Real Life(59)

“Crêpes, I think,” Lukas says, studying the menu carefully. He is fastidious in pronouncing the word, as he often is with such things. Cole kisses Vincent’s cheek and then his hair. Vincent is staring through Wallace. Or rather, the surface of Vincent’s sunglasses is pointed in Wallace’s general direction. Where the eyes beneath are pointed is a mystery. The waiter brings their drinks. Cappuccino for Emma, double espresso for Thom, mimosas for Cole and Vincent, who are clearly feeling celebratory, and refills of plain coffee for Lukas and Yngve. Miller isn’t drinking. His cardigan has a hole in the shoulder.

They all end up ordering crêpes, as if unable to resist the power of suggestion. Wallace isn’t hungry, but orders anyway.

“So I hear I missed a crazy party last night,” Thom says. “What happened?” His eyes are gleaming. He spent the night reading Tolstoy, he says, assembling an argument about some obscure text. Wallace would rather talk about that than the party, anything other than the party.

“Nothing, nothing,” Cole says, smiling. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Yeah,” Vincent says, but there is no smile on his face or in his voice. He looks out into the street. Wallace drinks from his coffee.

“That’s not what I heard,” Thom says, grinning. He bumps against the table, rocking it slightly. “I heard it was a shitshow.”

“It wasn’t that serious,” Lukas says. “Yngve, sugar?” Lukas hands Yngve several sugar packets. Yngve takes them, tears them open, and dumps the contents into his cup. Thom is starting to look a little defeated by this. He turns to Emma.

“Babe? I thought you said it was crazy.”

Emma lifts her head from Wallace’s shoulder and shrugs. “It’s not really worth rehashing. I told you.” Things have not quite put themselves back together between these two, Wallace notes.

Thom has made a critical miscalculation, assuming that whatever Emma alluded to had been something the others would feel comfortable discussing. He probably thought she was talking about someone getting too drunk or saying something slightly off-color or starting some sort of silly contest. He did not assume that the craziness Emma mentioned had been anything worse. Thom’s shoulders slump, and Wallace feels pity for him. It’s always this way. He’s always on the outside of things. But then Wallace remembers that Emma and Thom are fighting and his pity shrinks, recedes. He has his own shit, after all.

“I can’t believe the weekend is over,” Cole says. “Can you guys?”

“No,” Lukas says. “I have to go to lab today and get things ready for tomorrow. It’s going to be a long week.”

“Same,” Yngve says, nodding. “Protein preps.”

“Genomic shearing.”

“The worst,” Emma says, lolling back against Wallace’s shoulder.

“I just have to passage my cells,” Cole says. “It’s . . . well, you know.”

“Is that light-sensitive?”

“Yep,” Cole says. “And I have to do it in the cold room. For hours.”

“Better pack a parka,” Lukas says.

“How long are you working?” Vincent asks, and Cole turns to him with a look of apology already forming.

“Oh, babe. Not that long. Probably till five.”

Vincent’s lips stretch into a thin line. Wallace does not need to see his eyes to know that they are filled with disappointment, that whatever fragile truce they’ve formed is already in danger of rupturing. Wallace wants to kick Cole under the table, to pay attention, but it isn’t his place. The sun is high overhead now. Their food comes out, all crispy and brown and soft. Wallace’s crêpes are plain, with just powdered sugar and strawberries on the side. The tartness of the berries and the sweetness of the sugar are nice, soothing something in him. He chews evenly, slowly, eyes on his own plate. He dissects his food with a careful hand into edible segments. It’s the only way to keep it down.

Miller watches him from across the table. Yngve and Lukas are talking, fighting quietly.

“You didn’t say you weren’t coming back,” Yngve says. “You said you were going to take Nathan home and come back.”

“I was tired, Yngve. Besides, what happened to Enid? Wasn’t she supposed to stay over?”

“She had to take Zoe home.”

“Well, that was nice of her.”

“You didn’t answer my texts.”

“I was asleep.”

“Fine.”

“All right.”

“I didn’t know you weren’t coming home, that’s all. I waited up. Miller and I used your vape.”

Lukas shrugs, and Miller laughs to diffuse the tension. Yngve and Lukas are never really fighting. It’s just scratching the surface. Lukas’s hair is bright in the summer sun, and he’s so freckled that he looks tan. He is coppery all over. Miller nudges Lukas with his elbow.

“You’re quiet,” Emma says to Wallace, which startles him.

“Oh, just eating,” he says.

“Are you all right?”

“M-hm.” He gives her a smile, but she sees right through it. She puts her hand on his leg.

“Are you?” she asks again, and her voice lowers so that only he can hear her. What is he supposed to say to that? That he is fine but not, here but not, wishing he were in his apartment?