Wicked Boy (39) (Patreon)

"So, since Ez is a sensitive subject at the moment," Tamela is trying her hardest to rub off yesterday's makeup on a stray napkin with a very generous amount of hand lotion. I adjust the passenger seat, making room for my legs. "I was thinking of that little diner..."

She says diner like it's a question. I'm not sure exactly what she's asking until her stomach growls loudly, and she presses her elbow into it with raised brows — as if she's daring me to say something.

"... Are you hungry?" My cell phone is still off. I'd like to leave it that way. I left Ez with a knock on the bedroom door and a quiet goodbye — a thanks for the offer of a ride. There's something very empty about it, and oddly, I think I'm disappointed.

But Tamela — and whatever this is that's blossoming in the dark spots of our friendship, I want to make it work.

"I get hungry when I'm stressed. Hungry enough that I almost forgot about you," Tamela swipes over her eye, removing the worst of the neon eyeshadow and smudged mascara. My thoughts scramble back to the conversation at hand. "When faced with the smell of pancakes, I become a terrible friend."

"Is that all it takes?"

"Plus, all the people standing in front of the motel were gorgeous."  She throws a hand up. "Just badly dressed.  What's that about? Something in the well-water of Huxley?"

"Escorts."  I supply. "I'm sure it does them some good to be conventionally attractive."

Tamela coughs.

"Right. I forgot that little tidbit."

I hum, mildly humored about her slip. I peek out the window as Tamela starts the car. She glances at me out of curiosity and frowns.

"So..." She pauses. "Ez must be pretty handsome, too, then?"

Yes.  I close my eyes.  Incredibly.

I don't think that I should say it out loud or invite any conversation that might follow, so I only nod and ignore whatever reaction Tamela may have to that.

"...Why do you look bored all of a sudden?" She squints, turning to look over her shoulder as she pulls back. "I take it our tender, bonding moment is over?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you've hermitted yourself right back into your big comfortable shell."

"Fine. I have something I'm curious about," I lean back in my seat, staring out the window. Ez has a nice lawn. It's large and stretching, bright green with morning dew and chickweed in thick piles around towering trees. There are bird feeders in the nooks of them. They suit spring. I smile.

"You?  Curious?"

"Did you happen to get his address from a waitress named Daphne?"

My friend shrugs, remembering belatedly to buckle her seatbelt.

"I don't snitch on my snitches."

"Okay." I tilt my head until it rests against the window.  I smile to myself, wider.

That snitch is Ez's sister.

—

Huxley's Diner feels a lot different in a better state of mind. It's early enough to still reek of bacon grease and hot pancakes, and the doors to the attached motel are propped open by a flower vase that sports a welcome sign that I don't remember reading during my winter stay.

"You two here for a room or breakfast?" The hostess calls. She doesn't look up from her planner and instead chews on the side of her pen cap with a frown. "If it's the latter, go find yourselves a seat."

"They're very lax on their employees here," Tamela whispers, guiding us towards a booth near the back. I slide in across from her. I feel oddly out of place, and I can tell by her fidgeting that she does too. "Earlier, when I came to ask for directions to Ezra's, that woman just laughed right in my face."

"Well?" I wrinkle my nose. "It's a weird question? Maybe she thought you were a stalker."

"Me?" Tamela points to herself with an indignant laugh, "like I'd stalk someone."

"But you did basically stalk him.  You almost broke in."

"I thought you were in danger."

Someone clears their throat.

I look up, and Daphne greets us with a grimace, two menus, and two black coffees without any initiative.

"Y'all ready to order or what?" She crosses her arms, a brow lifting like she's not the slightest bit impressed. "Dinin' in, Mrs. Private Investigator?"

"Ah, I'm... Pancakes for me." Tamela seems hyper-aware of the fact that she's not at her most fashionable, ducking behind her hand as she orders, pretending to twist her earring as Daphne scribbles down the word pancakes.

Then pauses.

"Again?"  Daphne peers down at her, "not very adventurous, are ya'?"

"You had pancakes here this morning?" My eyes widen, and Tamela averts her eyes to the table. "I thought you —"

"Jesus, Milan." She interrupts, as quietly as she can.  "Small ones. Alright? I had them to-go." She mumbles, then glances up at me and glares. "I was hungry and emotional."

"Emotional enough to have the cognitive ability to order pancakes but not to knock?"

"That's enough."

"Oopsie.  Did I rat ya’ out? Anyways," Daphne pops her gum, and Tamela flinches with surprise, her gaze snapping to the woman's bright red lips. "Question."

"Can you chew gum in here?" Tamela's pitch turns indignant, "that has to be — a health code violation?  Something?"

"Question,"  Daphne repeats, firmer, and suddenly, I can clearly picture her with children.

Tamela clears her throat, sitting up.

"... About what?" She pats at her blouse, twisting at the bracelet on her wrist. "The pancakes or your gum-spittle?"

"Neither."

I watch them curiously.

"You're not gonna tell me you asked for Ezra's address and found," Daphne's hands are busy with a paper and pen, but she tilts her head in my direction, "Milan with him? Are ya'?"

"How do you know his —," Tamela stops herself. She inhales, her fingers stretching when the breath leaves her. I blink. "Right. It's not your business, is it?  Are you his girlfriend?  And when exactly did I ask you for this address?"

Tamela straightens her shoulders when Daphne's brows raise. She harrumphs.

"Ah." Daphne only snorts, lip lifting in a way that's eerily similar to her brother's smirk.  "Do ya' really think that I,"

"Milan, what do you want to eat?  Tell the nice waitress your order."

"Oh, 'kay." Daphne nods, and then her gaze travels from mine to Tamela's.  She blows another bubble, then pops it with her teeth. "Two at table seven. Both are pretty things but dumb as hell.  Noted.  I'll get ya' pancakes, Milan."

"You can't — you can't talk to us like that." Tamela looks affronted.

"Well apparently you'll forget that I did if I give ya' a few minutes."  Daphne snipes back.  I only laugh, and her cross look fades into a smile.

"Milan."  Tamela huffs, "She's just insulted you. Don't look like more of an idiot by giggling."

"I also complimented ya',"  Daphne shrugs.  "Anyways.  Milan, you look happier... Glad to see it."

Tamela gapes, bewildered by her lack of accommodation or apology.  I open my mouth to thank her, but she shakes her head.

"But."  Daphne snatches my menu, and with one lingering look, she says,  "Don't let a man like my brother be the cause. I warned ya’ for good reason."

—

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