Last night was the first chance to get everyone out on the patio for dinner since forever. Heaters were on but it really wasn't that cold until late. We had burgers and salad, olives, cheese and wine. Lochlan played DJ and August helped him, sticking with eighties ballads and mostly light stuff. Caleb sat on the steps with a drink and didn't say much. John played along with the songs on his guitar as he was inspired and Ruth and Henry disappeared to play games with their friends online the moment their plates were clean.
So you think you're lonely
Well my friend I'm lonely too
Sam and I sit smushed together in an adirondack chair watching Daniel and Schuyler slow-dance.
I'm so jealous, I say abruptly, my eyes widening at my own admission. Apparently I'm a little more drunk than I was half an hour ago.
Of their dance or something else?
I don't know. Maybe of just everything. They have colorful histories but they're so committed to each other.
And you envy that? Why? Don't you think Lochlan is committed to you?
Sometimes I think Lochlan and I are looking for the absolute best way to hurt each other and it's disguised as forever.
Wow. Ask for a spare marble, get a cannonball. Do you want to go inside and talk for a bit? Maybe sober up a little, Jesus, Bridget. This doesn't help matters.
Helps my matters. And no. I might miss my shot at a dance.
You can ask him, you know.
No, I have to wait for him to ask me. I look at Lochlan and he looks away when he catches my eye. I know the music took him somewhere, probably to better times when we were scared and homeless. Hungry, ruined. Whatever. He'll still claim it was better than this is. He's stubborn like that.
You two are children.
Yes.
I can bring him in and we can talk together.
Or, you know, you could stop being a reverend all the time and just have some fun.
Not when my friend is hurting.
Your friend is always hurting.
Then I will always reverend, he whispers, finishing my drink so I won't.