“I always treasure days like this – as you know, they could disappear at any moment for me.”
I reach over to him and squeeze his hand. He places his other hand on top of mine and smiles affectionately.
“You didn’t invite me here for a physio session, did you?”
“No, love. You’re here for something else.”
“How did I guess?”
“Look,” he says, gesturing out towards the scene unfolding in the garden.
Ian and Riley are lying on the grass, playing with little Jamie. Chris, Ryan, Martin and Evan are a few metres away from them; Martin and Ryan are deep in a heated discussion, making Chris and Evan laugh. Nick is standing next to the barbecue with his mother, trying to uninterruptedly grill burgers and sausages – but she won’t stop interfering. He pretends to lose his patience with her, but in the end, I know he’s just happy to have her there.
I’m stretched out on the lawn, too, my bare feet tickled by the grass. My face is tilted back towards the sun, making the most of this unexpectedly gorgeous day.
“You have a wonderful family, James. You must be so proud.”
“I am, Casey. And now, I’m really happy.” His gaze falls onto me. “Now, our family is complete,” he smiles, gesturing behind me.
I turn again, to see Nick approaching us.
“Hot dog or burger?” he asks.
“Stupid question! Both.”
Nick laughs, before passing me the plate in his hands. “Way ahead of you. I know what you like, Casey,” he says, before joining me on the grass, his feet bare, too.
Mr O’Connor slowly gets up from his chair and moves towards Nick, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“You’re finally back,” he says.
Nick sits there, looking up at him for a while, before placing his hand on top of his father’s. “I’m sorry it took so long.”
I can hear all the regret and pain weighing down his words, filtering through the cracks in his voice.
Mr O’Connor smiles wordlessly, before walking away to join his wife.
Nick clears his throat and turns his attention back to me. “He has his moments, you know…” He’s lying. Nick is telling me a lie that I’m going to pretend to believe; right now, he needs to keep this emotion for himself, and I’d never take it away from him.
“Anyway,” I say, composing myself and swiftly changing the subject. “It isn’t difficult to work out that I love meat.”
“True. But I definitely know what else you like.”
“Oh yeah? And what would that be?” I ask, taking a bite of my burger.
“I know you like the feeling of your bare feet on the grass. I know that you love sport, and you’re competitive – maybe even more than me. I know that you eat like a slob, and you handle your drink probably better than I do. I know that you’re intelligent, you’re fun and you’re spontaneous.”
“I eat like a slob?!” I ask, offended.
“Watching you eat is terrifying.”
I shake my head, falsely annoyed.
“And I know that you can’t pretend anything: not when you’re with me.”
“Maybe I’m pretending right now?”
“And you can’t lie.”
