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You say you don't want it again and again
But you don't, don't really mean it
You say you don't want it, this circus we're in
But you don't, don't really mean it
You don't, don't really mean it
“You have something-”
Syd points up to his arm, just near the edge of his t-shirt sleeve as she sits on the bench, taking off her chef shoes.
They're getting ready to leave the restaurant for tonight. Two-and-a-half turns and a full house later. They've almost got it down like clockwork now.
“It's a nicotine patch,” he tells her, looking at his own arm, touching the patch briefly.
“Oh,” she says with a nod. “So, no more-”
“You said the gum was nasty, right?” he asks, glancing down at her. “I'm trying something new.”
“Yeah,” she says, kind of frowning up at him, puzzling about what to make of it. “But I thought you, like-”
“Yeah, no, it was nasty,” he tells her with a quiet laugh. “It's just...I think I was trying to punish myself, you know? In some fucked up kind of way. Avoidance.”
“Right,” she tells him, fidgeting a little, finishing tying her laces on one foot. He notices the knives pattern on her socks. “You seem good though, lately. Better.”
“Thanks,” he tells her, slipping into his jacket, watching her mess with her hands. “Therapy,” he pauses, his eyes back on hers. “It's been good.”
“Good,” she says, standing and turning around to finish getting her stuff out of the locker as he hovers in silence. “It's so weird...not waiting for the other shoe to drop for once,” she says brightly, unsettled.
She clicks the door of the locker closed and starts to shoulder her bag.
“Um...,” he closes his eyes for a moment, trying to choose the right words. “So, what are you doing?”
“Like, in general,” she asks. “Or-”
“Right now?” he asks her, blinking, waiting for her to reply when it doesn't come quickly.
“I don't know,” she says, mulling it over. “Probably just...heading home. Take the L.”
“How far is that on foot?” he asks. “Wait. The address is on your paycheck, right,” he goes on, closing his eyes briefly to try to recall it. “Uh, it's about, what, an hour from here?”
“Yup,” she says, pursing her lips. “Things have been going really great lately, haven't they?” she says to him suddenly, with a slow smile.
“Yes. Definitely, chef,” he answers.
“So, we probably should keep doing what we're doing now, right?” she asks, hint of tension in her voice. “Not try to jump into anything new, or-”
He bites on his lower lip, eyes drifting away from her again. “Yeah, no. It's just that...uh...your dad came by the other day.”
“Wait, what?” she asked him, shaking her head. “He didn't mention it.”
“He told me not to say anything,” Carmy said to her watching her immediate visceral reaction. “But I didn't feel comfortable doing that, so I was going to tell you, but we got busy. The walk-”
“Sure,” she told him with a huff, hefting her bag again as she headed through the back door, waiting, holding to the strap while he locked up behind them.
Carmy turned around as they began walking together in the direction of her neighborhood in silence.
“You're gonna tell me why he told you not to tell me, right?” she opens, as he nods. “Let's just start there.”
“Um,” he says, and takes a deep breath. “I think he's under the impression that something might be going on here.”
“Like at the restaurant?” she asks hopefully, staring up into his eyes.
“No,” Carmy says, stretching the word out. “Something here.” He uses his finger to point in between them.
“Shit, Carmy, I'm so sorry,” she tells him. “He just, he's so overprotective, you know, the stuff with my mom, and then I moved out and I signed the agreement, like, back-to-back, he didn't want that-”
“Oh, yeah, he made that clear,” he replied to her.
“And I've just been so busy, we've been busy at the restaurant, right? And I probably should have texted him back last week, but I didn't. Shit.”
“It's fine,” he said, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.
“Fine?” she repeated, followed by nervous laughter. “How could this possibly be fine?”
She watches as he calmly continues walking along the sidewalk as they pass beneath a streetlight.
“Because you signed it anyway,” he replied with a shrug. “Even though he didn't want it, I guess?”
“Great, glad you've had plenty of time to think this through,” she answered sarcastically, huffing and shouldering her bag again. “When did he come by again?”
