Dylan was already halfway through my fridge when I walked into the kitchen.
"Seriously?" I said, watching him pull out leftover pizza like he owned the place.
He looked up with that grin. The one that got him out of trouble in third grade and apparently still worked at twenty-six. "What? You said I could grab something to eat."
"I said you could grab a something. Not clean out my entire fridge."
But that was Dylan. Give him an inch and he'd take the whole damn highway. Always had been that way since we were kids growing up next door to each other in Millfield. Mom used to say he was like a stray cat – feed him once and he'd never leave.
"Remember when we were twelve and you let me borrow your bike?" he said, taking a massive bite of cold pizza.
"You mean when you kept it for three months and I had to threaten to tell your mom?"
"Hey, I was maintaining it for you. That bike ran better when I gave it back."
I rolled my eyes and grabbed a beer from what was left of my supply. "You're impossible."
The thing is, Dylan wasn't a bad guy. He just... operated differently than most people. Like when he moved back to town last year after his divorce. I offered to let him crash on my couch for a weekend while he looked for apartments. That weekend turned into two months.
"I got a job interview tomorrow," he said, settling into my kitchen chair like it was his personal throne.
"Yeah? Where at?"
"Henderson's Auto Shop. You know, the one by the old movie theater."
I knew Henderson's. Good place. Honest work. "That's great, man. Really."
"Yeah, well... thing is, I might need to borrow your truck to get there. Mine's making that noise again."
And there it was. The ask. There was always an ask with Dylan.
"What noise?"
"You know – that grinding thing? Sounds like... uh... like a blender trying to eat rocks?"
Despite myself, I laughed. Dylan had a way with descriptions that made it hard to stay annoyed. "Fine. But I need it back by six. I got plans."
"What kind of plans?" He waggled his eyebrows. "Hot date?"
"None of your business."
"Come on, Eli. We've been friends since dirt was invented. You can tell me."
I shook my head but found myself smiling. That was Dylan too – he had this way of making you feel like you were the most important person in his world when he focused on you. Made it easy to forget all the times he'd borrowed money and forgotten to pay it back, or showed up uninvited to family dinners.
"Her name's Bethany. We met at the bookstore downtown."
"Bethany!" He slapped the table. "I knew it. You had that look – like you'd swallowed something good but weren't sure if you should admit it."
"Shut up."
"So where you taking her?"
"Dinner. Maybe that new place on Fifth Street."
Dylan nodded approvingly. "Fancy. You clean up nice when you try, Eli. She's lucky."
And that was the thing about Dylan that drove me crazy and kept me coming back at the same time. For all his faults – the borrowing, the overstaying, the way he'd eat your last piece of pie without asking – he genuinely wanted good things for the people he cared about. When my dad died two years ago, Dylan showed up every day for a week. Didn't ask permission, didn't make a big deal about it. Just appeared with coffee and sat with me when I couldn't handle being alone.
"You nervous?" he asked.
"About what?"
"The date, genius."
I considered lying, but Dylan could read me better than anyone. "Yeah, a little."
"You'll be fine. Just be yourself. Well... maybe tone yourself down like ten percent. You can be a little intense sometimes."
"Thanks for the pep talk."
"I'm serious though – you're a good guy, Eli. Better than most. Better than me, definitely."
There was something in his voice that made me look at him closer. Dylan wasn't usually given to serious moments.
"Everything okay?"
He shrugged, suddenly very interested in picking pepperoni off the pizza. "Just... thinking about stuff, you know? About how I always seem to mess things up. Take more than I give."
"Dylan—"
"No, it's true. I know what people say about me. Hell, I know what you think sometimes, even if you don't say it."
I wanted to argue, but he wasn't entirely wrong. "You're not all bad."
"Gee, thanks. That'll look great on my tombstone."
We sat there for a minute, the kitchen quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the sound of Mrs. Patterson's dog barking next door.
"You want to know something funny?" Dylan said finally.
"What?"
"I actually found an apartment. Two weeks ago. Got approved and everything."
I stared at him. "What? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because... I don't know. I guess I got comfortable here. And you never complained, not really. Figured maybe you didn't mind having me around."
"Dylan..."
"I'll be out by Friday," he said quickly. "I promise. For real this time."
Part of me wanted to tell him it was fine, that he could stay as long as he needed. But the other part – the part that had been sharing a bathroom and splitting grocery bills I couldn't really afford – felt relieved.
"Good," I said. "It'll be good for you to have your own place again."
He nodded, but something in his expression looked almost hurt. Which was ridiculous, because this was what we both wanted, right?
"Can I... can I still borrow the truck tomorrow though?"
I laughed. I couldn't help it. "Jesus, Dylan. Yeah, you can borrow the truck."
"Thanks, man. I owe you."
"You owe me a lot of things."
"I know." He finished the pizza and stood up, stretching. "But hey – when I get this job and get settled in my new place, first dinner's on me. Somewhere nice. Not just pizza."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
"Fair enough."
He headed toward the living room, then stopped in the doorway.
"Eli?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. For... you know. Everything."
I watched him disappear down the hall, probably to claim my couch for one of the last times. Give Dylan an inch and he'd take a mile, sure. But maybe that wasn't always the worst thing in the world. Sometimes the miles were worth it, even when they cost more than you planned to spend.
I finished my beer and started thinking about what I'd wear tomorrow night. Bethany seemed like the kind of person who noticed details. The good kind of details, not the kind that catalogued all your friend's faults while still letting him eat your food and sleep on your furniture.
Though honestly, I was going to miss having someone to talk to in the evenings. Even if that someone did leave dirty dishes in the sink and forget to replace the toilet paper.
Give him an inch, take a mile. But sometimes the company made the journey worth it.
