Page 5

July 16th

The mystery roommate was nowhere to be seen in the morning. It would likely be too presumptuous to text him using the number the leasing office had provided me in our paperwork, so I scribbled a note on a piece of stationery and stuck it to the fridge.

Since this Armand Demetrio person was still asleep—at seven o’clock, what, was he going to just waste the day away?—or out of the house, I figured I might as well drive over to work and see Mom. She’d insisted I could take the day off on account of the jetlag—I’d reminded her that Vancouver and California were in the same time zone, but this hadn’t seemed to deter her—but Darren hadn’t texted back yet, so it was far preferable to keep busy.

And I missed the horses.

The End is Neigh Senior Horse Sanctuary was a sight for sore eyes as I pulled up to the ranch at the edge of my mother’s property. Truly amazing how the smell of hay and horse poop took me back to childhood in a hot second. I headed toward the stables, carefully avoiding a fresh pile of said poop. Several of the horses were out and about, likely providing a gentle petting session for a group of summer-camp children, but there was one horse in particular who I wanted to see.

In the stall at the end was Milkshake, the old geezer himself. We had started calling our favorite French Trotter Grandpa Milkshake when he turned thirty, and the name had stuck. He was resting, unnervingly still, his sickly body hunched in on itself in the corner. His once vibrant black coat had long since faded into a softer gray and had thinned considerably: a far cry from the thick gloss of his racing days.

“Hey, buddy,” I said, unlatching the stall door and gently stroking his side. “How you holding up? Did they take you for a walk yet?”

It wouldn’t hurt for him to take another one—one of the most important things we liked to tell our ranch hands was that for older horses, daily exercise was an essential element of care. I led Grandpa Milkshake at his slow pace outside to a corner of the arena not occupied by the gaggle of visiting children.

We’d just done some longeing when—

“I thought I told you to take the day off.”

Cheyenne Barclay, founder of The End is Neigh herself, had made her way down from the family estate in a full face of makeup in order to welcome me home. Her blonde hair glinted in the afternoon sun.

“Yes, and I ignored you,” I said with a grin, letting Grandpa Milkshake rest as I pulled her into a hug.

She squeezed me tight around the middle. “How was the wedding? I wish I could’ve made it. I hope everyone wasn’t too disappointed.”

“Mother dear, they were positively bereft. You should be ashamed of yourself,” I joked. “No, it was gorgeous—Marla looked amazing, Uncle Peter says hi, Sofi and Stefi made a scene at the reception, but what else is new.”

Mom cackled. “I hope you got pictures.”

“Oh, I certainly did. I’ll send them to you. After I put them up on FotoBom.”

She patted Grandpa Milkshake’s nose, surreptitiously checking his breathing. “And you’re all set up in your new place? I really hope you’re not living with an axe murderer.”

It wasn’t like I could dispute the idea. The day was still young. “I haven’t met him yet—the housing office gave me his name and, like, the bare minimum of info. Here—” I pulled out my phone, where the webpage I had found earlier was still open. A quick google search of Armand Demetrio had brought up a link to the Drawn Quartered Comic Convention happening in August. The only photo they’d provided was a low-res, blurry piece of business that told me practically nothing about this guy. There was a mop of dark hair and a vaguely spooked expression, but the rest was pixels. “Look at this.” I handed her my phone. “Look at the state of this photo—what did they even shoot this with, a potato? None of the other photos are like this. Can he not be captured on camera or something?”

Mom studied the photo thoughtfully. “Maybe you’re rooming with Mothman.”

“I wish I didn’t have to room with Mothman.” I sighed. “I’m glad I found a place at the last minute, but ...”

“But you wanted to move in with Darren,” she finished with a tight smile—the kind that, much like Rick and Andie did, she always wore when talking and Having Opinions about my relationship. “Sweetie, listen, you know how I feel about Darren. I’m happy you’re happy, but—”

“It’s too fast, I know. But he’s getting there.” It was a good thing my new lease was month-to-month, because the second Darren came to his senses, I was gone. “He’s got a lot on his mind right now.”

