SAM
“Hey.” Luke smiles, dimples deepening, and beckons me in. It’s immediately easy between us, almost as if he never left at all. Almost.
“Sorry about the mail,” I say, and motion to the pot. “Figure I owe you. Spaghetti and meatballs.” I make my way inside to his kitchen and rest the pot on the fake marble bench. I open the cupboards and pull down some plates. Over my shoulder, I call out, “Jeremy’s home. He’s got this assignment to do, and I”—am no good at math—“I told him to bring it here. That all right?”
There are footsteps, and then I feel Luke’s presence behind me. I turn around and he’s leaning back against the wall, arms folded, nodding. “Of course it’s all right.”
“Good, because we’ve both missed you, Luke, and we want to catch up. Also, I barely know what Trigonometry means.”
He laughs. “Math, eh? Shouldn’t be a problem. When’s he coming over?”
“He’s on the phone to a friend. After that.” I turn back to the plates and serve us both some pasta. “How’s your mum doing?” I ask quietly. The metal serving spoon clunks heavily on the pot in the silence that follows.
“She’s fine.” He clears his throat. “I, uh, told her a lot about you guys.”
“You did?” I pass him his plate and we move across the hall to the dining room. “Good stuff I hope.”
“Yeah. Good stuff.” He sits down and spears a meatball. He’s still prodding it after I’ve inhaled my first one.
“Something up?”
Luke rests his fork on the side of his plate. “I, uh, I—she wants to meet you. Both of you. I said we could go up at Christmas?”
“She wants to meet us? You must have talked us up a bit too much.” I laugh, but Luke goes back to prodding his dinner.
I lean back in my chair, taking in Luke’s navy long-sleeved T-shirt, and his metal watch gleaming with the light from above us. He’s a touch taller than me, definitely stronger than me, older than me in that “big brother” sort of way, but right now his expression looks lost and a touch . . . something else. It’s like he’s swallowing a smile. It’s endearing and . . . new.
There’s something I know for sure. Luke’s my best friend, and if his mum wants to get to know his friends, I want to be on the top of that list. Number 1. That’s math I can do. “I want to meet her too,” I say, “but the thing is, I don’t know I’ll have any holidays at Christmas. I . . .”
I laugh. There is a small trace of bourbon still working. I scratch the back of my head. “Thing is, last week I told my boss I was taking the rest of this year until Christmas off. As of tomorrow.”
Luke’s head snaps up. “Your boss was okay with that?”
“He said it was about bloody time, so long as I worked the Christmas rush.”
He finally takes a bite of dinner, and murmurs that it tastes great. I sense he wants to say something else, but he keeps hesitating.
I lean over and punch his arm. “Just say it.”
His dimples are back for a second, and then they disappear. “Are you going somewhere? What about Jeremy?”
I shake my head and twist spaghetti on my fork. “Nah. I just . . .” want to live the last of my 20s. “I’ll still be here. Just doing other . . . stuff.”
He raises a brow and I glimpse a smirk. “Other stuff, eh?”
“Yeah. Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have any weights around, would you?”
“I do, somewhere.” His brows knit together.
“What? Don’t think I can buff up?”
“That’s not it at all. But honestly, I don’t think you need to buff up. You’ve got a good runner’s build.”
“Well, regardless, give me some tips, coach, because I want to get crazy, nasty fit.”
Luke leans back in his chair, balancing it on two legs. His dimples are back and this time they look like they’re staying. That something else is in his gaze again. And I’m going to figure out what it is . . .
“Dad? Luke?” Jeremy calls down the hall. His steps follow, dragging lazily over the carpet. I want to tell him to lift his feet, but I know this stuff goes in one ear and out the other. I’ve learned to pick my fights, and though the chrr-chrr sound bugs me, I try to ignore it.
I grit my teeth a lot.
“In here,” I say and drum on the tabletop.
He comes in slouched over a couple of textbooks and a frayed notepad. Like me, he’s wearing a brown T-shirt and jeans, and I am thankful he has Carole’s button nose and thin lips because otherwise it would be like looking at myself at fourteen. And I’m not sure I’d ever let him out of my sight then.
Jeremy glances between us, lips quirking into a grin that I just know will get him in trouble with the girls sooner or later. His face is glowing like the time he scored the winning goal in his soccer finale.
“Fuck, Luke, you’re back!”
“Watch the language,” I growl, using my great, deep rumbling voice, cultivated from necessity after a few short years of parenthood. Like always he straightens and nods. But it doesn’t wash out the smart-ass in him.
“Freaking eh, Luke, you’re back!”
I mask a smile and stand, clapping my boy on the shoulder. “How hard was that?” Then I ruffle his hair, which at some point over the last year he’s come to hate, but I’m still locked in the habit.
He leans his head out of my reach with a scowl and drops his books on the free end of the table.
Luke has a secret buddy smile going on with Jeremy. “Shoot, man, you’ve grown. It’s been too long.” They do a funny high-five, pull-like handshake move.
