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I roll my eyes and grin. “Yeah, yeah. I could probably eat an entire pizza by myself.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Get some grub, little brother. We’ll talk more later.”

A pang of disappointment runs through me when I realize our conversation is coming to an end. Right as I go to say goodbye, the screen goes black.Good old Roy.

“Where do you want to go for lunch?” Daniel asks, waiting patiently as I pocket my phone and yank my duffel bag off the ground.

“Taco truck down the street?”

He sticks his tongue out in disgust. “Too messy.”

“Sub shop?”

“Boring.”

“Pizza?”

“Charlie, man. We’ve had pizza three times this week.”

I throw my hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, Mr. Picky Eater. Where doyouwant to go, then?”

He grins. “Luigi’s.”

Chapter 7

Existential Quack

Charlie

Luigi’s is onlya couple of blocks away from our townhouse. It’s an Italian restaurant that’s been around since the 1950s. Checkered tablecloths cover the tables, black-and-white photos line the walls, and the faint scent of garlic and oregano permeates the air.

A host with slicked-back hair and a pencil-thin mustache smiles when Daniel and I walk inside. “How many?”

Daniel holds up two fingers, and the host scribbles something on a piece of paper before gesturing to a bench against the wall. “Should only be about five minutes or so.”

Taking a seat, I watch a server place an enormous bowl of pasta on a nearby table. My stomach growls again, even louder than before. An elderly couple waiting at the other end of the bench gawks at me.

In an attempt to distract myself from the hunger pangs, I focus on Daniel. “How are things going with Olivia?”

He shrugs. “Hard to say. We had a good day yesterday, but…”

“But what?”

“She invited me to a poetry slam tonight out in Brooklyn.”

Yuck. A poetry slam?“Are you going?”

He rubs his chin with his hand and contemplates my question. “If I don’t, some dude named Jasper or Milo will swoop in.”

I scoff, more out of surprise than anything else. “Since when do you care about Jaspers and Milos?”

“Since I think my girlfriend would rather be with them than me.”

Nibbling on my bottom lip, I think about how much of a funk Daniel’s been in this year. Frustrated grunts and the occasional thump of a fist against the wall have replaced the pleasurable moaning that used to echo from his room when Olivia wasn’t around.

I’m about to offer some words of comfort when the host grabs two menus and leads us to a booth near the back of the establishment. “Your server will be with you in a minute.”

We open our menus—even though we both know what we’re going to order—and let the silence fill the small space. Daniel’s fidgeting makes the table shake to the point that the pitcher of water already on the table sloshes all over the place.