Page 3 of The Broken Hearts Club

“I get that. So, why didn’t you move here sooner? Did you just graduate from high school or something?”

He snort-laughed at that and said, “Dude, I’m twenty-seven. I would have loved to move here right after high school, but I stayed because my aunt needed me. I mean, she wasn’t really my aunt. She was my mom’s best friend, but none of my relatives stepped up after my parents died, so she raised me. I couldn’t just leave her when she got sick, but she passed away last month. Right before she died, she made me promise to make this dream come true, so here I am.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Me, too. She was awesome.”

“Where’s your hometown?”

“It’s a little fly speck on the map, about seventy miles outside Boise in rural Idaho. Population eighteen hundred forty-six. Well, eighteen forty-five now, because I left.”

“Wow, and I thought I grew up in a small town.”

He asked, “Where was that?”

While we were talking, we kept up the same rhythm. Back up, crank the wheel, roll forward, gain an inch.

“I grew up in the Midwest, in a town of just over eight thousand people. I was the only out gay kid and the only Asian kid in my high school.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“How long have you been here?”

I did the math and was surprised at the answer. “I moved to the Bay Area for college when I was eighteen, and that was eighteen years ago. I’ve been here half my life.”

Back up, crank the wheel, roll forward, gain an inch.

“Do you still like living here?”

“Yeah, I do. I thought about moving away last year, but I’m glad I didn’t.”

“Why’d you think about moving?”

I muttered, “Long story.”

“I’m pretty sure we have the time.”

Back up, crank the wheel, roll forward, gain an inch.

“I don’t want to get into it right now.”

“Okay, but if you—oh yay, someone’s leaving! This is about to get a whole lot easier.”

A car that had been parked in front of the pink Victorian across the street backed away from the curb. Since we were blocking their path, they did a reverse three-point turn into the Victorian’s driveway before driving off. We now had a lot more room to maneuver.

Collie whooped with joy, and after two more moves back and forth, we pulled into the garage. I ended the call and pocketed my phone as we both climbed out of our vehicles, and he looked around and asked, “Do you have any tools? I think the only way we’re going to get them apart is to take off one of the bumpers.”

I brought him my tool kit, which wasn’t much to speak of, but it did include a small wrench. Then we took turns trying to turn the bolts, first on his bumper, then on mine. They’d been rusted in place for decades though, so they wouldn’t budge.

After about half an hour of this, he slumped against his van and said, “I give up. We’re going to need a mechanic to sort this out.”

“You’re right. My guy will probably be willing to make a house call if I pay him extra, but he doesn’t work weekends. Don’t worry, though. I’ll call and ask him to come out first thing Monday morning, and your van will be perfectly safe here in the meantime.”

Collie looked disappointed. “It’s not exactly what I wanted for my first weekend in San Francisco, but I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“The good news is that public transportation can take you anywhere you want to go. You won’t make it to the beach in time for the sunset tonight, but you can see it tomorrow.”