“You can say that again. Dad was miserable without you here. It was a”—he looks at me—“freaking long winter.”
I slide back into my seat. Luke blinks fast a few times and his swallow is audible. From the way he grips the tabletop, I know that he’s missed us too. “Yeah, the longest.”
“I wasn’t that miserable,” I mumble, though it’s complete and utter rubbish. “I read a lot.”
For some reason, this really sparks Luke’s interest. He levels his green gaze on me and folds his arms. “What’d you read?”
I pick up my fork and gesture toward his plate. “Your spaghetti is getting cold.”
He starts shoveling down his dinner, and I know he’s hurrying through it to ask his question again. I shake my head and focus on Jeremy, who has sat down and flicked open his books. He bites his lip as he reads what looks like the assignment sheet.
I don’t know which question I want to avoid most. The math one that will make me look like an uneducated fool of a dad, or the books one that will make me seem like I’m trying to be a pretentious prick.
Maybe they’ll balance each other out?
Luke winds the last of his spaghetti on his fork and the grin he gives me as he brings it to his mouth helps me make up my mind.
“So, what was it you needed help with, Jeremy?” I quickly jump up and move behind Jeremy’s chair. Over his shoulder are a lot of numbers and triangles. The word “sin” comes into focus, and for a second I think this could actually be interesting, but it is short- lived.
Luke’s chair makes the same chrr sound as he pushes it back. He comes over and peers over Jeremy’s other shoulder. It takes a few moments, but Luke glances over at me with the same blank What the fuck is this? expression. I laugh and shrug, then I pull out a chair close to Jeremy and Luke does the same on his other side. I split the textbooks between us.
“I think I sort of get it,” Jeremy says, scribbling something on his pad. “No, wait. That can’t be right.”
Luke and I look up at each other and I know we’re thinking the same thing. This is going to be a long night. We open the textbooks and begin.
We finish at quarter to eleven, and unless the word “sin” works really, deliciously hard to redeem itself, I don’t ever want to see it again.
Jeremy tosses his pencil onto the table and leans back, stretching. “I so don’t get the point in math.”
I hear my dad’s words coming out before I can censor them. “Math is important. Understanding numbers and how they work tells you a lot about the world. Trust me.”
He mumbles something inaudible and then rips out a yawn. When he drops his arms back to his side, he says, “Hey, Luke. Can I ask you something actually important?”
I growl and Jeremy smirks.
“What’s that, Jeremy?” Luke asks, his lip twitching as if he’s suppressing a grin.
“So, like, us Hutt Penguins drew with the Oriental Lions in the soccer finals last month ’cause it got cancelled. But me and the team want to do a match against them anyway. Would you be able to help set up a game for us? We can so beat their asses.”
Luke lights up, his smile coming out in full force. “It won’t reflect in the official results—”
“We know that. But those guys practice on the field next to ours and show off all the time. Trust me. They want this as much as we do.” Jeremy beats a fist into the air. “We’re so gonna take ’em down a peg.”
I shake my head. “Hmm, maybe I should root for the Oriental Lions. It’d be nice to see you taken down a peg or two.”
“Dad!”
I laugh. I want to reach over and ruffle his hair, but refrain.
“So?” Jeremy looks to Luke. “Could you?”
Luke pretends to think about it, wincing like it’s going to be hard to do. When Jeremy leans over and whacks his arm, he laughs. “Sure thing. I’ll get permission to use our school field and locker rooms for the game.”
“Score!” Jeremy’s beaming. He looks down at his math books, but I can tell by the way he bites his lip and grins that his thoughts are so far away from his assignment.
Jeremy leans back in his seat and folds his arms. He says, without looking up, “Dad?”
I know this tone. It’s soft and careful. He wants something from me he’s not sure he’ll get.
Luke knows this tone too, because he’s looking at Jeremy with one brow raised.
“Yes?” I say.
“You know how it’s the end of school on Wednesday?”
Get on with it . . . “Yes.”
“Well, Simon is having a sleepover, and I’d like to go. Can I?”
There’s something wrong with this request, and it takes me a moment to pin-point it. I laugh. Usually Jeremy is more confident when he asks to stay at a friend’s place. He says it like it’s no big deal. This time though, the way he ambled toward the question . . . this time it was a bigger deal. I’m immediately suspicious.
“End of school sleepover? Will there be girls there?”
He stutters and his eye twitches and I know the answer already. Luke does too. He must, because he shakes his head. “No can do, Jeremy. Your dad told me that he wants to take you out to a movie that night and celebrate the end of the school year with you.”
“That’s so totally lame, Luke,” Jeremy says. “Dad so did not organize anything.” My boy looks over at me, brow arched like he knows what Luke said is a lie. He sighs and picks up his pencil, using it to doodle on the end of his note pad. “I mean, yeah, there will be girls there for a bit, but they’re just the ones from my class.”
