by Emily Mayer
“Uh, red, it’ll pair nicely with Sour Patch Kids,” Janie answered, pulling out an assortment of snacks from her bags. “What’s with the sports? I thought we were listening to the HP soundtrack.”
“What’s HP?” Paige asked, taking a seat at one end of the coffee table.
“Is that a joke?” Janie gasped, one hand splayed dramatically on her chest. “Lennon, she’s joking, right? Please tell me she’s joking.”
“HP is an abbreviation for Harry Potter,” I explained, choosing to ignore Janie’s theatrics entirely.
“Ah, okay, I’m not down with the lingo you cool kids are using these days,” Paige joked, taking a sip of wine and picking up a LEGO piece to examine. “How do you even know where to start with this thing?”
I took a folded piece of paper out of the box and waved it in the air enthusiastically. “There’s a blueprint!”
“No one should ever be that excited over instructions,” Paige mumbled. “I should have brought over the boxed wine I keep for emergencies.”
Janie and I looked over the instructions and then divided the castle into sections. We gave Paige the least complicated part, and the responsibility of keeping Boomer away from the table. Turned out that cats liked knocking things off tables for no discernable reason.
“You never answered my question about the sports game currently playing on your TV,” Janie said, not bothering to look up from the section she was working on.
“Oh, sorry. It’s just that I usually watch Sebastian’s games. I don’t really understand all the rules, but I’m learning. I recently discovered that offsides occurs when a player is closer to the opponent’s goal than both the ball and the second-last opponent and someone passes him the ball. Sebastian explained how a corner kick works at dinner Monday. I don’t know if I’m a sports fan, but it is more enjoyable to watch a sporting event when you have someone to root for. It’s almost over though. We can turn the music on after.”
I noticed that Janie and Paige had both stopped working on their sections and were looking at me with astonishment.
“Let’s unpack that, shall we?” Janie asked, her attention drifting back to the piece in her hand.
“Yes, Janie, I think that’s an excellent idea.” Paige voiced her opinion while trying to separate Boomer from her leg. “Boomer, quit trying to climb me!”
“There’s nothing to unpack. Sebastian and I appear to be friends, something which, while I am still confused about, I have accepted as a fact. Part of being a good friend is supporting your friend in their endeavors. Sebastian’s profession is soccer, therefore I am taking an interest in soccer.” I tried to sound very matter-of-fact, hoping it would put an end to this particular topic.
“And you two have been hanging out regularly?” Paige asked over Boomer’s agitated meow.
“I wouldn’t say regularly. We exchange texts and we met for dinner once.” I provided the details, mostly truthful but leaving out Sebastian showing up at my apartment. For some reason I couldn’t quite understand, the night Sebastian and I had shared Chinese while watching Netflix felt important. Like a memory I didn’t want to share with the outside world lest that somehow tarnish it.
“And you want to be just friends with Sebastian Kincaid, the world’s hottest soccer player and, though I haven’t done the research necessary to support this claim, probably the hottest male on this planet?” Janie asked, sounding more than a little skeptical.
“Yes.” I decided what I needed here was some sort of diversion. “So Paige, what’s your favorite Harry Potter book?”
I was using my knowledge of Paige’s reading habits to theorize that she hadn’t read a single Harry Potter book. It was low, but I was desperate—Janie approached interrogations with the tenacity of a KGB agent.
“Uh…” Paige stalled, looking around the room for a lifeline. “The Wizard Saves London?”
“Ohemgeezus. You haven’t read a single Harry Potter book, have you?” Janie demanded, looking as astounded as she sounded.
“No,” she answered, cringing. “I thought the series was for kids.”
“Wow, Lennon, we have a total HP newb on our hands. We have to pop Paige’s HP cherry. Don’t worry, we’ll be gentle.”
“Some of what you said sounded kind of disturbing, but we should totally have a Harry Potter marathon! It’ll be so fun!” I reached for a handful of cheeseballs. “But first, we have to make Paige get sorted. It’s essential for a marathon.”
