All that nostalgia back at Anya’s makes sense now. How they coaxed me with kind smiles and stupid small talk. They dreaded having to tell me. Maybe they hoped I already knew so I’d spare them the trouble. 

Damn it, I think again and again. All sorts of things come to mind. How he finishes our meals because he hates throwing away food. How he likes to eat the cherries straight out of the schnapps bottle with a little dessert fork. How he smokes cinnamon-flavoured cigarettes. Smokes. 

Smoked doesn’t come easily and I think it’ll take too long to get used to and it’ll never feel right. He was always ahead of us. We relied on that. 

He’d made it, you know. The oldest of us. Medical resident. The fucking ground under our feet. 

—————

“At least you pick up.”

Kids run up the down-hill street in flip flops, playing tag. Their laughs echo over the afternoon traffic. The big apartment buildings across the street cast dark blue over me.

“Sorry, Lucas.”

“No need. Are you home?”

Beer bottles clink in my grocery bag. My fingertips turn purple as I press the phone against my ear. Bag handles dig into my skin.

“Almost. Everything in the fridge was rotten.”

“I’m parked out front.”

Lucas is easy to spot from afar. Six-foot-something in all black. Ripped jeans and a tank top. Flannel hangs off his waist. With his dyed, jet-black hair gelled back and smoking, people throw him a few hesitant looks and give him a wide berth. 

“I see Nice treated you well,” he teases and takes off his sunglasses. 

Old bruises stain his pale cheeks. Traces of reds and blues around his eyes. I’m not sure how to face him. My guilt burns right through me. 

“It was alright,” I say. A bandage over his shoulder and upper-arm. His sleeves are done and tattoos crawl out of the bandage, creeping up his neck. “You moved.”

He looks away before I get a glimpse of the tears. 

“Eli’s dad passed away a few days ago,” his voice doesn’t break. Unlike Lucky, he’s better at swallowing his feelings. “They kept him on machines for a while. Wasn’t in pain, the doctors said.”

“So that’s why the new bar guy.”

“You met him?”

“At Anya’s.”

Lucas nods and wipes his eyes, smudging eyeliner over the bruises. It looks slept in. Everyone gets silly when he wears make up. 

“Get your bass. I’m tired of that fucking loser we’re paying to replace you. He plays like a dumbass.”

“Where are we going?”

“My place.” 

————

When I return outside with my bass, it’s almost dark and Lucas is on the phone. All I think about is that vacant sign on his door. The real estate flyers glued all over it and an apartment showing schedule. I think about him crossing the hallway, from his apartment to mine when he couldn’t sleep. 

His cold feet under my blanket. 

“Sammy and the rest are on their way.”

We drive down the hill, toward the railway. Red blinking lights warn of an on-coming train. 

“Were you there?” I finally ask.

“I hated your guts for a while. You left me alone with all this.” It’s unfair but I don’t say anything. “But I guess it’s better you didn’t see any of it.”

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” I muster up, shifting in my seat so I could look at him. 

“Well, it was for nothing.”

The last of the sunset filters through the streets, stretching and fighting the fall of night. I take a smoke from his pack, sitting upright in the cupholder. 

“And Lucky?”

Lucas sighs. He entwines his tattooed fingers with mine. Doesn’t want to answer. The barrier lifts and it soaks our faces in deep red. His pale eyes catch the light and they seem almost purple. His gaze briefly on me before the engine revs. 

“I missed you like hell,” he says and kisses the back of my hand with his bruised lips. “You should stay with me tonight.”

I wonder what the colour of sadness is. Maybe the colour of the neon sign hanging over the entrance at the Hibiscus.