How to cure a hangover
Married to the night
I own the world, we own the world
-- Lady Gaga, Fashion!
The following morning welcomed him with a bag of bricks to the head, skull pounding very painfully, his stomach in a tight knot. Before full consciousness had even reached him, his body flipped over the edge of the mattress with a sudden wave of nausea that washed over him like a current, acidic and strong. He heaved, but nothing came out. Breath came in short, his eyes watered, his pulse raced, and still nothing happened. A moment later, he moved up into a sitting position. The world spun violently in response to that, but only for a quick second, eyes squeezing shut—and it was gone. He breathed out.
The bathroom mirror reminded him of the night before, with half-wiped neon still on his face and glitter in the mess of blonde tangles that he called hair. He’d never wash this out, he knew it already; it’d taken weeks for all the glitter from prom night to leave his scalp, and he used to brush his hair back then. Wait, back then? That was only three months ago. God, it felt like an eternity already. With one long sigh escaping his lungs, he walked into the shower.
Waking up at three in the afternoon was incredibly early for him, a real accomplishment. How long had he even slept? He had no idea, but it hadn’t been light out when he’d gotten home, so he’d guess a good nine hours, at least. That gave him so much time to do stuff this afternoon that, if his head weren’t trying to kill him, he’d definitely take it. As it was, the most he could do was throw some dirty clothes into the washing machine, and even then, he still felt like dying.
His clothes from last night were surprisingly dirty, smelling like cotton candy and beer, so he threw the pants in the washing machine, and holding the shirt in his hands, considered throwing it right out. A quick online search of the word on the front confirmed his suspicions, that it was in fact a band he didn’t listen to, and a local one too, incredibly niche, literally underground. He’d never heard of them before and would never be caught in burlap again, regardless of how soft this shirt was, so he threw it out.
Before turning the washing machine on, he filled it up with some of the girls’ clothes, a proper load. The pants hadn’t survived only because they reminded him of Laith, but because they’d actually looked pretty good on him too. He didn’t have anything like them. If he could find a nice brand-name replacement, they’d probably be joining the shirt, though. Come to think of it, Levi’s probably had what he was looking for. The thought of buying himself clothes without his mother’s input on what he wore made his heart jump, excitement in his veins. Could he pull it off? He’d never gone shopping by himself before—what if the things he liked didn’t look good? He’d need a second opinion.
As the personification of his answer, Jessie walked into the laundry, surprised to find him there. She stopped right by the door, barely in the room at all. “Oh. I thought laundry was on me today.”
“It probably is.” He shrugged. “I just needed to wash something.”
A slow nod was her response, awkward, unsure what to say next, if anything at all. The weight of yesterday’s argument hung heavy in the air, in the strangeness between them; he could see how stiffly she held herself, quiet when talking came so naturally to her. She made to leave without another word, so he spoke up to keep her around.
"Hey, listen..." His tone was nice and soft, apologetic without saying it.
If he wanted her to spend time with him today—despite telling himself that the extent of his activities was reserved for the laundry—then he had to make amends. Deep inside, he felt bad, but everything he'd said had been true and he stood by it even now. All he really wanted was for her to drop the subject, though he could've been nicer about it. He’d give it that much.
"I was a dick to you last night. You were just trying to help; you didn't deserve the way I talked to you. I was way out of line and I'm sorry. I'm just not ready to talk about... him. You know?"
Jessie tilted her head a bit. The curls of her hair shone under the light, hands hidden behind her back. It was weird seeing her this timid, leaning against the door frame rather than taking up the entire room, always the loudest voice among them. "I'm just worried about you," she confessed, voice low with feeling. "You're not usually like this. You've been... different lately."
"Different how?"
"Secretive and distant. I know there's a lot going on inside you and I want you to know you can count on me for anything."
She sounded just like Emily, almost even down to the word. It made sense that a close friend would notice such a change; he just didn't think it’d be Jessie. In retrospect, of course it’d be Jessie; she could read anyone like the back of her hand, but he supposed he hadn't linked his friendship with her to Laith's friendship with Emily. It just didn't feel like their closeness was on the same level.
"We don't have to talk about him; after all, this isn't really about him, it's about you. I'm worried because you're going through something huge right now and I think you could use a friend. You just need to let me in."
