Chapter 21 – Brynn
I take Larson to the Argonaut, a diner down the street from my office. Although— or perhaps because— it's not super fancy, I think he'll like it. But I can see right away that I was only kind of right.
"Ooooh, breakfast served 24 hours a day, very nice," he says, as we sit down at one of the Formica booths. "But what the hell? Where's the green chile?"
He turns the menu over several different times, as if in disbelief and hoping that New Mexico's state vegetable and beloved flavoring to any dish is hidden somewhere in the fine print.
"Larson," I laugh, although he looks at me as if not understanding why I'm laughing. "This is New York, not New Mexico. There's no green chile here."
"No green chile?" he repeats.
"You look even more horrified than you did when we saw those creepy clowns," I tell him.
He shudders, but I'm not sure whether it's because of the mention of the clowns or still because of the lack of green chile.
"What's been going on with them, anyway?" I ask him.
"They're still doing stupid stuff around town, but it's nothing as big as what happened on Halloween night," he says. "I'm hoping that that's all over with and these are just copycat kids. But the Desert Dogs have still been keeping an eye out for the community’s sake, and nothing major has happened."
"That's a relief."
"But seriously," he insists. "No green chile? Really. How can you live here? It’s a travesty."
"You know what? I do miss the food," I tell him.
"Is that all you miss?"
"Well, you of course," I admit. "And Riley."
"And that's really all?" he asks.
I look at him and realize I've been missing more than I care to admit, especially since having gone back to visit.
"All right," I tell him, with a shrug. "I miss the weather, too, of course. The beautiful mountains. The open sky. Balloon Fiesta! The scenic view. The rugged, independent atmosphere. The laid back lifestyle."
"Laid back, huh?" He raises his eyebrows at me from behind the menu. "Sounds dirty."
"Oh whatever," I laugh. "You know what I mean. The pace is just so different. Out here there's always more work to be done, always chaos and stress. Out West it's just so much more relaxed peaceful."
"Whattya havin'?" asks the waitress, who has rushed up to our table from seemingly out of nowhere. "I can bring it to ya in five minutes flat."
"See?" Now I raise my own eyebrows at Larson, in a joking manner. "What'd I tell you?"
"I'll have the sausage skillet," he tells the waitress. "Hold both the red and the green chile."
"What?"
She looks at him with a mixture of intrigue and annoyance that he's holding her up. He winks at her.
"Never mind."
We smile at each other.
"I'll also have some coffee," he tells her. "And whatever the lady's having, of course."
I order my favorite grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup and the waitress runs off to the hustle and bustle of the tables awaiting her service across the way.
"You weren't kidding," he tells me. "Everyone here's always in a rush over something."
"It's crazy," I agree. "But I guess I've gotten used to it because I didn't even notice it anymore, until I went back out there over Halloween. Sometimes I wonder what kind of effect it's going to have on Caleb."
"What do you mean?" he asks.
"Oh, you know, with everything being so dramatic instead of peaceful and serene. And a mom who has to work so much to afford to live out here, only because 'out here' is where the best jobs are. It's a vicious cycle, you know?"
He just looks at me.
"So, how's the little guy doing?" he asks. "What does he do all day while you're working in that fancy office?"
I blush. I always feel a mix of guilt and pride when someone brings up how much I work as a single mother. I know I can afford all the best things in life for Caleb but I also know we don't get a lot of time to enjoy them together.
"He's doing well," I tell him.
But I don't add that he's missed Larson almost as much as I have. Every time he hears an engine roar outside— which, in our Brooklyn brownstone, is a lot— he looks up hopefully towards the front door and asks, 'Moto-cyc-le Man?'"
"He has a nanny," I tell him. "Esmeralda. She even teaches him Spanish."
"Oooh la la," Larson says. Then he laughs. "Oops. I guess that's French. Pardon my French when I meant to say something in Spanish."
I laugh along with him.
"It feels so good to laugh," I tell him. "I'm so glad you came today. I mean, I was already excited to see you, and any day would have been good..."
I blush again, embarrassed for letting slip how much I've been wanting to see him.
"...but today was definitely a bad day, so having you here really helps me not feel so down in the dumps."
I finish my sentence, feeling a little less vulnerable now. It’s been a long time since I’ve opened myself up like this— literally and physically, or figuratively and emotionally.
But I guess it’s time to get used to it. Because Larson makes me realize what life could be like with a supportive partner to share the load. And that’s something I’ve definitely never had before.