Because the Night

a summer job

"How old are you, anyway?" Diego asked the question, but Lily had been curious about the answer he'd give, too. 

Annabelle and Al had wandered out of the ballroom a few minutes ago, deciding to get yet another meal together. She seemed to lean into him as they left. Lily almost envied her mother for going on vacation and, with her magnetic and radiant kindness, attracting an easygoing man who seemed happy to just watch her exist in the world. 

Instead, she got saddled with a grump with a problematic family, and a mood that seemed a permanent fixture of his personality. She wanted to warm him up until he melted. Ramona would say, "You're doomed. You just like to burn." But the bright side of not having Ramona around meant that she didn't need to listen to what the imaginary Ramona would say—especially now, as she was walking out of the ballroom with Diego at the pace of a couple. 

Diego's question lingered in the air.  "Actually, don't answer that," he followed up.  

"Why? It's just a number. I'm going to evaporate into fairy dust if I tell you," she said, heaving a speaker onto her chest and starting to walk.  

"No, but I might," he said. "You have this coltishness about you when you walk. Like you're still wondering if people from your high school enemy squad is watching to talk about you behind your back." 

With that, Lily put down the speaker and crossed her arms. He didn't notice that she'd fallen behind until he turned to her to catch a glimpse of her reaction. Diego was pushing Lily a bit, on purpose, to see how much she could take. 

If she was going to meet his family, she was going to have to deal with a lot worse. And not all women could withstand that, the glare of a couple of Moodys in a line. 

His mother couldn't, and she was wonderful. 

Lily seemed to be wonderful, too. Not that he was seriously considering putting her in front of the gauntlet. But if he were to, he had to start now. 

"Come on," he said. "Or do you need help?" There was no way he could help her, anyway. He was pushing a full cart. 

"Not if you talk to me like that," she said. 

"I'll get down on my knees and apologize once we drop this off. Deal?" 

He could've sworn that she snarled. Then she got back in line with him, still keeping that snarl energy. 

"I'm not a child, if that's what you're asking," she said. "Implying. I just graduated from college, yes, but I'm eons away from my childhood self." 

"Eons away is something I probably wrote in a high school paper," he said, chuckling. 

"Would you quit it? And it's not like you're an old man, anyway," she said. 

"How old do you think I am?" 

Lily rolled her eyes. He could tell, just from the way she shuddered. "Well, you don't kiss like a college boy," she said. 

"So that's your gauge," he said. 

"Hold on, I'm not done," she said. "Your body—well, it was probably harder two years ago." 

"Burn," he said. 

"But am I wrong?" 

"No," he admitted. "But it's not bad now, either." 

"Oh, I never said it was," she said. They were walking in a crowded juncture of the hotel, talking about kissing. And bodies. Loudly. She paused to let him walk. "And you don't have any grays." 

"Is this what they taught you in high school algebra? You got a number yet?" 

"Fine. 31," she said.