"Can we just—can we not do this right now?" Ugh, he was the one who’d started it, yet here he was, screwing it up already. Goddammit. "I don't know what to think and I don't know how to feel; I just wanna go shopping. Come with me?"
Jessie's cherry-red lips moved in response to that, slowly stretching across her face to form a big smile. "Yeah, sure. Let me put some shoes on."
***
The closest Levi's was only a short walk away. This part of town was littered with designer stores and opulent coffee shops, since a lot of wealthy young people lived and studied nearby. It felt like a college town engulfed by a much bigger town, when it was actually just a neighborhood. People came and went in Prada masks and Armani sunglasses, warm in the afternoon sun, a cold Starbucks drink in hand. It'd finally started to cool down a bit, so the days were almost enjoyable again, while the nights were absolutely wonderful. When the girls didn't go out after dinner, they usually went down to benefit from the pool, sitting on the edge with their feet in the nice, cool water. This weather wouldn't last much longer, so they had to make the most of it.
As expected, Levi's not only had the pair of pants that Theodore wanted, but they also had it in three different colors, as well as an option with two slashes across the knees—the exact same pair Laith wore. He might've even bought them here. The thought was so entertaining that Theodore scoffed out a laugh, locked in the privacy of his changing room. He pictured Laith giving him all that shit about wearing Timberlands to the Dead Ponies, saying he was too rich to be mingling with rats, then leaving to buy some designer jeans himself, slashed just enough to look cheap and torn. Funny.
He thought of their moments together and what Laith had worn then, but couldn’t recall any brands sticking out. To be fair, all the shirts Laith wore were plain black and Theodore hadn’t exactly gone sniffing around for tags. He remembered the underwear, though; a pair of black boxers with dark lettering across the waistband. Calvin Kleins? Dammit, the actual brand eluded him, but that was easy to find out; he just needed a third opportunity.
He actually tried every single pair of skinny jeans available, but ultimately decided on the ones closest to the nameless brand he'd bought last night, tight and simple, legs completely covered. The difference in quality was incomparable, so he'd definitely throw the other ones out.
Jessie watched him come out in four different pairs and gave her opinion on each one, ultimately agreeing with him that simple was better sometimes. With a pair of high-waisted blue jeans herself, she walked him to the checkout.
Naively, she thought they were done. That Theodore had only gone out for one unnecessary purchase to make himself feel better—a healthy dose of retail therapy—when in reality, this was just the beginning. Sure, he’d originally come out for the pants, but what would he wear these with? None of his polos would ever go with them, and even if he did wear a regular t-shirt from the back of his closet, his shoes still wouldn’t be a match. In reality, he’d need an entirely new outfit plan; some shirts, some shoes, and possibly even a jacket, since it’d been cooling down.
To achieve that, he tried to avoid any of the stores he knew too well, afraid to fall back into old habits and buy stuff that his mother would’ve bought for him anyway. That left him with very few options, either stores that his mother would’ve never set foot in or stores that she only shopped at for his cousins. Come to think of it, she went to Diesel a lot, so maybe he could try that; he remembered accompanying her on these trips and thinking that Diesel was just a poorly-disguised rat store for the ones who were too proud to call themselves that. Well, if that didn’t sound just like him.
Unfortunately, Diesel didn’t have plain black shirts, only stuff with their brand on them, printed out as if that was a design, but it did have some very interesting jackets. One of the first ones they saw was on display right in front of the door; it had a beautiful pattern all over, like oil-based paint floating on water, navy blue and mustard yellow intermingled with white. The attendant told them it was a reversible bomber jacket, meaning it could be flipped inside out and worn that way too. The inside was black with Diesel’s logo written along the bottom, which actually looked pretty nice, so Theodore tried it out right there, in the middle of the store. The black side was cool, but the oil-like pattern just took after his own heart so much that he paid all five hundred dollars for it. Fuck it, it was gorgeous; he didn’t care what his father thought about it. He was shopping today.
At the checkout counter, the attendant informed him that he could get twenty-five percent off the next purchase, as long as its value was lower than the jacket’s, so he grabbed a random hoodie off the rack. It was black with Diesel’s brand in white all the way down the arms, which was cute, but it was really the kangaroo pocket that did it for him; he hadn’t worn one of those in years. With a total of six hundred and thirty dollars in a bag, he and Jessie left this store for the next one.
“The Gap might have some plain shirts for you,” Jessie commented. “It’s nothing fancy, but I think it’s your best bet.”
