Thomas and Niko in the City of Trees

Chapter 11 - Part 2

Saturdays in the summer: Let me tell you, there's no sweeter fruit. The way I plan out my life during the school year, I get used to a certain pace. I like things to be a little frantic at all times, and I fill out my schedule accordingly. I'm actually super into it. So I'm never quite prepared for the impossibly open-ended nature of days like this, each time they come.

You're probably thinking a coffee shop should be conducting business on the weekend, no matter how small it is. You'd be right about that. The reason I don't work weekends in the summer is because Marlon is of the opinion that a man of my years should have that particular time in his life freed up. So he works them for me. He did it last summer, too. He's a strange old dude, for sure, but he's always redeeming himself in one way or another. Last summer, I slowly learned the benefits of having those wide-open days. The thing is, I didn't realize what I'd learned until it was all over, which means Marlon taught me something without me even knowing it. I'm not exactly prepared to call him a mentor, but if I were, I guess I would call him a good one.

Thomas and I lie there talking for a while in bed, hands behind our heads. I'm sure he remembers what happened in the middle of the night just as well as I do, but we don't say anything about it. I also remember waking up some time later still in his arms. I don't know if it was truly his intention to hold me like that for half the night, but that's what exactly what happened. Maybe we shouldn't have done it, but it just felt so unbelievably nice, and it was cold in the room because of the air conditioning, and I just couldn't find it in myself to push him off.

"Maybe I'll go away to school after all," he says.

"You better."

"Think you'd ever make it down?"

"Of course," I say. "As long as you make it up. You're the one with a car."

"Only if I take it with me," he says. "There's quite a bit of piston slap these days. Might be the death rattle."

"If I ever saw a car worth fixing, it's that one."

He looks over. "Think so?"

We get up and go out into the kitchen.

Alfred's eating cereal at the table. "You want to go with us to California this year?" he asks.

It takes me a second to realize he's talking to me. "Nah, that's your thing," I say. Every summer their family takes a weeklong trip over to San Francisco. I almost went with them the summer I was ten, and then again when I was twelve. But both times I backed out because my mom needed me to stay. I'm feeling a little weird about this sudden invite from Alfred. Obviously I'm way too old for that kind of thing. But secretly, I'd do it. Of course I would. I think it would be fun meeting his cousins, seeing what it feels like being the only white guy in the room, checking out a city I've only ever dreamed about, all of it with my best friend at my side. Those are the kind of touchy-feeling thoughts that go on in my head sometimes.

"Give me the cereal, loser," says Thomas.

"Fuck you, too," says Alfred. He doesn't look up from his phone, just blindly scoots the box across the table.

"Excited for Capital this fall?" I say. He's headed in just as we're headed out.

"I already went to Borah for math," he says. "But yeah."

I remember those days, taking the lunch bus over from Fairmont. I almost didn't sign up for grade-ahead math, since Thomas was still going through all that stuff about his mom. But at the last minute I did. Every other day, I'd leave that junior high for my afternoon class. It never stopped feeling like I was leaving him behind.

"Borah sucks," says Thomas.

I doubt he really feels that way, deep down. It's all just rivalry bullshit anyway, and Thomas doesn't hold a grudge. Once he's playing college football, I'm pretty sure all this high school stuff will fade into the past. "When do you guys leave?" I say.

"Next weekend," Alfred says. "I wanted to drive but Dad says we're flying again."

Thomas is looking back and forth between us. He looks like he's about to say something, but then he just hunches over and eats his cereal. I pour myself a bowl.

An hour later, we're in Thomas's car just cruising around town. I tell him I need to stop by my place and he asks for how long. I tell him he can wait in the car and he looks relieved.

Thomas has always been uncomfortable around my mom. I think he's super put off by the way she lives her life. For a lot of my childhood, Thomas's house was the place I'd run to whenever shit wasn't good at my own. He was always the first to hear about it, my first point of contact. Things started getting messed up around age eleven, back when she was dating this guy I hated. He was a pretty angry guy. Several times during that period, I showed up at Thomas's front door on the verge of tears. I'd hold it in until he and I were alone.

But there was one time when his mom intercepted me. She pointed to a bruise on my arm, and when I shook my head she took hold of it and squeezed, just a little. I winced in pain and she said, "See? See?" Then it was just her and me in the car. I'd never seen her so furious before...her fingers drumming nonstop on the rim of that same old leather steering wheel Thomas's hand now rests on. Anyway, we got over there and climbed the stairs and opened the front door and she just unleashed at my mom. It's not like they were ever more than acquaintances, but anyway, they never talked again after that.

Thomas pulls the car into a space under the carport at my apartment complex and I run up for a few minutes. I peek my head into my mom's room to see if she's up yet, but she's still asleep. I grab my phone charger and change my underwear and shirt.

So I get back out there and sit in my seat, and he doesn't start the car right away. He's just looking blankly through the windshield. "She relies on you quite a bit," he says.

"Yeah," I say. "I know."

"Have you thought about what she'll do when you're gone?"

"Of course I have."

"Think she'll be okay?"

I'm finding it hard to believe Thomas cares this much about my mom's wellbeing. He must have some other angle. "I guess I just won't know until the time comes," I say.

"I guess," he says.