and asking me to come back, but I never responded to it.” I shrugged, stared down into my glass. “He sold the company a few months later, retired to Vail, and no doubt wrote me off as another dead son. We haven’t spoken since.”
“Damn, Harp. I’m sorry to hear that. Really. What about Ingrid? How’s she doing?”
“Happily remarried and living in Texas. She’s going to flip when she hears we’ve reconnected.”
We finished eating, ordered more beer, and Cal fixed me with his eyes. “Do you ever think about it?” he said. “Playing music, I mean? Do you ever wish you’d come to Brooklyn?”
I bit the inside of my cheek and ran my thumb along the metal edge of the table, pressing it into the pointy, ninety-degree angle of the corner until it hurt.
“Every day,” I mumbled.
Cal looked crushed when I told him that, and right away I wished I’d lied.
“What about now?” he said, his brow furrowed, concerned. “You’re happy, right?”
“Happy?” It was like I didn’t even understand the question. Then a vision of October making breakfast in my T-shirt flashed before my eyes and I smiled, but the magnitude of that insight racked me with guilt and dread.
“Marriage? Kids?” Cal asked.
“Not even close.”
“You seeing anybody?”
I shook my head. “Broke up with someone a couple months ago. Haven’t really had time since I got this job.”
Cal and I closed the pub down that night, and even though Casa Diez was less than two miles away, I didn’t think I could drive up the dark, winding road to get there as shit-faced as I was. I suggested we walk home, but Cal didn’t think he’d make it. He called October and asked her if she would come and get us.
We sat on the curb laughing at everything funny and not funny, the way only intolerably drunk people do, finding it uproarious that we’d never ended up shit-faced and stranded in high school but were doing it as adults.
October arrived to find us on the sidewalk, FaceTiming with Ingrid. Cal had grabbed my phone and called her, and despite the fact that he’d woken her up, she started to laugh and cry as soon as she recognized him.
October ordered us into the car.
“I’m talking to Harp’s mom!” Cal shouted.
October seemed irritated, and I took my phone from Cal and told Ingrid we had to go.
“You boys be careful,” Ingrid said, just like she used to when we were teenagers. “And have fun.”
Cal got in the front seat and I hopped in the back. I could see October’s mouth, straight and livid in the rearview mirror.
“Baby, you saved us,” Cal slurred. He leaned in and kissed her neck as she drove, and I closed my eyes to avoid seeing Cal’s sloshy displays of affection, until I heard October say, “Stop it, Chris. You smell like a frat house.”
Cal turned around and whispered, “I think we’re in trouble.” Then he leaned toward October. “Don’t be mad. I love you so much.”
October met my eyes in the rearview mirror. “How much did he have to drink?”
“Maybe four beers,” I said. It had actually been six or seven, but I decided to round down for Cal’s benefit.
“Four? Jesus, Joe. He doesn’t normally drink that much, you know.”
I wanted to tell her I knew that about him long before she did, but instead I slumped down into my seat and stopped meeting her eyes in the mirror.
Cal was still chuckling under his breath, mumbling about being in trouble. Then he started going on about how beautiful and amazing his girlfriend was, pressing me to agree with him. “Isn’t she beautiful, Harp? Isn’t she amazing? Even when she’s pissed.”
I didn’t know if it was all the beer, Cal’s questions, or October’s serpentine driveway, but I felt like I was going to throw up.
Back at the house, October asked me to help her get Cal inside. As we walked him to the bedroom, Diego followed behind us while Cal continued droning on. “I’m so happy to see you, Harp,” and “You’re still my best friend, Harp,” and “I missed you, Harp.”
October got Cal to lie down, I took off his shoes, and by then he was out cold.
I stepped out of the room and the dog shadowed me. October turned off the lights, followed us into the hallway, and shut the bedroom door behind her.
In the kitchen she sat down at the table, rubbed her temples with the meaty parts of her little palms, and let out a long,