Richie's hands are capable of fixing squeaky doors.

Having scarfed down a bacon double cheeseburger with special sauce, his fingers are glossy with saturated fat. Eating a large order of fries isn't helping matters.

He searches for a clean napkin, but only finds a pile of oily, soggy paper balls. He resorts to using his pant leg. "Eff it."

He takes a long sip of his Mountain Dew until all that's left in the cup is crushed ice.

You're such a slob. He chuckles to himself, free of shame, as he scratches his patchy attempt at a beard.

He observes the inside of the restaurant. As luck would have it, the place is empty. Burgersmith is never full before eleven at night, when every drunk in town demands junk food before bed.

The food is good, but Richie just wants neutral territory. His stomach was in knots all week, ever since he messed things up with Luke. All he wanted was his best friend back. He didn't mean to insult him and his girlfriend, at least not so much that his friend stopped talking to him.

But no amount of guilt can rob him of his appetite.

He dips his forth onion ring in honey mustard, then hears the sound of a generic ding-dong that alerts patrons that a new guest has arrived.

He looks up and sees Luke coming in through the front door.

Luke was the tallest twentysomething Richie knew. He's wearing his signature black hoodie, the one with the scruffy cuffs.

Queasiness takes over Richie's gut. How did he get so nervous all of a sudden? He raises his hand, even though he's the only person there. "Over here."

Luke only half-smiles. He slides in the booth opposite of Richie. "Hey, man."

Richie can sense his friend's defenses go up. A small voice in the back of his mind tells him this isn't going to be an easy conversation, but he tries to smile. "'Sup, Skywalker."

Luke makes a face at Richie's lunch. "Don't you have to be at the store today?"

Richie doesn't notice and checks his Samsung. "In, like, an hour. Do you want to eat anything?"

Luke shakes his head. "I already had lunch with Kelly."

Ugh. "Oh."

"Yeah."

Richie's appetite runs away. Even when she's not around, she ruins my day.

Luke sighs. "So, what's up?"

Okay, now's your chance. He licks his lips and takes a deep breath. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

Luke shrugs. "For?"

"For the other night. It wasn't cool that I blew up like that. I feel bad about it."

"Yeah, well, Kelly's the one that's pissed, so..."

Just hearing her name makes Richie want to kidnap his best friend and steal him away forever, back to the days where all girls were unapproachable, for both of them.

Luke begins to clean the inside of his fingernails. "So that was it?"

Once again, Richie misses the signs that his friend's not interested. He wiggles his eyebrows in an obnoxious attempt to be quirky. "Aren't you forgetting that we have a trip to plan?"

Luke doesn't look up. His voice is flatter than the table below him. "What trip?"

The sides of Richie's mouth drop. "What do you mean what trip? Comic-Con, man. It's in, like, three weeks or something."

Luke blinks, then looks up at Richie. "Oh, yeah. About that. I don't think I'm going this year."

Rejection slowly creeps into Richie's face. Then, a familiar feeling seeps through. He didn't know what to call it, but he felt it twice before. Once when Tiffany Lombardi tore up his Valentine in the second grade, and again after his mother brought a new man home.

He knows he should say something, but he isn't sure what. He ignores his aching heart and searches his troubled brain. His voice is soft. "Are you scheduled to work that weekend?"

Luke looks out the window, as though he wants to be outside. "Not really."

Richie slips his arms under the table. His insecurities taunt him to cry, but he ignores them. "What's going on, dude? Talk to me because you're acting really weird and it's freaking me out."

Luke crosses his arms. "I just don't wanna go this year, okay?"

"Ugh, don't tell me she's—"

"Stop it. It's not her."

Luke looks down at his lap and fiddled with his hands. "Not really."

Richie squeezes the edge of the bench he sits on as every muscle in his face tightens. He never did learn how to deal with his anger. "Psh, I knew it. She's got you by the balls."

Luke face turns red. "Would you shut up about her? I'm just trying to save some money right now."

Richie snickers, offended that his friend would think he'd believe such a story. "That's bullshit."

Luke looks down like he's been caught in a lie.

The satisfaction of being right only makes Richie feel a little better. "That's what I thought. What could you be saving money for, anyway?"

Luke locks eyes with him. His voice is like a pioneer penetrating new territory with a flag. "An engagement ring."

Richie blinks. The smell of the junk food below his nose starts to make him nauseous. His brain triggers a defense mechanism and orders him to laugh.

It's a bountiful laugh, the kind that can't be faked.

He stares at Luke, hoping that his laughter will be contagious and soon they'll both laugh and return to normal.

But the more he stares into Luke's eyes, the less the laughter works to soothe him.

Luke says nothing. He moistens his upper lip in thought.

Richie laugh dies. That familiar pain returns. Don't start crying like a little puss. "Wow. A ring? Already?"

For the first time since he arrived, Luke smiles. "It only took me three years."

"That's what I'm saying, man. Don't you wanna see what else is out there? I mean, why Kelly? Why now?"

Luke twists up his face in annoyance. "Man, can't you just be happy for me?"

"Have you even asked her yet?"

"We've talked about it before. And I already spoke to her dad."

"Psh, her dad hates you."

Luke looks as though he's ready to wring out Richie's neck. "Geez, Richie. There you go again being negative."

Richie's voice is loud enough to have someone behind the counter turn their necks at their table. "Well, you just dumped this on me. What am I suppose to do? Is she moving in with us or I am going to have to move out? This involves me, too, you know?"

"Look, I get that you're upset, but it's not my fault."

Richie leans forward in anger, but his large stomach presses too hard against the edge of the table. "Not your fault? You're about to put a ring on it and you're saying it's not your fault?"

"That's not what I meant," says Luke. "It's not my fault that I have a girlfriend and... and you don't."

Richie freezes. He didn't have the slightest clue who this new Luke was, but he hated him. So much so, he wanted to hurt him. "Oh. So that's what you think, huh? You think I'm all riled up because I haven't gotten laid in a while."

Luke shakes his head, unimpressed. "You haven't gotten laid, period."

Richie's vision becomes blurry. His fingernails dig into the wooden beach, causing them to bend into his skin and ache. His breathing is only coming from the furious inhales and exhales of his nostrils. "That's cold, dude."

Luke rolls his eyes and stands up.

Richie manages to look up. Angry as he is, there's still a part of him that believes this lunch meeting is salvageable. "Where're you going?"

"I don't know. Anywhere but here."

Richie snorts a few tears through his nose. His attempt to chuckle and disguise his pain is hideous and pathetic. "Oh, come on, dude. Stay and help me kill the rest of this burger."

"No, thanks."

A tear rolls down Richie's cheek. He wipes it off at lightning speed.

Luke looks down at his friend. "You know what really sucks? When I told you about the ring, you didn't even congratulate me."

Guilt begins to pulse throughout Richie's nervous system.

Luke shakes his head. "To think I wanted you as my best man."

With that, he turns on his heels, hands inside his hoodie pouch, and marches out of the restaurant.

Richie watches his friend get into his 1992 Ford Taurus, the one they used to smoke inside of together, and the one that would soon smell like Febreeze and feminine charm.

He rests his elbows on the table, buries the heel of his palms in his eye sockets, and releases an angry, bitter weep.

Damn you, Kelly Cusack. Damn you to hell.