And it wasn’t that Clark couldn’t talk to people—last week I’d come in from walking Bert to hear him on a conference call with his editor and publisher and something called a “marketing team” as they discussed a cover redesign. Even though I had a feeling he was the youngest person on the call by a decade, he was very much in charge, clearly running things. Which was hard to reconcile with the fact that he seemed really intimidated by my friends—especially, for some reason, Bri and Toby.
“They were kidding, right?” he asked one night as we sat outside Paradise Ice Cream, he with his with mocha almond ripple, me with my cookie dough and a pint of mint chip I was bringing home for my dad. “They don’t really want me to call them Tobri.”
“They were kidding,” I assured him as I helped myself to a bite of his ice cream.
“They do kind of seem to share one brain, though,” he said, reaching over for a spoonful of mine. “I swear, they had a conversation without ever saying anything.”
I nodded and moved my ice cream out of reach. “They do that. But they liked you. All my friends did.”
Clark nodded but didn’t seem convinced, and even when I tried to do better the next time, and not present him with five people he’d never met before, just bowling with Tom, Palmer, and Toby, he was nervous and awkward, reminding me of how he’d been in the early days with me.
I was thinking that maybe it just wouldn’t work out, but then, a few days after bowling, came what Bri later called “the beginning of a beautiful bromance.” I stopped by Clark’s to pick up Bert and found Tom and Clark on the couch in the book room, eyes fixed on the TV, which the room did, it turned out, have. (It just looked like a mirror when it wasn’t turned on.)
“Hi,” I said as I looked between them, trying to figure out how this had happened.
“Hey,” Tom said, nodding at me, like it was totally normal for him to be hanging out at Clark’s house.
“Hi there,” Clark said, standing up and giving me a quick kiss. “Here to get the beast?”
“Uh-huh,” I said. I was actually a little disappointed to see Tom there, as I’d been hoping for a little prewalk kissing action. “What are you guys doing?”
“Well,” Clark said, nodding at the TV. It was paused, but I couldn’t tell what was on it—it just looked like gray and raininess. “Tom doesn’t have to rehearse today, so we’re watching the Batsmen.”
“The what?”
“All the Batman movies,” Tom clarified. “We’re still debating the plural.”
“Batmans?” Clark asked, heading back to the couch.
“Batmen,” Tom offered.
“I’ve got it,” Clark said triumphantly. “Batsman.”
Tom shook his head. “I really don’t think that sounds right.”
“Well, have fun,” I said, as I went off to find Bert. I was having better luck with him when I could sneak up on him with the leash. If he didn’t know there was a walk afoot, he didn’t have time to play the run-away-from-the-leash game. I waved at them when I left, but they were back to watching, and I wasn’t even sure they noticed. I was happy to see it, though, Clark and Tom hanging out. It seemed like a good thing.
I was less convinced when I came by the next day—I was adding Bert into a group walk for the first time—to find Tom and Clark still on the couch, both of them looking a little glassy-eyed. “Are you guys still doing this?” I asked, feeling my jaw drop open. “How many Batmen are there?”
“We moved on from that,” Tom said, blinking at me a few times. “Now we’re watching the James Bond movies.”
I looked from him to Clark, hoping for an explanation. “Why?”
“Well,” Clark said, pushing himself off the couch and coming over toward me, “we were talking about whether it was fundamentally wrong for a Brit to play Batman.”
“He’s the closest thing we American actors,” Tom said, clearly including himself in this group, “have to a classic part. He’s our Hamlet.”
“And then we were talking about how they’d never cast an American to play Bond.”
“Who’s they?” I asked, feeling like I didn’t have time for this, with four dogs waiting in the car.
“So we started watching them,” Tom finished, like this was the only logical explanation. “In order.”
“Shouldn’t you really be watching the Supermans?” I asked, then paused. “Supermen?”
“See, it’s hard,” Clark said.
“I wanted to,” Tom said, pointing in Clark’s general direction. “It’s not often you get a real live Clark in your midst. Especially one wearing glasses.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“But then we remembered that Superman is kind of lame.”
“Bond versus Superman,” Clark said, looking over at Tom, then stopping to yawn hugely. “Who wins?”
“Which Bond?”
“Which Superman?” Clark countered.
“Have either one of you slept?” I asked. Bertie trotted around the corner, and I saw my opportunity and grabbed him by the collar.
“Sleep is overrated,” Tom said, yawning as well.
“I’ve got to take him out,” I said, stumbling a few steps behind Bertie, who was whining and stretching toward the door.
“I’ll call you later,” Clark said, giving me a quick kiss, and even though he looked exhausted—his hair was sticking up all over the place and his eyes were bleary behind his glasses—he also looked really happy.
“Sure,” I said, giving his hand a squeeze. “We’ll talk then.”
And while I was glad that Clark had found someone to discuss all the different Doctors Who with, I realized I was also happy for Tom. Watching them crack each other up was making me realize that I hadn’t ever seen him with a guy friend before.
“I think they’re coming in,” Toby said now, her voice going immediately more high-pitched as she dug in her bag and emerged with a lip gloss. She uncapped it, then squinted out to the water, where Clark and Tom were starting to swim in with their boards. “Oh. Never mind. It’s just Tark.”
I rolled over on my side to face her, already shaking my head. “Please don’t give them a nickname.”
“I think it’s catchy,” Bri said. “It sounds kind of badass.”
“You have to admit, it’s better than Clom,” Palmer said, lowering her sunglasses. That had been Toby’s first attempt, and I had done my best to quash it.
“It’s not about what the nickname is,” I said, even though Clom had been pretty awful. “Why are you giving them one at all? Why not one with my name and Clark’s?” All my friends looked at me at once, and I focused on smoothing out the wrinkles on my towel.
“Hold the phone,” Palmer said, sitting up straight and looking at me. “You’re really in a couples-nickname kind of a place?”
“I didn’t read anything about hell freezing over today,” Toby said, shaking her head.
“I’ll check online,” Bri added.
“Never mind,” I said, hoping by now I’d gotten tan enough so they couldn’t tell I was blushing.
“Candie,” Toby pronounced triumphantly, and I made a face.
“Ark?” Bri supplied.
I shook my head. “Just forget it,” I said. “I shouldn’t have . . . um . . .” I lost total track of whatever I’d been about to say next, because Clark emerged from the water and started walking toward me, and all ability to verbalize left my head.
I had made it clear to Clark early on that all we would be doing was kissing. He’d been a little taken aback, but seemed okay with it. And for the most part, that was all that had been happening. All our clothes had stayed put, so today was the first day I’d actually seen that Clark was in way better shape than writers of fantasy novels were supposed to be, as far as I’d been led to believe.