25

Ironically, I miss prom because I'm in the hospital, having nearly bit the dust in a totally different fire. What are the odds?

Nearly dying makes you realize who and what really matters. By the end of the following week when I finally get to go home, I know there’s something I need to do.

I show up at Nick’s house unannounced, and lucky for me the gate is open. There are a bunch of cars in the driveway. I’m hesitating, thinking I’ve probably come at a bad time if the Giulianis have company, when Nick drives up behind me in his dad’s black Mercedes, music blaring. To say he’s surprised to see me is an understatement.

He climbs out and heads toward me. “Hey. What are you doing here?” he asks.

“I wanted to talk to you,” I say. “Actually, I’ve wanted to for a while, but I was kind of in the hospital.”

“I heard about that. Jesus, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I say. “Worked out in my favor, really, because I didn’t get stuck going to prom.”

“Lucky you.” Nick pops the trunk. It’s filled with ice.

“You need a hand with that?”

“Sure. Good timing. You saved me from frostbite carrying these things,” he says and hands me a bag of ice to carry and grabs the other bag for himself. “I would’ve stopped by, but I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me.”

“I know things have been weird lately. But that’s why I’m here. I’m hoping we can put all this crazy shit behind us, you know? Keep moving forward.”

“Forward is good. Listen, I’m sorry, man.”

“I’m sorry too. Things got a little out of hand.”

“So we’re good?”

“Definitely.” I follow him into the house. “So what’s all this ice for?”

“Giovanna’s engagement is back on so my parents are throwing a party. And false alarm on the pregnancy thing. Turns out the wedding jitters made her late for her monthly bill, so at least we won’t have to be looking for a place to hide her fiancé’s body anytime soon.”

We bring the ice into the kitchen, and as soon as Mrs. Giuliani catches sight of me, her face lights up like she’s won the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes. “Hank! Oh my God!” She rushes over to give me a hug. Same as the first time we met, she enfolds me into her ample bosom, but it’s extra awkward because I’m still holding the bags of ice. Nick pulls me to safety.

“Ma! Seriously, give the guy some air.”

The next thing I know, Mr. Giuliani is shaking my hand and pulling me into the living room, telling everyone about the fire and how I was in the hospital. Suddenly, the party guests are fanning out in a circle around us, wanting to hear all the details. Unfortunately, I don’t really remember most of them. But I’m overwhelmed by how genuinely glad Nick’s family is to see me and their concern.

They offer me a drink and plates of food, and I glance at Giovanna because I’m sure she’s pissed that I’ve diverted all the attention from her special occasion, but she’s sitting there as rapt as the rest of them. I’m not used to being the center of attention in a good way, and it feels pretty amazing. Then Nick’s mom says the capper.

“It’s so wonderful to see you, Hank. Nicky would give us updates, of course, but we were all so worried. You just take things slow, and if there’s ever anything we can do, you don’t hesitate to ask, you hear me?”

I turn to look at Nick, but he’s busy stacking a cracker with salami and cheese, completely avoiding eye contact. “Thank you, I will.”

Nick tells his parents we’re going to go hang out in his room, and on the way up the stairs, I say, “So you got updates?”

“It was no big deal. I asked Peyton to keep me in the loop and let me know what was happening. Like I said, I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

“For the record, I would have, but I get it. No hard feelings,” I say.

“So are hospital nurses as hot as they are on TV?”

Same old Nick. I laugh even though it still hurts to do so. “Not even close.”

Upstairs, Nick tells me about prom. He took Amanda, and at first things seemed to be going well, until sometime between the main course and dessert, she excused herself from the table to go to the bathroom, where she apparently hooked up with Clay Kimball, who was having a hetero moment, and they took off. As in, left the dance. It took Nick nearly an hour to realize she wasn’t coming back. It’s a pretty awful story, and I feel bad, especially since I was the one who encouraged Amanda to go with him, so I tell him the truth.

When I share that I was actually the one who started the fire, he’s practically rolling in the aisle. He thinks it’s all pretty funny, and looking back on it, I guess it kind of is.

Graduation blows by, and then it’s the beginning of summer, and with it, Peyton’s eighteenth birthday. It’s truly a celebration because she’s finally free to make decisions for herself. Monica even bakes her some cupcakes, which turn out exactly as you’d expect, but it’s about the gesture and people showing up for her, celebrating her.

Peyton’s been staying with us, and Monica helped find her a counselor who she talks to once a week. She’s doing so much better, says she feels more in control of her emotions. She’s even mentioned reaching out to her dad at some point and perhaps trying to work things out with her mom, but that’s all way down the line. The main thing is that she’s hopeful again and working to try to heal as best she can. It will be a long road, but at least she’s not traveling it alone anymore.

Before I know it, it’s August, and I’m packing my life into a bunch of brown cardboard boxes I snagged from the recycler at Shop ’n Save, getting ready to move to Boston.