“Agreed.” Janie nodded. “All newbs must be sorted. Are you in?”
Paige shrugged, looking a little nervous. “I guess?”
Janie and I spent the next hour filling her in—or torturing her, according to Paige—with all the essential details of Harry Potter. Even the arrival of pizza didn’t provide her with a reprieve. I made her take the sorting quiz on my tablet. Paige was a Hufflepuff like me, and I was not the least bit surprised. ‘Patient and kind’ described Paige perfectly.
But I was surprised when my phone dinged with a message from Sebastian.
Sebastian: what are you up tonight?
Me: Janie and Paige are over helping me put together the Hogwarts Castle LEGO set! It’s been on backorder for months and it finally arrived today!
Sebastian: When you say LEGO set, do you mean an actual LEGO set? It’s not American slang for something?
I looked up from my phone, an idea forming in my head. “Would you guys mind if I took a picture of you with the castle for Sebastian?”
“We would be happy to be in a picture for your friend,” Janie responded, emphasizing the word friend. Paige nodded her agreement. I snapped the picture just as Janie held up her fingers in a peace sign. “Gotta represent.”
I sent the picture to Sebastian, and tried not to be disappointed when my phone didn’t immediately ping with a response. When I didn’t hear from him almost an hour later, after Paige and Janie had gone home, I told myself he was probably busy with post-game stuff.
It wasn’t until I slid into bed that I allowed myself to admit I was afraid Sebastian wasn’t responding because I had done something wrong, offended him with my nerdiness. I knew it wasn’t “cool” to get excited about LEGOs on a Friday night. Even though I really, really didn’t care that I was perpetually labeled a nerd like it was some sort of incurable disease, it didn’t mean that I wasn’t capable of being hurt. I rubbed the puckered skin that divided my chest in half. My other fear, if I was being completely honest, was that Sebastian hadn’t responded because he was on a date or picking up girls at a bar.
“Why am I doing this to myself?” I asked Boomer. He cracked one eye in acknowledgement and then promptly went back to sleep. Cats.
“You know what, Boomer?” He cracked open both eyes this time and stretched. “Good, this is important. You have to hold me accountable. I need to stop worrying about something that is not a realistic possibility. Sebastian is my friend. We are friends. So what if I have a physical reaction to him? It’s simple biology. That’s it. My body is recognizing him as an ideal candidate to pass on superior genetic material so my offspring have the best chance of surviving. And hey! I have plenty of practice ignoring arrhythmia, right? The smart thing would be to focus my energy on Patrick, so that is what I am going to do from now on. Thank you, Boomer, this has been a very productive chat.”
I looked over at Boomer, who was now belly-up, snoring softy on the pillow next to mine. Sighing, I nestled further under the covers. I ran my fingers along that ridged line dissecting my chest one more time, a silent reminder that life could be so disappointing, unfold in ways you didn’t expect, but that it was all still so worth it.
19.
When I woke up the next morning, two text messages from Sebastian were waiting for me. He apologized for not responding right away. He’d been exhausted after the game and fell asleep on the couch icing his knee. I fought down the urge to revel in the knowledge that he was alone and not ignoring me. Friend. Friend. Friend.
I texted my friend b
ack that I understood and hoped his knee was feeling better today. A very friendly response to my friend. And if I watched his game that evening, it was a purely academic endeavor undertaken only because I had no plans.
When Harrison picked me up for Sunday dinner, I was just finishing up another email to Patrick. We were officially at least pen pals. Neither one of us had broached the topic of meeting face to face, and I was relieved. I liked the idea of exchanging some more messages with him before we met in person. It allowed me to collect as much data on him as possible so that when we did meet, I would have a list of conversation topics fully prepared. I realized I would have to admit to Janie at some point that her online dating theory was actually very solid, if you had the patience to tolerate an insane number of creeps and penis pictures. So, so many. Some that would haunt me until my dying days.
