Lucas had long stopped knocking her door, sometime during their second year of high school. Particularly at these times in the morning only.
Nobody could recall exactly when.
He walked up the driveway, his boots skipping the front porch steps entirely. He didn't reach for the brass handle.
He simply leaned his weight back against the warm metal hood of his car, settling down beside two cardboard cups.
Habits were strange that way. They arrived so quietly that, by the time they became rituals, everyone had forgotten there had ever been another way.
The front door was unlocked.
It usually was.
Upstairs, Something hit the floor.
Lucas didn't look up.
A second later, a something wooden slammed shut.
He turned another page.
". . . Morning," he said to the empty driveway.
The house answered with another thud.
This time, he smiled. Almost.
He flicked his left wrist over to expose the face of his watch.
Nineteen minutes. Right on schedule.
***
Upstairs, Lisa had already tried leaving the house once.
She'd made it as far as the front gate before remembering she didn't bring her phone.
The second attempt ended in front of the peace lily by the window.
She stopped dead, her brow furrowing into a tight knot as she stared down at the drooping green stalks of the peace lily., ". . . I watered you."
The soil looked suspiciously damp. So either she'd imagined watering it . . . or she'd imagined not watering it.
Lisa sighed, "If you die, this is on both of us."
Setting the watering can down, She made it three paces toward the exit before her eyes caught the square of yellow paper pressed under a magnet on the refrigerator door. 'Have a great day, and don't forget to eat – mom'
Her lips curved into a soft, faint line.
When she finally stepped outside, Lucas was exactly where she'd expected him to be. Sitting on the hood of his car, he balanced a book in one hand while two coffees remained upright beside him.
She grinned, quickening her steps. "You're reading without me?" It was their first meeting after the break.
He closed the book, folded the corner of the page with his thumb, before standing. "Finally."
She checked the sky dramatically, "Good morning to you too."
Lucas shoved the creased book aside, lifted the two-cup cardboard carrier, and pulled open the driver's side door. He slid inside, reaching across the console to push the passenger door open from the inside.
Once she got in too, he extended the cardboard carrier toward her, his elbow nudging her toward the untouched cup on the right side.
Pulling the plastic lid off, Lisa took a quick sip. Her lips puckered instantly, her nose wrinkling, "it's cold."
"Yes einstein, it waited for you 25 minutes straight." Lucas kept his fingers locked around the cardboard carrier, his keys dangling from the ignition without turning.
Lisa stared into the dark liquid, her eyebrows drawing together, "They didn't add any sugar."
Lucas reached across, switched their cups and leaned back again, "You took the wrong one."
She took another sip, her features relaxing."Yeah . . . this one's perfect." Her eyes narrowed at him again. "You label them or what?"
"I don't need to," his chin tilting upward as he looked out the windshield.
"So how was vacation?"
He twisted at the waist, stretching his arm into the footwell of the backseat to pull out a thick, grease-stained brown paper bag. He dropped it into her lap. "Boring."
She pried the top folds open, peering inside, ". . . Zucchini fries?"
"With a sandwich underneath."
Nodding, her eyes widened into a dramatic roll as she pulled the bag closer. "Wait but weren't you in LA?"
"Yeah."
"Los Angeles is boring?" Her jaw dropped open, her eyes darting across his face.
"For two straight weeks," Lucas said, his tone flat.
"That's a crime."
"It rained."
"Isn't that even better?"
"I was working."
"You were in Los Angeles."
Lucas's gaze dropped to the dashboard. ". . . Exactly. With nothing to do other than all the boring, serious stuff." His eyes flicked down to her hands, which were still resting on the unopened paper. "Eat, Lisa."
"I will."
Lucas remained still, his eyes fixed on her profile.
"Why are you looking at me like that? I said I'll eat."
Lucas pointed a finger toward the digital clock on the dash. "School's in 30 minutes, when exactly will you eat?"
"During break."
"This is your breakfast, idiot. Not some casual snack."
Lisa leaned her head back against the seat. "I'll survive."
"That's not the point." Lucas lunged across the center console, his hand reaching out to snatch the brown paper back from her.
"Don't you dare." Lisa yanked the bag out of his reach, ripped the paper open, and shoved a massive corner of the sandwich into her mouth, her jaws working furiously.
"Chew," Lucas said. He reached down to the door pocket, pulled out a clear plastic bottle of water, and dropped it into her lap. He shook his head, a low sound vibrating in his throat. "Hopeless."
Lisa spoke around the bread. "You're hopeless."
