The People We Keep(82)

I wonder why he’s Robert and not Rob or Bob. I think maybe they’re both gay, but Robert pushes my chair in for me, and our eyes lock. His are light green, and they can’t break away. He’s stuck.

I smile and watch his lips mimic mine. I look away. I’m not going to get caught up again. There’s no point.

Robert pulls a chair from another table and sits on it backward like a high school kid.

“This seitan looks delicious,” Ethan says, spearing a chunk of fake meat.

My first forkful of greens flops against my lips, spraying dressing across my cheeks. I wipe my face with the napkin and focus on trying to fold the leaves with my fork. This food is not going to fill the depths of my hunger. I should be busking or driving or calling around for gigs, not hanging out with strange men in exchange for free lawn clippings.

“April plays guitar.” Ethan gestures to my case. It’s wedged between my chair and the table so I can keep one foot touching it to make sure it’s still there.

“Are you my new talent scout?” Robert nudges Ethan’s arm with his knuckles.

“You should be so lucky.” Ethan grins. Leaning across the table toward me, he whispers, “I have impeccable taste,” like it’s a secret.

“I’m flattered.” I smile and crinkle my nose, trying extra hard to be charming even though my neck is stiff and my eyes hurt. It is always in my best interest to have people remember me fondly.

“You should be flattered.” Ethan turns back to Robert. “She’s amazing. I’m not even joking.”

“Are you actually looking for a job?” Robert asks, hugging the chair back. He seems amused by Ethan’s exuberance.

“I usually spend the summer playing in Florida. Might head down early,” I say, like I haven’t just been there. Like I’m not running away.

“Who summers in Florida?” Ethan says. “April, no! Stay here.”

Robert laughs. “He met you, what, ten minutes ago?”

“Fifteen,” I say. “We walked over from the park.”

“He’s right,” Robert says, “I do need someone. Band for tomorrow canceled again.” He rubs his palms on the top of the chair. “No pressure, but I own the bar across the street too. If it works out, we could get you a regular dinner gig. And I need someone to run open mic. So maybe it could be worth it for you to stick around? See how tomorrow goes?” He smiles.

“You don’t even know me.” I smile back, keep his gaze too long. It’s dumb. I like them both more than I should.

“You don’t even know me, so we’re even.” There’s a little bit of South in his words. Not much, but it’s there. “I need someone. Ethan says you’re good, and he’s really picky. Play tomorrow. If you suck, or you hate it, we’ll go our separate ways. If it works, we’ll talk. How’s that?”

He’s a good salesman. He makes this all sound very practical. But I broke my rules with Ray. I broke my rules with Justin. I know better.

“Thanks, but there’s a room waiting for me in Florida,” I say. It’s close to truth. I could go back to bouncing between rentals. Get on the schedule at Ollie’s and play for kids on Manatee Beach. That broke down house will only feel haunted if I let it.

“You can stay with me,” Ethan says. “I have an extra room.”

I absolutely cannot picture Ethan snorting coke and attacking me. It’s an impossible thought. He wants me to like him too badly. But maybe my instincts are shit. Maybe that’s the thing I’ve learned about myself.

“You guys are really nice. I just can’t put anyone out that much.” I take another messy bite of salad. I need to shovel it in and get gone before they melt me.

“You’d be doing him a favor, I think,” Robert says. He grabs Ethan’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

“My boyfriend moved out last week.” Ethan sighs. “Ex-boyfriend. It’s possible that I’m not so great at living alone.”

Robert laughs. “That’s an understatement. This man is lonely.”

“Hey,” Ethan says. “I bring ice cream.”

“And stay on my couch watching sad movies all night.”

“See, April,” Ethan says, “you’d be doing Robert a really big favor.”

My head aches like someone is tightening a band across my temples. It’s more than ten hours back to Anna Maria Island. I can’t spare motel money on the way. It’s not a route I know well enough to have notes on campgrounds and truck stops recorded in my notebook. And I’m lonely too.

“I can’t pay room and board right now,” I say.

“I don’t need a roommate,” Ethan tells me. His eyes have pinwheels of grey mixed in the blue. “I need the house to feel less empty.”

“I do take up space,” I say, and the tightness in my shoulders starts to give a little. Just for tonight. It’s only bending the rules, not breaking them. I will leave in the morning, before Ethan wakes up, with a full night’s sleep and maybe some aspirin.

“Do you cook?” Ethan asks, like I’ve agreed to a long-term arrangement.

“No.”

“Neither do I. Ivan was an excellent cook.”

Robert clears his throat.