Two Punks In Love

Two Blue, Too Close

Kat

Colin made it through the memorial service. He made it through his short but loving speech about Emma, he made it through the too dramatic laments of dozens of Hollywood types, he made it through the too firm handshakes from literally a hundred former jocks that now work in varying capacities for ESPN, and he made it through the tender embraces from not a few of his female coworkers that seem super concerned about him. Now he's almost made it through the car ride back to his apartment with his parents, who kept up a well-meaning but endless prattle about the practical matters of traveling to Emma's hometown tomorrow in Terlingua Texas.

Although I tried to keep a discreet profile behind the family, somehow I ended up in the middle of all the Rieters, and now I'm riding in the limo back to Colin's apartment, patting his leg, trying to keep him from losing it on his dad, who is grousing a little bit about the details of the travel itinerary. As soon as we pull up to his exclusive high-rise, Colin reaches across and pops open my door, gesturing impatiently for me to exit.

"Look, I'll meet you later at your hotel for dinner, okay?" he tells his parents.

"But...don't you want me to pack for you?" his mother asks hesitantly.

"Mom, every Friday I pack a suit and fly to some college town for GameDay," he says. "It's no different. I got it."

She shoots me a look. I give her a nod, hoping to convey that I will try to help, if he will let me, but he's literally scooping me up by the butt to force me from the car in his hurry to get away from them.

"Watch the hands, mister," I joke, straightening my skirt as we stride into the lobby. I look around hastily, but there are no paps. It's not a sigh of respect that they stayed away on a funeral day. Cols is just not on the same level as rock stars. The paps got what they wanted of him, looking distraught leaving the memorial, they didn't follow him home like they would follow us.

He smiles grimly as he jerks in irritation at his tie. "Sorry. I had to get the fuck out that car. If my dad made one more smart-ass remark about the layover in Houston—"

"I know." I pat his arm as we cross the empty lobby. We get on the elevator with a retired couple, and I wonder if they are tourists, because they look distinctly Midwestern, not LA. They smile at our elegant designer dress—mostly black—probably thinking we are a couple. I smile back. The lady raises her eyebrows as if to say, my--your fella is handsome young man. He catches the exchange, and despite his grief, his manners win out. He chats with them. I was right. It's their first time using Air B&B and they have rented an apartment in the building for two weeks to see SoCal.

They have no idea who Colin is, or who I am, or that we "belong" with other famous people. Or rather, that I do and Colin did, until his more-famous-than-him-girlfriend died tragically.

When they exit, I sigh. "Anonymity is nice."

"Well, you made your bed," Colin says a little gruffly.

It shouldn't sting, and I know Colin is out of sorts, but I find myself battling tears.

"Yep, and the sex tape to boot," I shoot back with false bravado.

It's like Colin can hear the tears I'm holding back, because he sighs and reaches for my shoulder, squeezing.

"Thank you for being here. I couldn't have gotten through this without you. I acted like an asshole just then. I don't know why I said that."

"It's okay. You're allowed."

In fact Colin does let me pack for him, while he silently drinks a beer. He's sitting on the edge of the bed with his head hung when I finish. I walk over in front of him and pat his shoulder. When he doesn't respond at all, I rake through his hair. I don't know why I do it really, but I regret it immediately, when he looks up at me, and stares at me with such pain and tenderness. I have a sudden warning pang that maybe Trace was right. Maybe this was a bad idea, for Colin's sake.