“Yeah.” His lips quirk the slightest bit. “That’s what I said.”
“Wanna play?”
He swallows and licks his lips before casting a worried look towards the living room.
“What’s wrong?” Did I say something wrong? The realization hits me that the living room is probably where his dad slept, in the end. I start to apologize, but he cuts me off.
“You set it up, I’ll go and get the game.”
4
EVAN
When Ma comes home, Nate’s sitting on the living room couch with a PlayStation pad, driving into people on the sidewalk. She beams when she sees him.
“Nate, hi!”
He hits pause on the game, gets up to help her with the groceries. Must be all those Ivy League manners he's learned. Helping old ladies across the street before feeling up drunk cheerleaders at a frat party.
She tries to wave him away but it doesn’t work. “You guys go and play, I’m fine, it’s just salad. I needed a palate cleanser after all that casserole, not that I’m not grateful … ”
They’re still talking in the kitchen so I turn the game off. I haven’t been alone in the living room since they got rid of my dad’s bed. I’d forgot about it while Nate was here, distracting me with the stupid game. If I look at that spot, I can see him still, propped up on some pillows, me on the couch, wondering if he’s actually watching the TV or just pretending. I turn around and get out of there as fast as I can.
“You wanna stay for dinner, Nate?” Ma asks.
“I’d love to, but I have a meeting at school.”
“Meeting? Sounds serious,” Ma jokes.
“It’s just a fraternity thing.”
“Oh, of course.”
“Come on, frat boy,” I say. “I’ll show you out.”
“Evan, walk Nate to the bus stop,” Ma says.
“It’s okay, thanks, I have my car.”
“You haven’t left your Rolls Royce parked up in this neighborhood, have you?” I make a face and he rolls his eyes.
“Nate, do you drive a Rolls Royce?” Ma asks, eyes wide.
“No Ma, I’m just fucking with him.”
“Oh.”
He hugs her goodbye. I walk to the end of the driveway with him so I can make fun of whatever flashy-ass car he does have.
“Oh, it’s a Beemer, my mistake.”
Nate actually blushes. “I didn’t ask for it, my mom and Bryce bought it for my birthday.”
My ma’s beat up Honda sits parked in front of a garage too full of shit to use for cars.
I think about telling him he doesn’t need to explain himself to me. If I was rich, I’d be driving a BMW, too. But I don’t want to encourage him. Can’t have him coming round here any time he likes, in his fancy clothes and his expensive car, dredging up things that don’t need dredging up.
“It was good seeing you,” he says.