“Mm,” said my mother, and didn’t elaborate. “When I was your age, I wasn’t thinking about settling down with anyone; I was wining and dining my way across Europe. I still think a proper vacation would do you some good.”

“Darren wouldn’t be able to take the time off work,” I reminded her.

She held up her hands in temporary surrender.

We guided Grandpa Milkshake back to the stable to rest. My body was tense from the weight of Mom’s quiet judgment, which was rolling off her in waves.

“I’m going to take Dakota for a ride,” I said, crossing to the other side of the stable where my own horse, Dakota—younger than her retired elders but old enough to have been with me through my entire adolescence of equestrian lessons—nickered excitedly as I approached. Mom and I covered safer topics as I groomed and tacked Dakota, luring me into a false sense of security.

“You know,” Mom said as I started leading Dakota out of the stable, “we still need new photos for the website, new models ...” She flashed me a pointed smile. “If you don’t think your pretty face expertly grooming a pretty horse will attract exponential amounts of site traffic and encourage people to donate—”

“What? Sorry, can’t hear you, you’re breaking up,” I called back as I rushed to step into Dakota’s saddle and trotted her to the arena.

It wasn’t Mom’s first attempt to convince me to pose for pictures for the sake of our fundraising website, and it wouldn’t be her last. I’d given up explaining to her that I wasn’t about to plaster my face all over the internet for people to pick apart my numerous flaws: my shirt wasn’t even fitted, I was still bloated from a week of vacation, and cameras added ten pounds—

No, thank you.

I urged Dakota into a canter, focusing instead on the burst of adrenaline from the running high.

I stayed at the sanctuary until lunch and helped around the ranch. Mom was clearly thinking about catching her second wind by then, either about Darren or about modeling, so I made my goodbye quick as I hopped in my car smelling decidedly of horse.

I should’ve gone straight home—or rather, to my temporary apartment—but I really wanted to swing by my usual café-bakery to pick up my custom coffee blend for tomorrow morning. Vegan bakeries were a dime a dozen for miles in any direction, but Latte for Work was always open, mostly for the college crowd.

As expected, the place was packed with students spending their afternoon engulfed in the delicious aroma of French roast and baked goods. That wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was a young man in the corner.

He looked about the age of the average patron, maybe just out of high school or early college. He was holed up in the corner booth—a coveted position especially during the busy hours—a laptop open in front of him that he very much wasn’t using. I paid for my coffee beans and turned back to the booth, and the boy hadn’t moved a single inch. His eyes were unfocused, staring off into the middle distance. Was he even breathing?

I was familiar enough with silent panic attacks that I had to check.

“Hey,” I said, as gently as I could, stepping next to the booth. “Are you okay?”

For a split second the boy didn’t react, which was concerning. But then he seemed to snap out of his reverie, his eyes—wide and blue but bloodshot, had he been crying?—focused up at me.

“What?” he asked, in a voice that suggested he’d temporarily forgotten where he was.

I gestured to his neglected computer and the untouched drink beside him. “I didn’t mean to bother you, but I saw you sitting over here looking a little out of it, and I wanted to see if you’re okay?”

“Oh, um.” He glanced down at the computer. “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m good. I was... you know, having an existential crisis. Figured I may as well eat a donut while I’m at it.”

There was only a drink on the table, not even a plate or napkin to suggest there’d been any food present. “You ... don’t have a donut?”

He stared at the table and sighed, his head falling to his chest. “Knew I forgot something.”

I didn’t normally sit with strangers at a cafe, especially when I needed to get home and shower, but I couldn’t leave this poor kid—up close it was clear that he was pale, probably sleep-deprived, and judging from the intended donut, maybe starving?

“I know all about the good ol’ existential crisis,” I said cheerfully as I sank down across from him. “The good news is you’re still young—once you’re over here at the ripe old age of twenty-five, you start feeling like maybe life is getting away from you a bit.”

