We don’t stop, and I learn about his favorite food truck and its five different kinds of macaroni and cheese. Another minute or so has him confessing that he’ll always turn to creamy soups and pastas when he's in need of comfort. I tell him that ice cream is the one food I crave a little too often, happy to treat myself to a scoop or two even if I’m standing in the middle of a snowstorm. Mateo laughs at the number of impersonations I can perform on demand, and I get to hear about a grunge phase he had when he was probably too young to have it, a teenage neighbor nearby to dress him in flannel and introduce him to Pearl Jam. I mention that my favorite movie when I was little wasThe Wizard of Oz, and skate too close to a story about singing one of its songs to Harper years ago. He argues with me about the existence of ghosts and tells me about a scary slumber party when he was in middle school.
It's too easy and too comfortable, and none of it has a chance of changing my mind about wanting more time with him. Safe spaces are still a scarcity, but an idea starts in my head and drops to knock around my ribcage. I speak, mostly because I think it will hurt more if I don’t.
“Do you have somewhere else to be tonight?” I ask, myeyes on the last few chips in my lap until I remember I’d rather be looking at him.
“I thought I already answered that.”
“Last time I asked, you said you were hungry. What happens now that we’re done eating?”
Mateo steals one of my chips. He waits until I’m watching a couple of teenagers run across the street before he steals the other two. If he’d rather sit here all night, I’m not sure I’d argue with him. Hell, I’d go buy him more chips, but before I can offer, he takes a deep breath and exhales a single word.
“No.”
“No, what?”
“No, I don’t have somewhere else to be,” he says. “So, where do you want to go?”
Chapter Two: Mateo
(I Made a Wish on a Star)
Idon’t get an answer right away, nor do I need one when I think I’d drive Jamie anywhere, just to spend a little more time with him. And he’s gorgeous, sure—no baseball cap was going to hide his face for long, and his t-shirt did nothing to disguise his body—but I'm almost 40, and past the point when his looks would've been enough to make me this reckless. I want to go somewhere with Jamie for the chance at another hour or two with someone special, and maybe most people do, but as often as he might’ve been accused of arrogance in the past, I’m not convinced he knows just how magnetic he is.
In fact, after having watched his confidence waver a couple of times, I think he may doubt it entirely.
Still quiet, we leave the curb behind to throw our trash away, then carelessly wipe our hands on our jeans before we walk toward the parking lot. I don’t reassure him about how close I’d like to stay, nor do I confess that this is more spontaneous than I’ve been in years. It’ll be fun to tell Sophie all about it, and she’ll be thrilled that an entire summer spent raving about a local bar’s chicken wings led mehere, but that will be a Monday morning conversation. Right now, it’s Friday night, and I only want to talk to the man next to me, my car visible from several steps away and my curiosity humming.
“So, how long are we going to be driving before you give me some idea of where you’d like us to end up? Do I get any vague directions, or should I guess and hope that I’ve read your mind?”
Jamie gives me an almost shy smile. “Any chance you’ve got a blanket in your car? And maybe a jacket or sweatshirt or something?”
“I—yeah, I’ve—” I pause next to my trunk when I figure out why he’s asking. “We’re not driving anywhere. We’re walking to the beach.”
“It’s right there.”
It’s true. The ocean’s maybe half a mile from where we stand, and I’m sure he knows I’m not lost. He’s nervous though, his hand rubbing the back of his neck where I’d rather reach for him instead, and I pop my trunk to give us both a few seconds with our thoughts. His restlessness combined with his plans—the two of us on the beach is entirely different from the two of us hitting up a club—makes me even more sure of what I’d first guessed at the bar.
Jamie is queer.
My next question is whether he knows it, too.
He could simply be closeted, and I won’t ask him either way, pushing my favorite Baja hoodie into his arms instead. He thanks me and pulls it over his head just as I do the same with an older hoodie I’d forgotten I owned. After taking a moment to fix my messy ponytail, I grab a blanket and a bottle of water.
“Ready when you are,” I say, about to close the trunk when Jamie catches it with his hand.
“You’re very ready, yeah. I thought I was gonna have to buy stuff off a random tourist on our way.”
“Do you do that often?”
“No, I—it was just a—” Jamie rolls his eyes when he clocks that I’m giving him shit, and then he looks down at everything still in my trunk. “Do you dothisoften?”
“No more often than I have tacos with strangers,” I deadpan. “But really, I just have young nieces and nephews with soccer and t-ball and playdates in parks and birthday parties at pools. I try to keep a bunch of things in the car so I’m prepared for fun on short notice.”
“And is that what this is? Fun on short notice?”
There’s so much I want to say to that—more ways I want to tease him—but there’s an uncertain edge to Jamie’s question, as though he needs an actual answer from me now. I study him for another few seconds, then I tuck the blanket under my arm and grab a soccer ball from the trunk, dropping it to the asphalt and the empty parking space next to my car. He’s surprised and curious, and though I may be more familiar with what we’re doing tonight, it’s been a while since I’ve remembered to try. I kick the ball to him and watch him respond with ease, his hands in the front pocket of my hoodie and his hat still pulled low. The blanket and water bottle don’t slow me down, and we pass the ball back and forth while I answer.
“I’m having a great time, but which part is throwingyou? The fun, or the short notice? Because I feel like anyone who’s earned a reputation for being arrogant and selfish must have some experience with both, and I don’t know what I’ll do if you try to tell me you’re as boring as I am.”