“Yeah, I guess so. I just never noticed how hard it is to find them.”
“Well, when people shop at certain places, they usually want others to know, so I understand the appeal. Like, I get why brands do that.”
“Sure, I guess.”
His mother was the first person that came to mind when clothes became a conversation topic, always very mindful about telling others of her recent purchases, but it wasn’t like she walked around screaming about her Gucci dresses and her Louis Vuitton purses. It was just like she always said, she’d never had to, because the people that had a good eye and knew style when they saw it, i.e. her friends, simply asked her about it. Bragging of one’s possessions was very rude, but doing it in response to a question was simply the polite thing to do, hence why she and her friends asked each other so many questions; it was the only proper way to show off. Their meetings were a constant flow of bragging passes skipping from hand to hand.
A handful of plain shirts later, all that was left to buy was a pair of shoes. Theodore had seen some combat boots at Diesel and had walked past some Vans in a window, but simply picturing himself in any of those, he could hear Laith’s voice loud and clear in the back of his head—that’s not you. He could see Laith in those, but not himself. There was something of an unspoken, and honestly unconscious rule in the back of his mind that told him he shouldn’t buy anything Laith would easily wear or already had in his wardrobe. The skinny jeans were the only exception, and since he hadn’t gotten the ones with the slashes over the knees, he considered that to be just fine.
As they walked, Nike came into view. He’d shopped there before, obviously, but hadn’t been in a while; his mother had refined her shoe preferences as he’d grown up and had soon deserted it. She did that a lot, actually, hopping from brand to brand, never wearing the same one for too long. The explanation she’d given him was that, if she became too loyal to one of them, they’d stop treating her like she was special, giving her deals, trying to keep her interested, but if she went into Prada wearing Louis Vuitton every once in a while, it kept the managers on their toes.
Now, his theory was that she was mortified of reverting back into who she used to be. He’d seen some pictures of her when she was younger, the ones she kept locked away in a safe, of her life in the trailer park before meeting his father. She didn’t use to wear any big names back then, probably too poor to afford them, and as his father had accumulated wealth, her wardrobe had to be constantly updated. Buying from different brands was probably just her way of keeping the dream alive.
Nike had a wide variety of really nice shoes, but the ones who caught his attention the most were some Air Jordans that Jessie quietly inspected as he tried dozens of different pairs. She picked one of them up and turned it around in her hands, blue accents moving over white leather, a red stamp on the side. His mouth opened to call for her just as she spoke to him, eyes up on his face, hands carrying her suggestion. “What do you think?”
“I think they’re a perfect match with my new jacket.”
The smile that his answer put on her face was so pretty that his heart skipped. Jessie turned to the attendant and asked for a pair in the right number, so he could try them out next. Her red lips shone in the brightness of the store, a lovely shade paired with the reddish pink over her cheeks, skin as light as his own. She was beautiful. He’d always known that, but it hit him differently now, deeper in his chest, accompanied by a very tender feeling that he couldn’t name.
She walked over as the attendant left, careful not to trip on any of the rogue shoes that littered the floor, her legs perfectly smooth all the way up, jean shorts covering only about a quarter of her thighs. She kicked some shoes out of the way and took the seat next to him, hand flipping some of her hair behind a shoulder. The sweet scent of apples always hung around her, made prominent when she brushed her hair like that, curls falling delicately over her other shoulder, a low-cut shirt exposing some skin. She had a gold necklace on with a blue pendant that pointed down.
“Are you seriously staring at my tits right now?”
The question shocked him like a Taser, eyes shooting straight up to her face, wide and guilty. Holy shit. He legitimately thought he was in trouble, but the comical look she gave him hinted at the opposite; she didn’t seem angry, though she definitely wasn’t loving this either.
“I thought you liked boys.”
Her off-hand comment made him glance around for any eavesdroppers, head moving frantically, body jolting where he sat. No one seemed to be around, so he straightened his back and resumed normalcy.
“Don’t worry; no one’s here,” Jessie reassured him, eyebrows drawn lightly together.
“You can’t just say stuff like that. What if…”
“What?”
He shrugged, feeling pretty stupid. “I don’t know; I just keep thinking my parents might be right around the corner, listening to us. Not right now, but like, when it matters. Like I’ll turn around and they’ll be right there, mouths gaping wide. I don’t know.”
