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“Listen, buddy, you’re gonna go even if I have to pay for it myself.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Wait. What?
Ken and I fell into a strange silence just as “With Arms Wide Open” by Creed began to play.
“Oh, Jesus. Speaking of whiny rock stars.” I hopped off the love seat and took a few steps toward Ken to flick my cigarette butt into the parking lot below. “C’mon.” I grabbed him by the lapel of his structured wool coat; it was the closest thing to touching him that I thought he would allow. “I can’t handle this shit.”
Ken came willingly as I dragged him back into the apartment, and I made a mental note.
Weird about hugs. Does not mind being dragged around like a dog on a leash. Interesting.
As soon as Jason saw us walk in, he barreled over as if there’d been a goddamn emergency. “Ken! Ken!” He stopped right in front of us, huffing and puffing. “What’s your last name, bro?”
It was a bizarre question to ask someone out of the blue, but as soon as Jason had uttered it, I realized that I wanted to know the answer with the same degree of urgency. Every cell in my body leaned forward and listened as if Ken were about to tell us the winning lottery numbers. As if he’d discovered the recipe for calorie-free beer. As if whatever came out of his mouth next, no matter how unfortunate or unpronounceable or lacking in vowels it might be, would one day be my last name, too.
“Easton,” he said.
Easton,I thought. I likethat.
