Page 32 of Five

“Perfect,” Five says, grinning down at me. “I’d invite you along, Ollie, but… you know. Third wheel kinda shit, right?”

“See ya,” Oliver calls, taking his attention back to the dirt bike. “Don’t get her pregnant.”

I’m just about to call out something nasty in response, when Five leans into my ear and says, “One day, Princess, I will.”

Chapter Ten - Five

I hold Rory’s hand as we walk down College Avenue. “Want to hit up Big City Burrito? I really need some real Mexican food. London, man. They have no idea what a taco is.”

She’s quiet for a few seconds.

“Not in the mood for burritos?” I say, trying to lighten up the mood. There’s no missing the fact that she’s on to me. This whole trip is weird for her too. And even though Oliver is the one who started this mess, Rory isn’t stupid enough to think this is nothing more than her little brother fixing us up.

“No, it’s fine,” Rory finally answers. “We can get burritos.”

I look both ways so we can cross the street. There’s a gap in the flow of traffic, so we jog to the middle of the road, pause between two parked cars as we wait for another break, then continue over to the sidewalk in front of Big City.

“But something else is on your mind, right?” I ask, opening the door for her. There’s a crowd inside, so we get in line and pretend to look at the menu. After a few minutes go by, I lower my voice to a whisper and say, “Is there something wrong, Rory?”

She looks up at me with those big blues and shrugs. “You tell me.”

“Have you… have you experienced anything weird lately?” I lean in close as we shuffle forward in the line.

She thinks about this. “Not that I know of. I mean, except this trip. And that was all Oliver, so I guess it doesn’t count.” And then she looks up at me. “Why did Oliver tell me to come home? Does he know why you’re really here?”

But then the guy in front of us is done ordering, and it’s our turn. I get her usual, hoping she won’t correct me and order something else, because that would mean I don’t know her anymore, and I do. And while I’m having that little debate in my head, she orders for me.

“You remember,” I say, smiling like a great big love-struck dumbass.

“So did you,” she replies.

And just for a moment—for like two seconds, maybe, but no more—everything is perfect. I am Five and she is Princess, and we are best friends, lovers, and destined to be together forever.

I pay the cashier and take our ticket, and then we shuffle off to the side and get our drinks.

“I usually eat out back,” Rory says. “Wanna eat out back?”

That’s when reality hits me hard. She usually eats out back.

When I left Fort Collins I was fifteen years old. I had a driver’s license, but I wasn’t allowed to drive without my parents. In other words, I was a fucking kid. I didn’t take Rory out on dates in a car. I never brought her to Big City for a burrito. But she’s probably been here a hundred times with her friends from high school. She’s probably got mountains of memories stacked up inside her head of sitting out in the alley at those picnic tables eating those lunches and dinners.

“Nah,” I say. “Let’s take it to go.”

We go through the moves of getting napkins and straws, then grab our food from the counter when they call our number.

“Where to?” Rory asks.

“My house?” I say. “We can eat at the park. Like we used to.” Now that is a memory that belongs to us. Me and her at City Park, watching the trolleys come and go during the summer. Sucking on popsicles purchased from the ice cream truck. And I hold on to that memory all the way back to my rental at Shrike and all during the one-mile drive down Mountain Avenue to my childhood home.

When we get out of the car I take her hand and lead her across the street. The city pool is over here too, so there’s tons of people and all the picnic tables are filled with families, but the little spot under our favorite oak tree is empty and the shade is calling us.

I’m not in a suit today. Still wearing the cargo shorts and t-shirt I put on last night. But it’s hot. I feel her relief like it’s mine when we slip in under the canopy of leaves and take a seat.

“So,” Rory says, fishing our food out of the bag. She hands me my burrito and unwraps hers. “What’s really going on, Five?”

“I told you. I’m not sure.”

“Yeah, but you have an idea. I want to hear your idea.”