“They’re not here, Theo, and they’re not following you either. I bet your dad’s at work and your mom’s drinking sangrias with the neighbors.” Sangrias—was that how they said it in Argentina? It sounded much fancier like that.
“I know, I know, but other people could still hear it, so just don’t.”
Her shoulders raised up with embarrassment. “Sorry.”
“I mean, you’re right,” he added, voice lower now, secretive despite their privacy, “but I like girls too.”
“You’re bisexual?”
“I—” Shit, he’d never thought about that. The word hit him like a brick. “I… guess?”
Jessie raised a brow.
“I don’t know if there’s a criteria for that, like a checklist I’d need to follow, so I’m not sure I am one,” he continued, eager to explain himself. “I’ve kissed one boy and one girl, but I’ve never slept with anyone. Does that disqualify me? Do I need to have sex with both?”
“I don’t think the things you’ve done or haven’t done really matter here; the criteria is probably just attraction. Like, Hannah and I kissed once, but we’re not attracted to each other. I’m not attracted to girls at all; it’s cock that gets me off, so if you’re attracted to boys and girls, then that makes you a bisexual, right?”
Huh. Yeah, that made sense.
“What does it make you, then? If you’ve kissed a girl before.”
“Uh, probably just a straight girl who’s kissed another girl once.”
His lips pursed with thought. If acts didn’t influence attraction, then maybe Ryan wasn’t gay. Maybe he didn’t like men at all and only slept with Laith because he was convenient, always around, always down. From what Emily had told him, Ryan was still very possessive over Laith, despite being in a relationship with somebody else, but that was probably just fear. Fear of losing his easy and reliable lay, as if Laith would suddenly become unavailable or even go on to reject him. Ryan had only been in committed relationships with women—as far as Theodore knew—which must mean something.
If straight people could kiss the opposite sex and still continue to be straight, then Ryan could fuck Laith and still only like girls… right? Well, now he was getting confused. If attraction dictated sexual orientation, then what dictated attraction? He opened his mouth to ask, but the attendant showed up before he could, ending their conversation right there. With Air Jordans on his feet, he used his credit card one last time and ended today’s shopping spree.
“Can I ask you something?” he spoke as soon as they left the store, bags hanging from both hands. “How do you know you’re not into girls?”
Jessie hummed thoughtfully, eyes up with her search for an answer, as blue as the sky. “When you look at a girl,” she started, red lips perfectly round, “what do you think about?”
This entire experiment was already biased and tainted, because he was looking at her right now, and he liked her a lot. Then again, that might be what she was going for, his thoughts on her.
“How pretty she is,” he answered, honest through and through.
“Do you think that about all women?”
“Uh, yeah.” That was true, actually.
“But don’t you wanna kiss some of them? See them naked?”
“I mean…” His cheeks burned. It took all of himself not to glance Jessie down right now. “Sure. Who wouldn’t?”
“Me. I don’t wanna see them naked or touch them in any way. I don’t even think about them very much. They don’t get me hot at all.”
Hm. Somehow, that changed things, and with his mind whirring, he failed to disguise his next question. Anyone who knew of Ryan’s involvement with Laith would’ve seen right through it, but luckily, Jessie didn’t.
“If you had the chance to sleep with a girl just to get off, and let’s say you really want to get off, wouldn’t you do it?”
“No. Why? I can get off by myself.”
“But wouldn’t it be better with somebody else?”
“Only if that somebody else is a boy. Theo, girls don’t make me wet.”
“But could you sleep with one?”
“I mean, I could, but I wouldn’t be getting off on it. I wouldn’t even want her hands on me.”
Wait a minute.
“Alright, let’s say you did get hot when girls touched you, and when you slept with them, you got off just fine...”
“Then I’d be a lesbian.”
He stared at her.
Oh my god.
“Or bi,” she quickly added, but he could barely even hear that over the massive realization that Ryan was, in fact, neither straight nor gay, but probably bisexual too.
God, what were the chances that two brothers would share the exact same sexuality and attraction to the same guy? That was so fucked up. Incredibly fucked up, actually.
Could it be genetic? Was their mother bi too? He didn’t think he’d ever find an answer to that, but it was curious to think about. What if his father just happened to be a man she was attracted to, without necessarily meaning she was straight in the first place? That’d be the scandal of the year. Suddenly, her concern over her children’s love life and if they were seeing women at all made a lot more sense—she was afraid they were like her.
