By now, he’d had a lot of practice with planning apologies— like a seasoned gambler who held tightly to the belief that a deck could always be stacked, Marlowe knew there were certain ways to improve the odds on forgiveness. Time and place both mattered, more than you’d think. Possibly more than the apology itself. Misjudge either and rush in with some slapdash excuses, or hold back too long, ignoring the wound till it festered, and it wouldn’t matter how well-worded your mea culpa was. So, he’d left the mess with Levi alone after their return from Provincetown and waited a week before sending the first text, asking to meet. This felt like the right amount of time— long enough for the sting to fade, but not so long that it seemed like he’d forgotten— and as far as location went, where else but the McDonald’s? The setting of so many previous late-night conversations, back when they’d simply been two people who couldn’t sleep, occupying a shared space, finding a strange comfort in the smell of grease traps and bright, humming fluorescence. Returning here had the feeling of going back to that, the way things had been. It seemed like the only place where they could untangle the hopelessly-snarled knot of what things had become.
Well past midnight, Marlowe sat in one of the red booths, arm stretched over the backrest, his beach tan glowing under the artificial lighting. There was already a small pyramid of apple pies stacked in front of him, warm and waiting. Next to them, some fries spilled out onto the tabletop; he was slowly emptying the carton while gazing out the window, admiring the puddles of yellow reflected on the wet asphalt, the huge Golden Arches providing the only splash of color in the black night. The late-shift cashier was a heavy-lidded girl with a lopsided ponytail, her nametag identifying her as Annette. For once, she wasn’t sleeping on the clock; Marlowe had made one-sided game of trying to engage her in conversation. “Hey, how about a quiz? My Mickey D’s knowledge versus your’s.” Annette looked up from her phone, her expression clearly reading as I’m-not-paid-enough-for-this; Marlowe angled an easy smile at her, then motioned through the air with one limp fry. “Only one location in the world doesn’t use the Golden Arches. Where— and, bonus point, what color are they?” Kohl-lined eyes rolled. Her expression remained staunchly unamused as she dropped her gaze back to her phone, muttering, “No fucking idea.” Unfazed by this divided attention, Marlowe continued. His voice had the cheerful intonation of a game show host. “Sedona! They’re turquoise. Or teal, I guess, somewhere in that family. Wanna know why?” The lack of an affirmative answer, or any kind of answer at all, didn’t stop him. “Some zoning committee decided that the yellow would clash too much with the natural landscape. Bad color combo. All that red sandstone, the blue mountains in the distance, and then you’ve got this ugly, honkin’ yellow McDonald’s sign smack in the middle. But, can’t say no to the potential money-grab of a fast food chain when you’re a tourist economy. So they compromised on teal. Corporate will, bending to the law of complementary colors.” Annette was obviously tuning him out, with no response or movement except the sweep and play of her thumbs as she tapped her phone screen. It didn’t matter; he could go on like this for hours, talking so vividly, so amusingly, to no one at all. Hence why the gig at the school radio had proven to be a perfect match for him. Minutes trickled by. Drops collecting in a bucket, plink, plink. Filling it up more than expected. His eyes slid back out the window to where his own face was visible in the black glass, then beyond that, to the darkened parking lot occupied by only a few remaining cars. Levi was much more reliable than he was— by the world’s standards, most people were— so there was no question of whether he’d show up. Just a matter of waiting. And Marlowe had time to spare, time to waste. Time like a kid at an arcade had pockets full of change.
“Your friend’s here,” Annette announced in a voice devoid of any inflection, a brief blip of attention before she resumed her game of Candy Crush. Marlowe twisted around to see the door as it chimed open. “Hey!” The greeting came paired with a smile, one of his best: spreading on both sides, lacking all symmetry. Then he turned back with his arm still draped over the vinyl seat and waited for Levi to slide in across from him. “As you can see, I’m on the straight and narrow now. Payin’ for my fries and apple pies like a good upstanding citizen. Annette can vouch.” His eyes flicked up to her, ready to wink mischievously if this almost-confession earned any reaction. She didn’t even lift her yellow-visored head. Clearing his throat, Marlowe’s brows drew together as if pulled by an invisible drawstring. “So.” He chose one of the last fries in the container and eyed Levi carefully across the table. “Thanks for showin’ up. Already more than I deserve. How’ve you been?” A nonchalant question, asked with what seemed like genuine, friendly concern— but one they both knew was really just an opening for something else.