“How was your Friday night?” Harrison asked, after a few minutes of comfortable silence while I searched through radio channels. “We missed you.”
I yawned. “It was really fun. We made pretty good progress on Hogwarts, and Paige admitted that LEGOs are strangely soothing. I had to build a fort to protect the castle from Boomer though. He keeps knocking things off the table.”
“You mean one of your wizards couldn’t protect it with a spell?” Harrison said, his voice filled with mock surprise.
“Ha ha ha. So funny.” I nudged him lightly on the shoulder. “How were things at the shop?”
“Busy. Been thinking about bringing in some new people,” Harrison replied, turning the radio back to the rock station he preferred.
“Really? That’s awesome, Harrison! Are you thinking about adding another artist?” I reached over, switching the radio back to my indie station.
“You know the driver gets to pick the music, right?” He switched the radio back to his station. “I’m leaning more toward finally getting a permanent replacement for Marty. I don’t want to be doing all the office shit and we need someone at the front desk. Lou fucks everything up and I don’t have the patience for it. Teddy is barely less of a fuck-up, but he’s getting booked more regularly now. I’m still looking at the numbers. I haven’t made any final decisions.”
“You know, I could drive. My car gets much better gas mileage.”
Harrison grunted. “Pass. I don’t feel like spending two hours with my knees in my chest.”
I rolled my eyes. “Anyway, I think it’s great that you need to hire more people to manage the shop. You’ve done a really great job growing Bad Wolf. I’m so proud of you.”
“All right over there, calm down.” He groaned. “Jesus Christ, are you crying?”
I sniffled, shaking my head. “No.”
“Lennon, come on. Don’t cry. What just happened? Are you getting your period? Here,” he said, putting my station back on the radio. “We can listen to your shitty indie garbage.”
“No, I’m not about to get my period, Harrison,” I said, suddenly annoyed. Nothing, I mean nothing, switches a woman from sad to angry like a man asking if she’s about to get her period. As if our uteruses are entirely responsible for our emotions! “I’m just really freaking proud of you.”
“Thank you,” he responded, his voice sounding a little gruffer than it normally did. I nodded in acknowledgment and leaned my head back against the headrest, closing my eyes.
“Lennon.” A warmth landed on my leg, sending my whole body swaying gently. “Lennon, we’re here.”
I jolted upright, a sharp pain shooting up my stiff neck. “Did I fall asleep?”
Dumb question, judging by the drool I felt gathering at the corner of my mouth. I tried to stealthily wipe the drool off by faking a yawn. Was it even possible to attractively sleep in a car? I had spent a lot, a lot, of time sleeping in cars during my two and a half decades, and never once had I woken up looking like Sleeping Beauty. I always woke up looking like Maleficent—after she unleashed her inner dragon.
Harrison confirmed my suspicions. “Snoring like a lumberjack.”
“I do not snore,” I mumbled, unbuckling my seatbelt and exiting the car. I could hear Harrison snort over the sound of the door shutting.
As soon as we entered the house, we were greeted by two of my favorite sensory inputs: the sound of baseball and the smell of garlic.
“Harrison? Lennon? Is that you?” Mom called from the kitchen. Who else she was expecting was a mystery. She turned the corner, a wide smile on her face and arms open ready to sweep us into a hug. “How are my babies?”
“Good,” Harrison and I answered in unison, as we were smashed together between two arms that absolutely did not look like they were capable of crushing bones but had been known to squeeze the life out of her children.
“Dad! Kids are here!” she yelled directly into our ears. I could see Harrison’s wince mirroring my own. She released us from her clutches and we dutifully followed her into the kitchen. “Dad!”
“I heard you, Susan!” he shouted from his recliner in the living room. I didn’t even need to be able to see into the room to know that was exactly where he was, and that he would be watching whatever game was playing. “The whole neighborhood heard you.”