What did that make his father, then? He guessed that if both him and Ryan weren’t straight, then the bi genes had come from their mother, but didn’t straight couples have gay children all the time? So maybe it wasn’t genetic after all. At this point, he didn’t know anything, although his mother’s concern over whether or not he liked any of the boys on the baseball team continued to hammer into the back of his head. If she wasn’t bi, then where did her worries come from? God, he needed a nap.
Back at the apartment, he and Jessie both showed off their new clothes to the rest of the girls and received multiple compliments on their purchases. He felt like his mother, making poses in his Diesel jacket and twirling around in Levi’s jeans, except he didn’t tell them how much it’d all costed; that just wasn’t the point. While his mother took pride in all of her expensive collections, he simply didn’t care for it. No one in this apartment had a job, so money meant nothing to them; a two-hundred-dollar jacket was just as exciting as a five hundred dollar one, because it was new, not because it was expensive. In his new outfit, he took a seat in the middle of the girls, leaving the corner of the couch for Jessie.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Daisy commented around a small smile, her voice nice and sincere.
Next to her, Nadia nodded. “We were starting to get worried when we couldn’t find you. You totally disappeared last night.”
Shit, he forgot to tell them he’d be leaving with the other guys.
“I ran into Dylan and his friends. They showed up after a while and we ended up hanging out at an after-party. I forgot to tell you, sorry.”
“I knew you’d left with somebody else,” Hannah remarked. “You wouldn’t have run off by yourself. You never have.”
“We thought Ryan’s friend was there.” God, he hated hearing that. That fucking sucked. “That maybe you left with him.”
“His name’s Laith.”
Fuck it, their knowledge of his name would cause a lot less damage in the long run than them constantly referring to him as Ryan’s fucking friend. Ugh.
“He wasn’t there,” he quickly added.
The girls all stared at him. They were very obviously trying to act cool, holding themselves together, smothering any urges to freak out over the fact he’d talked of the unspoken, the one thing they didn’t ever talk about.
Slowly, Hannah nodded. “So you hung out with Dylan and the others.”
“Yeah, they’re really nice. We dropped Scott off and went to a club next. I should’ve texted the group chat, but I totally forgot about it.”
The girls listened very intently as he talked, all of their attention focused entirely on him, waiting for it. He knew exactly what they wanted to know and decided to indulge them for once. At this point, they deserved it.
“Laith was there.”
Their eyes doubled in size. Jessie hung off the edge of her seat, Hannah’s shoulders were stiff, Nadia covered her mouth with a hand and Daisy struggled to keep her composure—they were all incredibly invested in this. It kind of made him want to keep talking, if only to get more reactions like these, a live audience.
“We didn’t plan to meet up; we just ran into each other. Do you guys know what a dark room is?”
Jessie gasped.
“Isn’t that where…” Nadia faltered, warmth creeping up her neck, “where private stuff happens?”
“Was this a gay club?” Jessie didn’t even bother to hide the surprise in her voice, genuinely shocked by the scandal.
“Yes.” He grinned. “I saw him in the dark, kissing someone. I think I scared the shit out of him.”
“Was he angry?”
“He was surprised, actually. He only got angry later. People were watching us, but he lectured me anyway.”
“Because you stood him up the other day?” Jessie asked.
“No, it wasn’t just because of that. He didn’t like seeing me there, so we ended up arguing, which isn’t super uncommon; I just wasn’t expecting it that time. Marquis and Hwan were with me, so when he left, we went back to partying. It was a mess.”
“How do you feel about it?”
“Uh.”
How did he feel about it? He hadn’t really unpacked everything that had happened last night just yet.
“I don’t know. I wish we hadn’t argued; I was so excited to see him. He said I didn’t belong there and that kind of sucked.” A knot closed his throat with the memories, heart lying in a bed of spikes. “I guess I’m upset about that.”
“Was he talking about the gay club?” Hannah’s eyebrows furrowed. “That you didn’t belong there?”
His blood cooled into ice. “Yeah,” he lied.
“I thought you guys were together.” Daisy’s scowl mirrored Hannah’s.
“We’re not; we’re just having fun.”
“Last night didn’t sound very fun.”
Okay, good point.
