Page 110 of Just for the Cameras
“Do you want tacos?”
“Are they vegetarian?”
“They do have a vegetarian option, or else I wouldn’t go there.” When she told me she was a vegetarian, I made sure to plug that nugget of info away.
“Well, thank you. Then I’ll definitely have some tacos. Love tacos.”
So do I. Fucking love them, but I keep that to myself, remaining guarded as I sift through this bullshit running rampant in my head.
Instead of engaging in conversation, I remain quiet for the rest ofthe drive, mulling over all the ways I could bend and break Slutty Little Glasses in half.
By the time I park, I’m buzzing with energy, wishing the douche was standing right in front of me so I could try out some of the ideas that I conjured up.
But I’m pulled from my reverie when Maple reaches for the door.
“Don’t.”
She looks over her shoulder. “Don’t, what?”
“I’ll open the door for you.”
I can see that she wants to argue with me, but she holds back because she knows I won’t concede to certain things.
She stays in the car while I exit and round the front of the truck. When I open her door, I hold my hand out and she takes it as I help her down, but when we usually would let go, I don’t this time. I keep her palm connected with mine as I shut her door.
She glances up at me, questions running through her mind judging by her expression, but I just lead her toward the food trucks lined up along the back of the parking lot. Every Friday, without fail, my favorite taco truck is parked here, as well as a Cuban-inspired sandwich truck, a wood-fired pizza truck, and a chili truck all ready to serve people looking to get outside after a long week at work. Hutton told me about them. His wife, Scarlett, stumbled across them on social media, and they dragged me with them one night.
Now, when I get a craving, I know when and where I have to go.
I bring Maple up to the side of the truck to look at the menu, still holding her hand. Leaning in close, I point at the two vegetarian options. “There’s a veggie option, grilled fajita veggies, avocado, and cheese. And then there is just a bean and cheese taco. If those options aren’t good enough, I can—”
“Excuse me. Are you Graydon St. John?” a little voice says from behind me.
I turn around to find a little boy, maybe six, with wide eyes and a toothless smile plastered across his cute little face.
On instinct, I drop Maple’s hand and squat down so that I’m somewhat eye level with him. “Hey, little man,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. “I sure am. What’s your name?”
“Carlton, but my friends call me CT.”
“Can I call you CT?”
His eyes widen as he nods. “Yeah.”
“Does that mean we’re friends?”
His smile grows even wider. “Yeah. Yeah.”
“Good. Do you play football?”
He nods. “With my mom, in the yard.” I look up to see his mom, tears in her eyes as she holds her phone in front of her. She’s not recording but just enjoying the moment herself.
“What position do you play?”
“Quarterback. I throw the ball to my mom.”
“Ooh, I bet you’re really good at it. I probably wouldn’t have a chance at tackling you.”
“I’m too quick.”