“Hi, Aunt Jen,” I greeted the woman standing at the counter slicing a cucumber for the salad sitting in a bowl at her elbow. Her bright red curls bounced with every slide of the knife. My eyes scanned the room looking for her husband, who was arguably one of my top three favorite men on the planet. “Where’s Uncle Frank?”
“They’re behind at the shop, so he’s working late,” she offered, her tone sounding apologetic on his behalf.
“It’s good that they’re so busy.” Harrison stooped down to place a kiss on her cheek.
Aunt Jen and Uncle Frank were not biological relatives. Jen and my mom had been best friends since first grade. Grandpa always said Jen was over so much that they ended up putting bunk beds in mom’s room and he claimed an extra dependent on their taxes. They had gone to college together and opened up the diner together. When our sperm donor disappeared the first time, Jen and Frank had stepped in to help my mom with Harrison. They even bought a house four down from ours. The last and final time our sperm donor had disappeared, my mom was six months pregnant with me.
I had no memories of him, obviously, but every single memory of my childhood featured Aunt Jen and Uncle Frank. Along with my grandpa, we became a weird family unit. When I was little, I liked to think my dad was a CIA agent who had been called away on a secret mission. Now that I was older, I liked to think he was roadkill. Although, to be honest, I didn’t think about him very often anymore, because my slightly dinged-up heart had always been filled with so much love.
The day I’d gone in for my big heart surgery all five of them had crammed into my preoperative room, and it hadn’t felt like there was anyone missing. I remembered opening my eyes and looking for my mom and grandpa, never once thinking about the man who should have been there. And when they left to take Harrison back to the hotel and get a few hours of sleep, Aunt Jen and Uncle Frank stayed with me. Aunt Jen refused to let go of my hand the whole time, as if she needed the constant reassurance that I was still there. I barely ever thought about my dad, before or after, because there were too many people busy filling up the hole he’d left in my life.
Those same people were currently filling the seats around the kitchen table, loudly chatting about their weeks while shoveling lasagna into their mouths. I smiled, thinking that if happiness had a sound, it would sound an awful lot like Sunday dinners at the Walker house.
20.
Uncle Frank showed up after dinner and asked Harrison to walk him through the new billing software he had installed in the shop. As much as Grandpa had been involved in both our lives, Uncle Frank had played the leading role in modeling an adult male for Harrison. We had hit the jackpot for father figures to stand in for an absentee father. I still remembered the sight of Grandpa and Uncle Frank in the bleachers on Friday nights, cheering on Harrison like he was their own son, both me
n wearing buttons with his face on them.
I ended up in the garage with Grandpa helping him rebuild an engine for a ’39 Ford convertible he was restoring with some of his buddies from the senior citizen—you know, when he wasn’t busy running an illegal gambling ring. I was perched on my usual stool, holding a flashlight and handing him tools, while he grumbled obscenities in the general direction of what would be the radiator. I hmmed in agreement when he called out requests for a tool or more discernable complaints.
He stood up straight without warning and gave me one of his signature squinty-eyed glares. “What’s on your mind, kid?”
I was still “kid” at twenty-six. “What do you mean?”
He grunted. Harrison had come by his extensive repertoire of grunts honestly. “I can hear that big old brain of yours churning from over here. You’ve handed me the wrong tool twice now, and agreed that I should expand my gambling operation to the assisted living facility across from the senior center.”
I sat up straighter. “Grandpa, you absolutely cannot expand your gambling ring! It would definitely be illegal, and I’m pretty sure it would also be very unethical to fleece old people out of money.”
“I am old people. And no one’s getting fleeced out of any money,” he said, wiping his hands on an oil rag. “We don’t gamble for money.”
“What do you gamble for, then?” I asked, not even attempting to hide the skepticism in my voice.
“Don’t worry about it.” That reassurance actually made me worry a lot more. “Quit trying to change the subject. What’s got you all tangled up over there?”
I sighed. “I’m not tangled up. I was just thinking.”
He waved the rag around. “About?”
“I guess I was just wondering about attraction.” I clarified, “Attraction between people, not magnets.”