Release(20)

“I’m supposed to be going to Linus’s.”

“Come here first. I’m at work.”

“But–”

“Remind yourself when I’ve got your back, Adam.”

“Always.”

“Damn right. Come now. Bring bulgogi.”

She hung up. He held his phone for a long moment, then tossed it onto the passenger’s seat, where it bumped the single red rose he’d bought this morning at the garden centre.

The red rose meant for someone today, meant for Linus, maybe. Meant for Linus, because who else? Idiot, he said to himself. You fucking idiot. The rose now just seemed embarrassingly corny, embarrassingly gay, something that deserved the scorn of a world where people like Wade could do whatever they wanted.

He refused to look at it as he drove away.





BECAUSE, PIZZAS





“Can I snap his wiener off?” Angela said, taking a bite of the bulgogi. “Like, with pliers?”

“I wouldn’t even ask you to touch Wade on my behalf.”

“It wouldn’t be me. It’d be the pliers.”

He could feel her watching him, waiting for whatever cues he’d give to tell her what he needed. He wasn’t sure himself what the cues would be. First Marty and now Wade had knocked him so off-balance it was like those moments during running when he tripped but had not yet hit the ground, flailing like an ostrich for even the possibility of staying upright.

Where on earth had this day come from? And where was it headed?

Adam took another bite of lunch. Even in his upset, he had stopped off at the Korean barbecue place and picked up bulgogi. Angela’s parents had made a concerted effort to keep Korean culture in her life and were faintly miffed that it often got reduced to holy-crap-this-bulgogi-is-awesome.

They were in the back room of Pizza Frome Heaven, one of Frome’s lesser pizza places. It was in a small strip mall just slightly too far away from the larger strip mall where everyone usually went. But it did a good bulk deal and the pizza wasn’t half bad. It wasn’t necessarily half good either, but it would do for a “get-together” where everyone was going to be far more interested in the booze anyway.

“There’s a fire up by the lake,” he said. “I think it’s near those cabins where Katherine van Leuwen was murdered.”

“That poor girl,” Angela said, seriously.

“I saw the smoke when I was driving here. I hope it doesn’t screw up the get-together.” He offered her the Styrofoam bowl. “Kimchi?”

“Ugh, no,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t know how you can eat that stuff.”

“You’re the one who’s Korean.”

“I’m sure I’m not the only Korean in the world who can’t stand fermented cabbage. It smells like dogs humping. Seriously, Adam. Are you okay? Because I feel like killing someone.”

Neither he nor Angela could honestly claim to have been through many terrible traumas after the car accident with her mom. They were, on the whole, fairly normal very-lower-middle-class kids in a rural suburb of the big megalopolis that curved around Puget Sound like a J. The Thorns were a clergy family with airs and ambitions; the Darlingtons were farmers, for God’s sake. Nobody had enough money to get into really interesting trouble, and nobody had the inclination for the more readily available trouble just anyone could afford.

Neither of them had ever done drugs – aside from trying a joint Angela had found in her parents’ bedroom one night and to which she had proved embarrassingly allergic, requiring a shamefaced trip to the emergency room for the whole Darlington family, a good talking-to for Angela, and a promise to sweep the whole matter under the rug for Adam. Neither of them had ever caught STDs; Angela’s mother gave Adam all the condoms he could ever want; and Angela had never got pregnant or even had a scare. She was way too smart for that.

They’d never had any run-ins with the police outside a speeding ticket (Adam) and a raided house party (Angela). Nobody they were close to had got cancer or MS or a tumour. No eating disorders, nothing requiring a psychiatrist (well, not a reputable one; Adam was sure his parents would have only been too happy to send him for a “cure” if they thought it was on the table, but even they knew not to push that one). The only real drama they had was Adam coming out to her, and Angela had done most of that for him anyway.

They’d just had life together. First kisses, last kisses, virginities lost, drinks tried, movies watched, classes shared, heartaches exchanged, world theories pontificated, gossip spread, uncontrollable laughter at nothing, polite dinners with respective families, mutual protection from bullies, gentle terrorizations of weak student teachers, early breakfasts every Friday before school at Denny’s. All the stuff that counted. All the stuff that made the cement that stuck them together.

They’d been kids together. They’d been young teens together. They were growing up into adults together. It had been long enough and consistent enough that they’d gone past all boundaries. If she needed him, he’d be there instantly, no questions asked, and he knew she’d do the same. She was here now. They had their bulgogi. This is what a family was. Or should be.

“Do you remember the last year we went trick or treating?” he asked her.

“With the snow?” she said, surprised, but willing to go with it.