“You look a lot older than I thought,” Dex said. The toothpick switched sides.
“Oh?” I wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or not. No one likes to hear they look older.
“It’s not a bad thing,” he said reading my face. “I just thought you were...”
I raised my brow. Well?
“Someone more transparent,” he finished the sentence off with another gulp of his coffee. He threw the empty cup in the bin and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Before I had any chance to digest what he said (and wonder how he finished that cup of coffee so damn fast), a shrill voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Perry Palomino?” it exclaimed from behind me.
I froze, not recognizing the voice off the bat, but still worried that someone here knew my name.
I glanced warily at Dex, who was already looking over my shoulder. I slowly turned to the direction of the sound.
A medium-sized girl with long, slim arms, a cascade of radiant red hair that wasn’t found in Mother Nature, and enviously shaped jeans was staring at me with her mouth open. It took me a second to recognize her face, but once I saw those pink lips, jaunty nose and darkly-framed emerald eyes I knew who it was: Debbie Birmingham.
Her name said it all—she was always the belle of the ball. I had gone to college with Debbie. She had been in the same advertising program as me, though her looks and steely resolve were always better matched for public relations; she wasn’t exactly the creative type. She was actually one of my better friends throughout college, but we kind of lost touch after the second year. It hadn’t ended awkwardly; I mean, we were “friends” on Facebook and everything, but I had literally not seen her for a few years now and that in itself was a bit unnerving.
Nonetheless, I flashed Debbie my brightest smile.
“Hey, Debbie,” I said trying to sound as confident as possible. All my feelings of inadequacy from being her friend came flooding back.
She walked across the pump divide and put me in an awkward embrace that smelled like Dior and Pantene Pro V.
I giggled nervously and took a step backward. She held me by the shoulders and looked me up and down like I was some outfit she was going to try on.
“You’re looking lovely. It’s been so long!” she squealed. She eyed Dex briefly with vague interest, then looked back at me. “I see you on the Facebook from time to time but we never really talk. What have you been up to?”
I totally thought Dex would have headed back into the car and given us some privacy, but after he had paid the station attendant, he folded his arms and continued to lean against the car as if he also wanted to know what I’d been up to.
“Um, you know,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just the same old.”
“Are you still taking those crazy classes of yours?” she asked, a flitter of amusement on her face. Not the good kind of amusement, but the patronizing kind.
“No, I kind of gave up on that.” I laughed, hoping it sounded breezy.
“Thank goodness! People were starting to get afraid of you.”
I gave her a quizzical look but she continued, not noticing.
“I saw that you work at Allingham and Associates! You know, I almost got hired there to be an account coordinator, but I got a better offer at Mindtrap. What do you do there?”
I felt my face getting hotter. My eyes automatically dropped to the ground. I didn’t want to look at her, nor did I want to look at Dex, and I could tell both of them were watching me expectantly.
“I’m the front desk coordinator,” I mumbled.
“Oh,” she said sounding surprised. “You mean reception?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, well,” she said, baring her toothpaste commercial teeth, and patted me on the shoulder, “I’m sure you’ll find something one day. It’s a tough economy right now, right?”
I nodded and tried to think of something witty to say but all I came up with was just a brain fart.
“Do you still talk to anyone from school?” she asked, fidgeting with her top as if the banality of talking to me was starting to bore her already.
“No, no one,” I answered truthfully. I felt lamer by the second.
“Really? You know, Adele, Steve, Ashley—actually a whole bunch of us are living downtown now right here in Portland. I would have thought you talked to at least some of the old group.”
I shook my head, wanting the conversation to be over. If she was friends with them, wouldn’t she know that? Oh, but of course, she was proving a point. The truth was I had lost touch with a lot of people after college. It wasn’t on purpose. I just gradually became more of a loner at the end of the final year. The people Debbie mentioned were all fine to party with at the beginning, but I got that awkward feeling whenever I was around them, like they were letting me hang out with them out of pity or something. After a while, it was just easier to hole up in my dorm room by myself and spend my nights listening to tunes and making weird clay sculptures. As you do.
I must have been mulling that over for longer than I thought because Debbie looked over at Dex. “I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Debbie. I went to college with Perry in Eugene.”
She extended her slender hand, which Dex shook politely.
“Dex,” he said.
When he took his hand back he looked down and grimaced.
“Sorry, I think I got coffee all over your hand.”
She glanced at it and quickly wiped her hand on her jeans, trying not to look disgusted and failing at it.
“So, how long have you two been together?” she asked.
Before either Dex or I could correct her—not that I really wanted to, as I felt that having someone as handsome as Dex by my side was at least doing me some favors, even if he had bad handshaking habits—someone else caught Debbie’s attention.
A tall, meaty-looking fellow came out of the gas station with a case of beer under his wide bicep and stopped beside her with an expectant look on his face. He looked familiar but it took me a few seconds to place him. I thought maybe it was someone I went to college with, as he was apparently there with Debbie, but the moment our eyes locked, I knew who it was.
Patrick Morrison. I went to high school with him. We weren’t friends, but we had mutual friends. He wasn’t the most popular guy in school, but he had wavy dark hair, brilliant hazel eyes and the same taste in music as me. In high school, music was the divider of friends, the sorter of groups, and the way we defined each other. The fact that this cute guy went to the same concerts as I did was like a Godsend, and I was absolutely smitten with him. He was usually nice enough to me, but like all guys back then, he wouldn’t have given me the time of day if he didn’t have to. I remember when he finally signed my senior yearbook; it was the happiest damn day of my life. Pretty pathetic when you think about it.