“I know; we’re just weird. I keep pushing him because it’s fun, but I didn’t mean to do it that time.”
“Is he actually mad at you then?”
He stared at Daisy. How had he not wondered that?
“I mean… yeah, probably.”
“It sounds like you guys need to talk this out,” Jessie suggested, “before it becomes a problem.”
“I don’t have his number.”
“I know, I mean next time you see each other.”
Except he didn’t know when that would be. He knew there was a party going on at Justin’s tonight, but he didn’t know the address, and either way, he hadn’t even been invited. Of course he could ask Emily, but after everything he’d said to her, it was hard to believe she’d want to speak to him again. At least until he apologized. The problem was that, once again, he didn’t regret anything he’d said, only how he’d said it. When people pressured him the way she had, he didn’t know how to be elegant about it; there was a ticking time-bomb inside him that just went off. Jessie was right, they needed to talk; he just wasn’t sure how to explain that to Emily.
Locked in his room, he started brainstorming ideas on how to do that. Dear Emily… No, she’d hated the poetic text he’d sent her yesterday, so he should probably steer clear from that. Hey, I’m sorry about last night. He wasn’t sorry, though; sending that would be disingenuous. Sorry for how I spoke to you last night. Okay, that was sincere enough, but maybe too bold of an opening statement. Hey, I’ve been thinking about last night… No, too creepy; it sounded like they’d had an affair. Hey, can we talk? She’d call him after the first text anyway, so he went with that.
Three minutes later, his phone rang.
“Hey.” His pulse raced, heart beating on the roof of his mouth.
“Hey, little man! It’s Justin.” Okay, that was surprising. “Emily asked me to call you; she’s kind of busy right now. What’s up?”
“Uh.”
Shit, what was he supposed to say if Justin couldn’t know about him and Laith? Wait. Wasn’t the whole point of the call to get invited to the party? Justin’s party? That would be even easier with him on the other end, then.
“I just wanted to ask how the party preparations are going. My mom is a party expert and I’ve helped her multiple times; you could say I’m an expert too. I’m just wondering if you guys need help.”
“Aw, dude, that’s so nice of you. If I knew, I’d have called you over, but the preparations are all pretty much done by now. We’re actually getting started with a couple of beers before everybody shows up.”
“That sounds nice. Maybe I could help you next time.”
“Yeah, for real. You should come, by the way, if you don’t already have plans tonight.”
He pumped a fist in the air. “Bro, I’d love to. What’s your address?”
As it turned out, the farm was a lot further away than he thought; an entire hour from the city, a drive up north. He could always just take the bus, but the thought alone made him nervous; he’d never done that by himself, always accompanied by his brother when their parents couldn’t drive him. That was another option, calling his mother for a ride. He wondered what she’d think about it, him going to a farm one hour away to meet up with people she’d never even heard of. He obviously wouldn’t tell her Ryan would be there, but that he’d made some friends all on his own and that they wanted him over for a bit of a gathering. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have a problem with that.
“Everyone’s coming over at eight. The guys are spending the night here, so if you want, you can bring a change of clothes too; there are more than enough rooms for everybody.”
Spending the night with Laith and the others didn’t sound too bad. It reminded him of the camping trip, the only genuine window he’d ever had to those guys’ lives, two whole days immersed in what they did together and how they treated each other, even if certain subjects had been censored. He wasn’t one of them, after all. This time, he hoped to do a lot more in Laith’s tent than just sleep.
On the phone, his mother only really cared to know the address and the time he was supposed to be there. The moment he told her the location, she asked what this place was, since there was nothing out there, just ranches and fields. With his heart racing, he said he’d been invited to a gathering at his friend’s farm. Somehow, the farm part wasn’t what stuck out to her, but the word friend. So he’d made a friend, huh. She sounded delighted. Relief pushed a breath out of his lungs. Yes, he’d made a friend. Well, she’d be over right after dinner.
In the small span of their conversation, she never mentioned his father, leading him to believe this would be a small road trip between the two of them. Dressed in his new clothes, he told the girls he’d be meeting his mother soon, so they all wished him a nice evening.
As soon as he crossed the front yard, the first thing he saw was his father’s car waiting by the curb. His pulse skipped in his chest, loud in his ears. Okay, so this would be a family road trip then. He wasn’t nervous. Oh god, would his father beat the shit out of him because of how much he’d spent this afternoon? Shaking, he pulled the backseat door open and got in.