“Wednesday. Hey, let me carry that for you,” he offers her. “You putting rocks in there or something?” he teases.
“Or, you can go kick rocks, Carmen. It's Saturday. You're just telling me this now?”
“We can take turns,” he offers again. “Since we didn't take the L?”
She stops resisting and then hands it over to him, as he checks the weight of it and puts it over his left shoulder as they resume walking in silence. It's not uncomfortable, although the bag is beginning to be already.
“He asked me if I love you,” he says to her out of the blue, looking straight ahead as the train passes overhead, and he pauses until the noise has left. “Why I would put someone through this, if I love them.”
“Stop,” she tells him, as he halts in place and then turns to face her, her hand held up in the space between them. “No, Carm. Just...no.”
“Losing people you love messes you up,” he replies to her. “It takes a long time to figure all of it out, you shut down, control-”
“I barely even remember my mom,” she said to him, clearly not wanting to go there.
“Your dad does,” he said to her. “He doesn't want to share you?" She rolls her eyes at him. "Remember when you first showed up at the restaurant,” he adds, a smile stretching across his face at the memory. “How they didn't want to change anything Mikey had-”
“I'm not a sandwich, Carm,” she told him, crossing her arms. “So-”
“I didn't want to share you, either,” he told her. “And that was fucked up and wrong. I was so in my own head, because I was just avoiding...everything. So, I didn't really have a good reason for him. Your father.”
“Can we-” she said, letting go of a deep breath. “Just keep walking?”
“Okay,” he said, trying to meet her wide-eyed expression, as she looked ahead and the silence stretches out, becomes only more awkward the longer it's permitted to sit between them. There is a late night restaurant open, and they can't help themselves from curiously craning their necks to look at the plates. They catch each other's eye just as they leave the restaurant behind them.
An opening.
“I said that he should trust you, y'know?" he tells her. "That you know what you're doing. That I've learned to trust you, that I listen to you, or at least, that I'm getting better at doing that. I hope.”
“It's been better,” she said to him with a nod. “I'd be lying if I said I was expecting it to last, because it's just...,” she drops it, takes on an appeasing tone. “No panic attacks for weeks.”
“The food is getting better,” he said to her. “Right?” Hefting the bag on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Is that why you've got half the kitchen here? Big day tomorrow?”
“Give it to me,” she says to his teasing tone, as he hands the bag over to her. “I had a thing I was going to try,” she says innocently.
“The fancy Cheetos, right,” he said to her.
“Cheese puffs. I was going to surprise you,” she told him with a grin. “Change your mind about them by blowing it?” she adds making the boom motion against her head with her fingers.
“By going behind my back,” he shot back at her. “That's my move.”
“Was. We were talking about things we loved as a kid, and that was one of the things. Joyful amusement matters. Non-negotiable.”
“Yeah, uh, my mom never really let me have shit like that,” he said to her, as they finally reached the entrance to her place.
“Five fishes lunchbox?” she asked him with a laugh.
“Lots of fucking sandwiches. The other kids just thought I was weird.”
“There's nothing wrong with being weird. The weird kids have to stick together, right?"
He remembers her socks and glances down at her shoes. “Where did you get those?” he asks her, stalling, now that she's standing at the top step.
She takes the bag off her shoulder and lets it drop to the step while she digs around in pockets for her keys.
“My dad,” she says fondly. “When I was at CIA.” He can hear the jangle of the keys in her hand now. “Hey,” she asks him, sounding intense, curious. Serious. He stares away, off into the neighborhood beyond her place. “What did you say to him, really?”
His hand goes to the guardrail, like he's trying to steady himself, his heartbeat starting to sound in his ears. A knee bent on the higher step, like he could walk right up to where she was at any moment.
Then his eyes meet hers and he smiles. So fond.
“I told him that I cherish you. That none of this is possible without you, because you built it, and, uh, that you're my partner.”
At the edge of the top step now, she's above him, her hand on his shoulder to keep her balance as he gazes up at her.
She leans down to kiss him.