The ones from class . . . the ones he saw everyday and no doubt spent hours fantasizing about . . . yeah, because they’re nothing to worry about . . .
“Luke wasn’t lying,” I say, feeling a need to defend him. “I got some holiday lined up and I wanted us to go out. Sorry, Jeremy, but the answer’s no to the sleepover.”
Jeremy looks ready to argue, but he slumps back and nods once. “Fine.” Then he hurries to gather up his things, not looking at either of us. “Night,” he mutters and leaves.
I stand up, suppressing a sigh, and try to think of something to explain it to him. But Luke is up too, skirting around the table; he grabs my arm and stops me chasing after him. His fingers skate off my skin and leave goose bumps behind. It reminds me how goddamn long it’s been since anyone has been close enough to touch me.
But that will change soon. I have a 20s Must-Do List to fulfill. . .
“So what did you read?” Luke asks, and his voice is all smirk.
I shake my head and collect our dishes. “You don’t know when to give up, do you?”
He takes the dishes off me; our fingers brush, and he jerks them back. “I’ll do that,” he says. “You cooked, after all.”
I hate dishes, so I quite like the arrangement. When he tugs the plates, I realize I haven’t let go. I quickly remove my hands.
“You want to play a board game or something?” Luke calls out from the kitchen.
I shake my head at the empty table. “It’s probably a bit late for that.” Then I tell myself off for being so reasonable. I want to let loose for the next few weeks. “I mean, what do you have in mind?”
“How about Taboo?” he says, so close behind that his words bounce off my neck and I jerk to the side.
“Taboo?” I repeat, and I’m not thinking of the game, but . . . something else.
And then Luke bends over to wipe down the table, reaching to clear the spaghetti splatters that somehow made their way to the middle.
I curse myself for making spaghetti. Why couldn’t I make something that guaranteed no mess? Like . . . like . . .
Under Luke’s T-shirt his back muscles bunch and his ass is jiggling. I blink, scratch my head, and inch toward the hall. Suddenly going home and being sensible sounds like the best idea ever.
“Ahhh,” I say. “Don’t you need more players for that game?”
He finishes, turning toward me, shrugging. “Why not just us two guys? We can work around the rules a bit.”
My mind literally blanks, and I hear my nervous laughter. Tomorrow morning I am going to work. Not to actually work, but to finally ask Hannah out. “Um, actually”—I yawn, hoping it doesn’t sound too forced—“I think I’m gonna call it quits for tonight.”
Luke nods. “Okay. You said you’re free tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“I want to try that new Chinese place I saw on Queen Street,” he says, following me as I move into the hall.
“That might be a touch expens—” I gulp down the rest of that sentence. “Actually, yeah, that sounds good.”
I hurry to the front door, trying to remember all that math stuff to keep me bored and not thinking about . . . Jesus, I need to find a fling, and soon.
Just before I escape from Luke’s place, he catches me. He holds the door open and in the porch light I catch that something else in his gaze again.
“Okay,” I say, leaning on the outside of the doorframe and crossing my ankles. “What’s up with that look of yours?”
He scrubs his face as if he can get rid of it, but the something else just deepens as his dimples do.
“Seriously, what aren’t you telling me? You look like you’re hiding the news that you won the lottery.”
His smile widens. “Maybe I’ll tell you about it at lunch tomorrow.”
I leave him watching me as I make my way home. Jeremy’s room light is on and I can hear the soft beat of music through the door. I knock and tell him to get to sleep. He has school in the morning.
Once the music is off, it’s quiet and I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t concentrate on Mill on the Floss, the last on my to-read list.
I pour myself a bourbon and pace. What I’m really doing is trying to figure out why Luke is so freaking happy. And the thing is, I think I know, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
He must have met a woman in Auckland. That something else . . . yeah, but damn, that something else looked an awful lot like being in love.
I finish my drink and pour another. I’ve been expecting this since the beginning. I know our friendship can’t last forever—I’m lucky it’s lasted as long as it has. But Luke is . . . well he’s amazing. Of course he’s found someone.
And tomorrow he’s going to tell me about her.
I drink.
I don’t think I can handle hearing it. It makes me so fucking sad thinking of losing him. I know we’ll still be “friends,” but it’ll never be quite the same. There’ll be someone else around him. His attention will be on her. Then he’ll move. Have kids. We’ll see each other a few times a year at first and then it will wind down to the occasional email, maybe birthday and Christmas cards . . . and then, it’ll be nothing but memories.
I finish my drink.
Until I get used to the thought, I’m going to navigate around his attempts to tell me about her. I just need . . . just a little bit of time.
Buzzed and needing to distract myself, I move to my writing desk and pull apart my drawers, searching for my 20s Must-Do List. I haven’t touched it in months, but I’m pretty sure it’s here somewhere . . .
I take everything apart. The list is not there.
I sigh. Maybe I chucked it out.
Shaking my head, I pull out a notepad and write the list again. The clock is ticking. Tomorrow, I’m beginning it . . .