His mother turned around to give him a smile, green eyes glancing him over as his father looked at him through the rearview mirror. He held his breath.
“My, my, look at you. Is that why you went shopping this afternoon?” his mother asked, amusement in her voice.
“Yeah. I figured I could use a change of wardrobe.” Years of practice kept his voice perfectly still, unwavering. “What do you think?”
“Oh, you look so handsome. That jacket is just gorgeous. Is it the one from Diesel?”
Right—they knew exactly where he’d been.
“Yes. It’s their new collection; came out just this week. Five hundred dollars.”
He figured that, if he spoke just like his mother did with her friends, it’d give him a pass on how much he’d spent right out of his father’s pocket. Her smile proved how right he was about that.
“Lovely!” She all but squealed.
“That’s quite a find, Theodore.”
Wow, even his father sounded proud. How… alien.
“Are you wearing the new Nikes as well?”
“Yes, of course; the Nike shoes and the Levi’s jeans. The jacket is the central piece here, so I put on a plain black shirt under it.”
His mother grinned, big and wide. It was such a different look on her, always keeping her composure in check, her lips stretched just enough to shape her fake little doll smiles, perfectly manufactured, but this… was real. He could tell she wasn’t measuring how far her lips should stretch or how pretty her smile looked; this was just the outcome of her joy. Even her eyes were grinning.
In silence, his father pulled back onto the street and drove off.
“So, this friend,” she started, genuinely interested, “they live on a farm.”
“Yeah. He has an apartment in town too, but it’s probably too small to have people over.”
“Did you meet on campus?”
“Classes only start next week,” his father informed her.
“We met at a party, actually. The girls and I have been going to a bunch of them these days, since there isn’t much else to do. We’ve been meeting a lot of different people.”
His mother’s eyes shone. “How many have you met so far?”
“Too many to count, but I’m only close to a handful. There’s Justin, tonight’s host, his friends and another group that isn’t friends with him. They’re all older than me.”
“That’s wonderful. Knowing older people is a great call.” She glanced down at his backpack. “What are you bringing him?”
His blood went cold. “Uh, nothing. I didn’t know I was supposed to bring him anything.”
“Theodore, every time you’re invited to somebody’s house, it’s good manners to bring them a small gift.”
“Your mother’s right,” Henry interjected. “We can stop at the store and get him a nice bottle of Ruinart. It’s always a good choice.”
His mother glanced back at him. “How old are your friends?”
“Like, twenty-two.”
He didn’t know about Justin or Emily, but saying Ryan’s age would’ve been a little too suspicious, so he lowered it by a year.
“Then Ruinart it is.”
That champagne turned out to be a lot more expensive than he thought, but since it was his father’s choice, he wouldn’t speak a word about it. He wondered if the others had brought gifts too or if he’d be the only one with a massively expensive bottle at what was supposed to be a low-key party among friends. His mother had even found a red bow to glue to the box.
The drive over was surprisingly uneventful, with music playing on the radio and his parents chatting about frivolities; who would be coming over this weekend, what they should serve their guests, and what they would be doing next week. The interrogation on Theodore’s life had ended, and sitting quietly in the car, a sense of nostalgia came over him, that he’d missed being around his parents. Sure, it’d only been three months, but he’d never spent three months away from them before.
When the GPS announced they’d be arriving in fifteen minutes, he sent Emily a text. Not too long later, she replied, saying that Justin would be out to open the gate. He remembered the way his father had spoken to Laith that one time, and afraid his parents would see him out there, possibly accompanying Justin, he told her to please not let either Laith or his brother come out. She said ok, curt and simple. It rubbed him the wrong way, but he decided against pressing her about it. It didn’t matter, and anyway, he’d probably misinterpreted it.
“You know, Theodore,” his father started, his voice loud in the confinements of the car, “if you keep this up, you might get a surprise later this year.”
He scowled. “Keep what up?”
“Your excellent track record. I’m very impressed with how much you’ve grown over the summer.”
“You’re our golden boy, always has been.” His mother smiled.
“If you’re good, expect a nice something for Christmas. That way, you’ll be able to visit your friend’s farm all by yourself.”
Oh my god, was he getting a car?
“Your building does have an extra parking spot, anyway.” Carolyn winked.
Holy shit.
“I’ll do my best, dad. I promise.”
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