On our last night together for the foreseeable future, Nick, Peyton, and I are driving around in Nick’s dad’s Mercedes trying to figure out something special to do to mark the moment. Nick suggests bowling, but we all agree that’s lame and anticlimactic. Peyton suggests a movie, but it defeats the purpose of spending the evening together if we sit in the dark and don’t talk for two and a half hours. We come up with several other equally lackluster ideas, and then, as we loop down Main Street for the fourth time in a row, it hits us. It is so obvious it’s crazy we didn’t think of it right from the get-go.

Ziggy’s.

It’s on.

The three of us sit at a corner table, and when the waitress comes by and asks if we’re ready to order, we most definitely are. We order three How High burgers (no tomatoes for Peyton), a large order of fries, and three Cokes. The waitress rings the giant bell by the register and announces to the kitchen in a booming voice, “We got three How Highs!”

Nick points to a blank spot in the row of pictures of those who have successfully finished their burgers. “That’s where mine is going. Right there.”

“If you can finish it without puking,” Peyton tells him.

“The rules merely say you have to finish. It doesn’t say anything about puking afterward,” I point out.

“Truth,” Nick says and pulls a stack of about fifteen napkins from the metal dispenser on the table. He notices us both watching him with great interest. “What? I’m getting prepared.”

“Clearly,” I say. He grabs another just to piss me off.

Nick turns to Peyton and asks, “So what’s the story with you two? I mean, now that Hank’s going to be in Boston, are you guys gonna live together or something?”

“Or something,” I say as the waitress brings our Cokes. I pull the wrapper off my straw, jam it into the iceberg floating on top, and take a long sip.

Peyton explains, “Actually, Hank’s going to go and get settled, and I’m going to stay here with his dad and Monica for a while. Hank talked to his old boss at Shop ’n Save, and he hired me to pick up some of Hank’s old shifts, so at least I’ll have that going on until I figure out what’s next.”

“I’ve gotta assess the roommate situation,” I add. “He sounds totally chill and says he’s completely down with Peyton staying there so it shouldn’t be a problem. He has a girlfriend who goes to Boston University, so he said he’ll probably be at her place most of the time anyway.”

“I’ve been talking to this woman at this gallery on Newbury Street, and she said she might be looking for a gallery assistant,” Peyton says. “I’d love to do that and save up to take some photography classes next semester.” She lights up like a candle as she tells Nick about it. She seems so hopeful and excited.

“Nice. Sounds like you have a good plan.” Nick leans back to take a sip of his Coke, only to have the block of ice crash forward with the liquid and hit him in the mouth. Smooth.

I hand him one of the sixteen napkins from his pile. “So how about you? You’re gonna be freezing your balls off in Chicago, huh?”

“I can’t wait to blow this clambake,” he says. “Plus, those Midwestern girls are smokin’ hot.”

It’s funny the things you talk about when you’re hungry. Our conversation slowly degenerates into a discussion of where would be the safest place to survive a zombie apocalypse. (Our answer: one of those wholesale club warehouses. Not only do they have all the food and supplies you could ever need, but you can’t get in without a membership card.)

And then the moment of truth arrives. The bell rings again, and seconds later, amid a chant of “How High, How High!” from the entire kitchen and waitstaff, three beauteous fifteen-dollar burgers the size of our heads are delivered to our table in all their greasy glory. They are a true culinary masterpiece. I’m not even sure I can get my mouth around the thing.

“Let’s do this,” Nick says. We raise our burgers as if we are making a toast, and then we all take our first bite at the same time.

The rush of flavors hits my mouth all at once: the melty cheesiness of the mozzarella sticks, the spice of the jalapeño poppers, and the lukewarm, runny egg yolk are balanced by the coolness of the secret sauce, lettuce, and tomatoes. It all perfectly meshes with the ground beef and salty strips of bacon. It’s pretty much the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my entire life.

Nearly thirty minutes later, we finish the damn things and the waitress snaps a picture of the three of us for the wall with an ancient Polaroid camera. Before she can put the camera down, Nick bolts from the table and heads to the bathroom, looking slightly ill. They put our picture up on the wall, and as I look at it, I know that we’re savoring the final moments of something special. We may remain friends, but as time progresses, there will be new experiences, a loss of common ground, and inevitably, the connection will never be quite the same again. Not because we don’t care about each other, but because you can’t hold on to the past forever. That photo on the wall is already a memory.

We drive around in Nick’s car for a while after that, laughing and talking, with no particular destination in mind. It feels good to be together, and for the first time in a long time, I feel a sense of belonging and family. Family isn’t about sharing the same blood in your veins; it’s about the people who come into your life and see how completely messed up and nutter you are and then stick around anyway. I wish I could freeze-frame this moment because I don’t ever want to forget it.

I gotta be honest. I have no idea what the hell is going to happen next. I don’t know if my relationship with Peyton will work out and be great forever, or if it’s just great right now. I don’t know when I’ll see Nick again.

That’s the amazing thing about life: you can be sure you know what’s going to happen next, but you never really do. Anything can happen, and amazingly, that doesn’t scare me.

In fact, it’s pretty frickin’ cool.