,” she said. “Really, I’m fine.”

“Well, come here, then.” He put his arm around her, pulling her close to keep her warm.

It was nice. It helped to quiet all the crap running through his head. A gaggle of Angry Birds and evil piggies ran past them, and he realized, suddenly, that this was exactly what he’d wanted, just a couple of weeks ago. It was November tomorrow. He was free to pursue Cara now.

So why did he suddenly feel so hesitant?

Cara nuzzled closer to him. “Thanks,” she said. “Looks like I’m totally unprepared.”

“Looks like you are,” he said, a bit robotically.

He nodded to Cosmic, down the street. “You want to go get some nachos?” he asked. “Try to warm up a bit?”

Cara looked up at him and smiled. “That sounds perfect,” she said. “Just perfect.”

Cosmic Cantina was packed by the time they got to the front of the line, and it smelled like stale booze.

“Want to try and wrangle us a table?” Gael asked. “I can order the nachos. You want anything else?”

“Extra guac, please.” Cara smiled.

“You got it.”

Gael placed his order and stepped to the side, surveying the premises. At least half the diners were properly drunk, and the other half were well on their way there.

After Gael watched no fewer than three arguments break out and two bros fall to the ground, a guy in an apron whose forehead was beaded with sweat finally brought out the nachos. Gael’s eyes flitted around in search of hot sauce—the only bottle was being used by a Superman who could barely sit up straight. “You have any more hot sauce?” he asked.

“Only in the back,” the guy said.

“Okay,” Gael said. And when the guy didn’t move, Gael asked: “Can you get it?”

The guy looked at the crowd, then back at Gael. “I’m slammed, man.”

“Please?”

The guy rolled his eyes and headed to the back.

Gael opened the container and popped a chip into his mouth while he waited. He couldn’t help but think of the last time he’d had nachos, right before he’d kissed Cara. What had he been thinking, throwing himself at her like that?




He wondered again where Sammy was, then forced himself to stop.