Slate didn’t know what to say. He didn’t feel anything. That wasn’t entirely true. He experienced plenty of self-loathing and plenty of regret. He suffered with plenty of misery and plenty of depression. Coupled with the desperation, Slate considered it a miracle that he could get out of bed at all.
“After that, you need to do whatever it is you need to do to close the door on your past once and for all. Then you better drive as fast as you can to that beautiful woman you love at that ranch you love.”
“I’m no good for her,” Slate said quietly.
“Another lie you need to stop perpetuating,” Luke said. “Besides, it’s not up to you, Slate. It’s up to her, and I was there while she stood in front of you and said how much she loved you.”
“No, you weren’t.” Slate practically slammed the truck into drive. “You’d gone into your bedroom by then.”
“I could hear everything,” Luke said. He looked away again, and Slate drove back to their apartment. He started to unbuckle to get out of the truck, but Luke didn’t move.
“What do you want for dinner?” Slate asked. He just wanted to curl into the couch with Axle against his chest and fall asleep.
“Listen,” Luke said. “I’m going to rent a car for the drive to Vegas. Then you can go to Texas.”
“Luke,” Slate said.
“I’ve made up my mind,” he said. “You’re uninvited to my family Thanksgiving dinner.” He got out of the truck and slammed the door.
Slate followed him, his anger finally making him feel alive. “Who’s being cold now?”
“If I have to be to get you to open your eyes and stop lying to yourself, I’ll do it,” Luke called over his shoulder. “And if you could order from that bread company, that would be great. I want the Thanksgiving feast on rye.”
Slate wanted to yell at him to order his own sandwich. Instead, he marched back to the truck and got behind the wheel again. With the heater blowing, Slate breathed in and out, out and in. “He’s wrong,” he said, but the words felt false in his mouth.
“He’s wrong, right, Lord? I can’t go back to Texas.” An impossible balloon of hope inflated instantly. He recognized his misery, and he realized how unhappy he’d made Luke at the same time.
“I thought this was what I needed to do,” he said, hanging his head. “How do I fix this?” He put the truck in gear again, this time more gently, and drove to the bread company to order sandwiches. He got the one Luke wanted, as well as a roast beef sandwich with sauerkraut and spicy mustard that he really liked.
Armed with dinner, he prayed the whole way back to the apartment. When he walked in, he found a suitcase by the door and Luke nowhere to be found. He called his friend, who said, “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
Double that amount of time passed before Luke walked in, a jangling set of car keys in his hand. “Thank you for dinner,” he said.
“You really rented a car,” Slate said.
“Yes.”
“Luke,” Slate said, unwrapping his sandwich. “I’m sorry I’ve made your life so miserable.”
“I know.”
“I hate it here too.”
“I know.”
“I really can’t come to Vegas?”
“You really can’t.” Luke sat at the table too and started unwrapping his sandwich.
“All right.” Slate nodded and took a bite of his sandwich. He would miss this combination of flavors, but he wasn’t going to stay in Vail for a sandwich. “Then I need your help to come up with a plan for what things will look like in Texas.”
Luke looked at him, his eyes wide. “Really?”
“Really,” Slate said. “I’m beyond miserable, Luke.”
“You’re in love with Jill.”
“I’m in love with Jill,” Slate said. “I miss the ranch. I miss my grandparents’ farm. I want you to come back with me, but I get it if you can’t.” He reached over and clutched Luke’s hand. “I’m sorry I’ve ruined your first grand adventure out in the world.”