and on the way up the stairs, I say, “So you got updates?”
“It was no big deal. I asked Peyton to keep me in the loop and let me know what was happening. Like I said, I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”
“For the record, I would have, but I get it. No hard feelings,” I say.
“So are hospital nurses as hot as they are on TV?”
Same old Nick. I laugh even though it still hurts to do so. “Not even close.”
Upstairs, Nick tells me about prom. He took Amanda, and at first things seemed to be going well, until sometime between the main course and dessert, she excused herself from the table to go to the bathroom, where she apparently hooked up with Clay Kimball, who was having a hetero moment, and they took off. As in, left the dance. It took Nick nearly an hour to realize she wasn’t coming back. It’s a pretty awful story, and I feel bad, especially since I was the one who encouraged Amanda to go with him, so I tell him the truth.
When I share that I was actually the one who started the fire, he’s practically rolling in the aisle. He thinks it’s all pretty funny, and looking back on it, I guess it kind of is.
Graduation blows by, and then it’s the beginning of summer, and with it, Peyton’s eighteenth birthday. It’s truly a celebration because she’s finally free to make decisions for herself. Monica even bakes her some cupcakes, which turn out exactly as you’d expect, but it’s about the gesture and people showing up for her, celebrating her.
Peyton’s been staying with us, and Monica helped find her a counselor who she talks to once a week. She’s doing so much better, says she feels more in control of her emotions. She’s even mentioned reaching out to her dad at some point and perhaps trying to work things out with her mom, but that’s all way down the line. The main thing is that she’s hopeful again and working to try to heal as best she can. It will be a long road, but at least she’s not traveling it alone anymore.
Before I know it, it’s August, and I’m packing my life into a bunch of brown cardboard boxes I snagged from the recycler at Shop ’n Save, getting ready to move to Boston.
On our last night together for the foreseeable future, Nick, Peyton, and I are driving around in Nick’s dad’s Mercedes trying to figure out something special to do to mark the moment. Nick suggests bowling, but we all agree that’s lame and anticlimactic. Peyton suggests a movie, but it defeats the purpose of spending the evening together if we sit in the dark and don’t talk for two and a half hours. We come up with several other equally lackluster ideas, and then, as we loop down Main Street for the fourth time in a row, it hits us. It is so obvious it’s crazy we didn’t think of it right from the get-go.
Ziggy’s.
It’s on.
The three of us sit at a corner table, and when the waitress comes by and asks if we’re ready to order, we most definitely are. We order three How High burgers (no tomatoes for Peyton), a large order of fries, and three Cokes. The waitress rings the giant bell by the register and announces to the kitchen in a booming voice, “We got three How Highs!”
Nick points to a blank spot in the row of pictures of those who have successfully finished their burgers. “That’s where mine is going. Right there.”
“If you can finish it without puking,” Peyton tells him.
“The rules merely say you have to finish. It doesn’t say anything about puking afterward,” I point out.
“Truth,” Nick says and pulls a stack of about fifteen napkins from the metal dispenser on the table. He notices us both watching him with great interest. “What? I’m getting prepared.”
“Clearly,” I say. He grabs another just to piss me off.
Nick turns to Peyton and asks, “So what’s the story with you two? I mean, now that Hank’s going to be in Boston, are you guys gonna live together or something?”
“Or something,” I say as the waitress brings our Cokes. I pull the wrapper off my straw, jam it into the iceberg floating on top, and take a long sip.
Peyton explains, “Actually, Hank’s going to go and get settled, and I’m going to stay here with his dad and Monica for a while. Hank