TWENTY-SIX
Nineteen days have passed since Evan walked out of Kath’s house—not that I’m counting. Four days of unreturned texts, skipped calls, and fifteen more of heartache before I folded and tried calling one last time last night, only to get no answer.
I’m not upset with him, and I wish like hell he’d let me tell him that. But that night I was offered a glimpse at the boy I knew as a teenager: the recluse. He shut down, put up his walls, and faded into the background when things got too tough.
Kids used to tease Evan in school, mocking his quiet, alternative lifestyle. Ashamedly, I’ll admit I ignored him at first too. He made it so easy to. But I guess the thing that cuts now I can look back on it with the wisdom of an adult on my side, is that I never questioned why.
What made the boy feel as though he didn’t belong? As though he couldn’t join in with the rest of us?
What made a shy, delinquent kid grow up to be a force to be reckoned with, to promise to protect and to serve?
I flick through a stack of cheap CDs idly as Briar picks out a new DVD to take home. It’s become our Friday night thing: he gets a new DVD, I get an old CD to play while I do the housework the next day, and we spend our Friday night cosied up on my new lounge suite watching the film he’s picked.
He adapted to the shift into my small apartment well, choosing the things he wanted to take without an argument, and sitting around watching me, offering his thoughts as I took photos so I could list all of Kath’s stuff we didn’t bring over.
He even took on the task of picking out a boxful of her things with more maturity than a lot of adults I know, carefully packing away the few trinkets and belongings he wanted to fill her memory cube with.
It sits in the corner of his room, and to be honest, I think it’s been the best therapy for him. On the odd occasion I’ve caught him in there, unpacking and repacking the items, dealing with his loss the only way he knows how.
I’m so fucking proud of the kid, it hurts that I never knew him sooner.
“Only one, remember,” I say as I catch him with three cases in his arms.
He grumbles, shoulders dropping, and stomps back to put two away.
I flick through the next row of bargain discs and still when a classic catches my eye: Radiohead’s The Bends. I loved their music, still do, but it’s the fourth track that evokes a forgotten memory within me: “Fake Plastic Trees.”
“I’d like this one, please.” Briar lifts his selection for me to see.
I nod at the choice, satisfied it’s suitable for his age. “Okay.”
“What have you got, Aunty?” He cranes his neck, trying to see what I have in my hands.
“More music, buddy.”
“You look sad.” He tips his head to the side, and for what feels like the hundredth time today, I sigh at the resemblance he has to Tristan.
“Not sad.” I smile wistfully as I look at the cover. “Just remembering something.” I bundle up the two choices and reach for Briar’s hand. “Come on. We’ll go pay for these and then pick up some popcorn to share with Jess.”
“Is she visiting?”
“Yeah.” It was only natural that when I traded my Friday night drinks with Jess for evenings snuggled up with Briar, that she’d join us every now and then. “Is that okay?”
“Uh-huh. I like her.”
“She likes you too.” I think everybody who meets this kid can’t help but fall a little bit in love with him.
We make our way to the self-checkout lane where, with my help, Briar scans the items and bags them, even tapping the buttons on the touch screen to put the purchases through for payment. I loop the handles of the plastic shopping bag over my wrist and take Briar’s hand in mine, heading for the car.
He tugs on my arm as we near the automatic doors to the parking lot. “Aunty!”
“What, buddy?”
“Look. It’s Officer Evan.” He points further into the mall. “Who is he with?”
I stall, looking where Briar points, and die inside. “I … I’m not sure.” Who is he with?
A curvy brunette in a tube dress stands beside him as he looks in the window of a shop, talking animatedly as he nods in response. She reaches out and catches his arm, giving him a playful push as she laughs.
The blood drains from my body.
He smiles at her, and then points to something in the window display. She turns her head to look too. Her eyes go wide, and she claps excitedly, talking flat out while he shrugs.
I shouldn’t.
But I will.
“Who is she?” Briar asks again.
“I don’t know,” I answer as I dig around in my bag for my phone. “Probably just a friend.”
A really pretty, curvy, close friend. Ugh. One who’s clearly been more important than me these past weeks.
I glance up again to check he’s still there, and fight the ache in my chest as he turns to give this woman his full focus, using his hands to gesture size or something of the like while he talks.
My thumb swipes right, and I hammer in my passcode as though the screen is her face and my thumb is my foot. I open the message thread, and stoop to a new low.
I get you don’t want to talk to me, but Briar misses you. Any chance you could visit?
I’m going to hell, fast-tracked in first class.
He nods at whatever the woman says, retrieving his phone from his pocket. My eyes narrow as I take in every damn twitch and nuance of his body language. His shoulders drop a little, he skids a foot out to widen his stance, and even from this far, I can catch the frown that mars his brow as he sighs.
The woman tries to look over his arm at what’s on his screen. My fist curls, itching to smack the intrusiveness right out of her.
Evan quickly kills the screen and pockets his phone again, gesturing to the store. The woman smiles, clasping his arm in a quick embrace before she ducks inside.
“Can we go?” Briar whines, tugging on the bag of goodies.
“Yeah.” I hesitate, watching as Evan sighs again and then follows her in. “We’re done here.”
So done.