Just Friends(15)

“Do you remember all those summers that I hung out at your house in elementary school?” I tack on, the warm memory alleviating the knot forming in my throat.

“Of course I do. Those were the best summers,” he says, voice low and smooth like a gentle caress on the back of my neck.

“That was such a huge help to my mom.” I nod, head bouncing with too much force. “I don’t know if you ever knew that, but you and your family played such a big role in us being able to stay here.”

The goal is to distract myself from getting emotional about my father leaving, but the memory of Declan’s mom making us warm chocolate chip cookies while we sat on their huge living room couch and watched TV shows is more threatening. I don’t even remember talking to him that much. We’d just sit side by side in silence while we devoured the entire plate of cookies, and at some point, my mom would pick me up after work.

“Gosh, that’s horrible,” he says while shaking his head.

It was Declan’s first time hearing the events that led up to me sitting on his couch those first summers. I could see the information unspooling in his mind. And for some inexplicable reason, I feel shame creep in. It was my first time having to say the words out loud to someone else. Words explaining how easy it was for my dad to never see me again. Technically, it was my mom who left him. But he stayed gone every year after, which felt like a leaving in itself. Showing Declan I was unwanted by my own father felt like a risk—what if it made him start looking for reasons not to want me too?

He stops walking and puts a hand on my shoulder, spinning me toward him. “Thank you for telling me that, Blair. And I don’t know if I’m allowed to say this, but I think your dad is a certified idiot.”

I cough a surprised laugh, the tension exiting my body with it.

“I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said that. But—” He looks away, lips pressing together. “You guys didn’t deserve that. At all. And now you’re turning into this amazing person, and he doesn’t get to witness it. I mean, how much dumber could you get?”

My eyes have tears forming, and yet I huff another shaky laugh.

“Oh, wait,” he says. “Sorry. I wasn’t going to call him stupid again. My bad. But you know what I mean.” This is the most high-school-boy response of all time, and yet it’s really working for me. He goes on, almost like he’s talking to himself as the story sinks in. “He doesn’t know how much you like dystopian books. And writing your own stories when you should be paying attention in class. And that you’re really, really bad at math. But I do. So, he’s the unlucky one in this situation. Not me. And not you.”

He emphasizes the last two words with an urgency I’ve never heard in his voice. I can’t form words. Can hardly force my eyes to meet his. But when I finally do, we both just stare at each other, like we’re both suspended in this moment, neither of us wanting to burst the rare bubble we’ve entered.

He throws his arms around me and pulls me into his chest. With my head squished up against the warmth of him, I hear the faint thump of his heart beating. Or maybe it’s my own. The hush of the ocean persists in the background, harmonizing with the subtle rise and fall of our heavy breaths.

He pulls back sooner than I’d like and we keep walking. I wait for the shame of opening up to creep in, but to my surprise, it doesn’t.

“By the way, I’m still sorry for how your dad treats you,” I say abruptly.

Declan tilts his head at me with a slight smile. “Thanks, Blair. That’s nice of you.”

I nod at him. “I still find myself wishing I had a dad who pestered me with his expectations sometimes.” I chuckle to distill the potency of that confession. “But I see how hard he is on you and that sucks.”

“Trust me, I don’t think you’d wish for it after experiencing it for a week.”

I look down at my Converse as we walk down the street.

“No…” My voice is flimsy as I try to straddle truth and levity. “I think I would still trade situations with you if I could.”

“Really?” Declan asks.

“I mean, yeah? I don’t mean to make your relationship with him sound easy, but at least you have a relationship to struggle with.”

He looks out at the middle distance in thought. A hardness creeps into his eyes.

“He doesn’t just, like, ‘expect a lot of me.’ He practically does not and will not love me unless I get perfect grades and win every football game so that I can get into an Ivy League school and go to the NFL one day. Every time he’s up late at night working, he reminds me that he’s making sacrifices for me to live my dream. But… the dream was his to begin with. I love football, don’t get me wrong. But if he thinks I’m talented enough for the NFL, schools will hand me free rides. Money wouldn’t be the problem. It’s just a nice scapegoat for his addiction to work, claiming it’s all to make his son’s dreams come true.”

“Okay, but you do live up to all of his expectations. You’re a freshman in high school and there are already college coaches interested in you. That’s unheard of,” I retort, arguing an opinion I didn’t know I had.

He scoffs. “That’s my point. I do everything right, and it’s still not enough. The goalpost moves the second I reach it, but I just keep running to the next one. It’s pathetic.”