He blinked. “The getting-away-from-me part worked well enough,” he said, rolling his neck and resting his head against the back of the booth. “Thought I could do the whole adulting thing, and yet. Here we are.”

“Here we are. So you’re, what, going to school around here?” I nearly slapped myself. “Sorry, I’m Lucas, by the way; should’ve led with that.”

He gave me a serious little nod, shocks of wavy black hair cresting his forehead. “Skyler. Evans. Yeah, I signed up for summer classes at Norsemen.”

Ah, the old alma mater. “Okay, moved to California for school, classic.” I shot him another friendly grin. “You have family here?”

Skyler shook his head slowly, giving me a thin, close-lipped smile. “Nope. My family’s back in Washington. Where I could be right now instead of sitting in the corner of a vegan bakery in California wondering if I’ve completely lost my mind.”

Intuition sparked in my brain. College wasn’t so long ago that I couldn’t remember how hard it had been at that age. How overwhelming everything was. “Family can be complicated.”

He gave a soft but slightly edged laugh. “Yeah, my brother’s really mad at me for leaving.” He shrugged helplessly. “And now I’m here, oversharing, and I’m kinda freaking out—”

No friends, no family around... and he just looked so sad.

You know what helps sad people? Petting horses. And you know what helps me get my mother off my back?

I slid my phone over to him, displaying our website. “My mom and I run a sanctuary for old and retired horses. We do tours, educational visits. Kids come to pet horses who won’t snap at them...”

Skyler’s eyebrows shot up as he scrolled. “The End is Neigh?”

“Yeah, it’s morbid, but that’s Mom for you. But my point is that I have access to very cute animals who like being petted if you wanted to pet some cute animals. Unrelated, but we’ve been needing to update the website with shots of people working with the horses. I took the photos you see there, which turned out great, but we need someone to be the go-to model. Everyone wants to give good-looking people money. And I’m not especially photogenic.”

Skyler’s perfectly symmetrical face furrowed in confusion. “Sorry, what does this have to do with me?”

“It has to do with you because you said you were sad and freaking out about being lonely, and horses help people not be sad. And honestly I need someone with a pretty face who can pose with horses.” I grinned at him. “Tell me you wouldn’t love to hang around with old horses.”

“Oh, absolutely, it’s the dream,” Skyler said in a perfect deadpan.

“How about you think it over?” I handed him my business card. “Have a sleep on it, and let me know. I’m in here all the time, but I’m also embarrassingly accessible on my phone, so. Options.”

Skyler was still staring down at the card. “So, just making sure this conversation is actually happening and that you exist and you’re here and offering me a horse-related modeling job? Because I’m working on maybe three hours of sleep and I may have started stress-hallucinating about an hour ago.”

“I mean, who’s to say if any of us really exist?” I joked. “But yes, I’m extremely serious.” I reclaimed my phone and stood up. “You’d be saving my ass from a well-meaning but slightly misguided maternal figure here.”

Skyler nodded, then as I turned to leave— “Lucas?”

“Yeah?”

He swallowed. He was still pale, but some color had returned to his cheeks, making those cheekbones pop. “Thank you. For offering me horses, and for ... checking in on me.”

“I couldn’t very well not. Your entire vibe is extremely concerning, I could sense it a mile away.”

His shoulders slumped in despair. “That’s not good.”

“Hey”—I pointed down at him playfully—“horses. But even if you decide not to, no worries. Though I wouldn’t be mad if you, like, wanted to text tomorrow to reassure me that you’re alive and that the void hasn’t swallowed you.”

And Skyler smiled—still soft but more open and unguarded this time. “If the void has cell service, I’ll let you know. Thanks.”

There was something so achingly genuine about Skyler Evans that, as I left him in the café to return to my car, it made me feel like a mama bird who had abandoned her child. Right as I fought the urge to go back and check on him one more time, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Had Skyler texted me already?

Darren: hey you, come over, I have a surprise ;)

I couldn’t help a grin, my stomach erupting with butterflies. Maybe Darren was coming to his senses after all.