"Oh so I throw tantrums?" Lucas raised one eyebrow, his hands resting on the steering wheel.
"Duh."
"And who's the one neglecting her health, skipping breakfast every chance she gets?"
"Hey see, its not intentional, I just prefer doing it at days when I am running late."
"Which is almost every day?"
"Don't make it sound like I starve myself, I always grab something every chance I get."
"Sure." Lucas reached over, took the empty mocha cup from her hand, and wedged it back into the cardboard carrier before tossing the whole thing into the back seat.
She shifted her weight, trying to balance the torn sandwich bag in one hand, the water bottle under her arm, and pull the heavy black seatbelt strap down with her free fingers. The nylon caught, locking in place. Her jaw tightened as she yanked at it.
Before she could cuss out, Lucas leaned across the space between them.
Click.
He gripped the strap, pulling it smooth across her chest with a single tug. He turned the key, the engine roaring to life, and shifted into drive, as the car rolled forward.
The metal rollers of the Seventh Street bakery screeched as the shopkeeper hauled them up toward the awning.
A bicycle shot past the passenger window, the rider gripping the center of the handlebars with his left hand while his right arm hoisted a massive, paper-wrapped pyramid of shifting pink and white blossoms.
Lisa's head turned, tracking the bike.
Outside the corner shop, a man in an apron dropped blue plastic buckets onto the pavement, plunging stems into the water.
A toddler in a bright yellow jacket lagged three paces behind a woman, his small legs pumping to keep up with her stride.
On the curb, a dozen gray pigeons erupted into the air, their wings clapping as the city bus rumbled through the puddle beside them.
Lucas kept his eyes on the brake lights of the sedan ahead.
The car bounced over the crosswalk and came to a stop at the intersection as the light turned solid red.
Lisa let her head drop sideways, her temple thumping softly against the cool glass of the window. ". . . Feels weird."
Lucas's fingers tapped a steady rhythm on the steering wheel. He didn't turn his head. "College?"
Lisa gave a single, heavy nod against the glass.
"I thought we'd feel older. And different."
The overhead signal flashed green. Lucas eased his foot off the brake, the car gliding across the white lines.
"We'll probably still feel seventeen at forty."
Lisa's shoulders shook, as a sharp laugh escaped. "That's horrifying."
"I know."
***
Maria paced the concrete from one end of the iron gate to the other, her heels grinding against the gravel.
By the time the headlights cut through the street's shadows, her shadow had stretched and flipped across the driveway twice.
On her third pass, the grille of Lucas's car rounded the corner. Her arms shot straight into the air, fingers splayed at the windshield as her boots stomped a direct line toward the curb.
The rear handle clicked and the door swung wide while the tires were still crunching to a halt.
"I knew it."
Lisa's eyes widened, her head tilting back against the headrest. "Knew what?"
"You two started having fun already." Maria slid her weight onto the edge of the seat, her gaze locking onto the rearview mirror. "Don't you dare try stealing her away from me."
Lucas kept his palms flat at ten and two on the steering wheel. "What sort of a madman you take me for."
Before Maria's could settle in, Lisa's hand shot out, her pinkie hooking tight around Maria's.
Tap.
Twist.
Two knuckles collided in a sharp knock.
"O-wink."
Lucas's gaze remained fixed on the white lines of the asphalt ahead. "Every year it gets stranger."
Maria's giggled, "We're refining it."
"It was never refined."
The engine hummed as the chain-link perimeter of the school campus blurred past. Through the gaps in the fence, the asphalt outdoor court sat under the gray sky. The nylon net whipped and rippled against the metal hoop in the wind. No bodies moved on the painted lines.
Lisa's chin turned toward the glass.
Just a single beat.
Maria's head shifted along the same angle. Her jaw tightened, lips remaining pressed into a thin line.
Lucas's eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror, catching the twin reflections focused on the passing court, before he pressed the brake and guided the the car into a empty stall. His hands stayed on the wheel.
The digital clock on the dashboard kept ticking forward.
Lucas's shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch as his voice came out barely above the rattle of the air vents. "Coach still calls."
Maria snapped her head toward the front seat. "He does?"
Lucas gave a single, slow drop of his chin. "Every month."
"What does he say?"
Lucas stared straight through the bug-splattered windshield.
"'If he changes his mind, there's always a place on the team.'"
The car grew heavy.
Lisa turned her face entirely away, her forehead pressing against the cold glass of the side window. "He won't."
Lucas's fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter.
Maria looked down at her lap.