I think I’ll find some time to run it by Malik first—see what he thinks.
And then it hits me… Malik has somehow become the person I feel the most comfortable going to with a life decision.
Jimmy’s not here to guide me anymore.
My mom would tell me that I’m being foolish.
My best friend wouldn’t understand.
Cage is too caught up in his new love life.
But Malik… he’d get my motivation. He’d let me talk it out. He might even disagree with me, but he’d also move mountains to help me achieve my goals. That’s a lot of faith, I realize, to have in someone, but it doesn’t make it any less true.CHAPTER 13MalikAnna cocks her arm, narrowing her eyes in concentration, and her tongue peeps out the side of her mouth, which is all kinds of adorable. She pauses, focusing on the target, and then she lets the ax fly.
It tumbles effortlessly, end over end, and strikes the red bulls-eye dead center.
“Goddamn,” Jackson mutters in defeat, then picks up his beer to drain it. “Never seen anything like that.”
Anna turns our way, eyes shining bright with victory and alcohol. I hold my hand up, and she gives it a stinging high five before Jackson grudgingly offers her the same. She’s kicked our asses for five straight games. While my male ego has taken a slight ding, I’m far more enjoying seeing Anna have so much fun. This past weekend when I came to her apartment to fix her dishwasher with the part I’d picked up at the hardware store, she had admitted she sometimes feels guilty when she has moments of happiness.
I know the feeling. It’s hard to register and accept those moments of joy when good people—like Jimmy and Sal—can’t have them anymore. I had told her a truth I hope she remembers for a long time to come.
“Jimmy would want you to be happy.”
Jackson picks up his phone from the tall table we were gathered around, getting absorbed in something for a minute before announcing. “I have to head out.”
“Hot date?” Anna teases, picking up her beer to take a sip. She’s slowed down considerably, but she’s still had several. Which makes it all the more surprising how accurate her ax throwing has been.
“You’re a lady,” Jackson teases her right back. “So sure… we’ll call it a date.”
Anna snorts, elbowing me in the ribs. “He means a hookup.”
“Yeah… got that,” I reply with a chuckle.
A waitress comes by to ask if we want another round. I decline on Anna’s behalf because she’s probably had enough, and I don’t want her puking her guts up tomorrow. It’s something I usually don’t worry about with myself, but since I still need to put on another fifteen pounds or so and not having alcohol for months, it’s time for me to stop, too.
We settle up our tab and Jackson takes off, making Anna promise a rematch soon. We walk through the bar/nightclub. Most of the people come here for the liquor and dancing, but we’d hung out in the new addition they’d built recently that has a variety of games to play, including the popular ax-throwing.
When we hit the cold December air, we zip our coats to ward against the chill. Even though it’s about twenty degrees colder than what I’d routinely faced in that hole in the Syrian desert, it was still infinitely colder there because I had no way to protect against it. I’d even go as far as to say loneliness and isolation made me colder still.
Anna pulls up her Uber app. As she’s ordering her ride, I say, “I’m going to ride with you to your place, then I’ll catch an Uber back to Jameson.”
“You don’t need to do that,” she replies. “It’s a short ride.”
“And you could order up Jeffrey Dahmer as your driver,” I point out.
Anna snorts. “I don’t think I’m to his taste.”
I give her a mock glare. “The point is you could be to someone’s taste. I’m riding with you, and that’s final.”
“Fine,” she snaps with a dopey grin. “You’re such a caveman.”
“Well, don’t make me conk you over the head and drag you to my cave,” I retort.
Anna laughs and tucks her phone away, hooking her arm through mine. She presses into me, squeezing the crook of my arm with her bicep. “I have such a good time with you, Malik.”
“Ditto,” I reply under my breath, noting the harsh truth to something that still somewhat shames me. But I’ve decided to roll with it because life is just fucking complicated.
Our Uber driver is a pimply-faced kid who chatters the entire way to Anna’s apartment. He’s a freshman at Duquesne who just started with Uber to earn some spending money. Anna’s the type who has never met a stranger, so she chitchats right back. I try to ignore the fact that when we slid into the backseat, she didn’t move all the way over, which left our legs and arms touching.