“What makes you think they wouldn’t handle it? Don’t you think if something wentwrong, they would want to be there to support you?” He sounds so much like Shelley at that moment, I laugh. “What?” he asks, a bemused expression lining his features.
“Nothing, you just sounded so much like my ex-wife then.”
“She’s clearly very clever and sensible,” he sniffs.
“She is, and she’ll love you,” I say, knowing it in my bones. Shelley will want to be his best friend, I have no doubt, especially if he tells her how clever and sensible he thinks she is.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he says, just as we pull into the village, and I take the small lane around the other side of the village green to pull into my driveway. Corey looks up at my house through his window and gapes. “This is your house?” he asks, incredulous.
“Yes?” I say, not sounding sure in my answer.
“It’s gorgeous,” he gushes as he climbs out of the truck to get a better look. “I saw it when we were feeding the ducks yesterday and thought as much, but I didn’t realise it was yours.”
“Yeah, I love it. I always wanted to live here, even when I was a kid. Come on in, let’shave a cup of tea, and I promise I’ll answer all your questions.”
It takes about fifteen minutes for both of us to freshen up when we get inside. I use the bathroom and have a quick wash before offering Corey the same. I light the log burner in the living room while the kettle boils, and then, returning to the kitchen, I place mugs, a small milk jug, and the sugar bowl on a tray along with a packet of biscuits. I carry it through and place it on the coffee table, then go back again to pour a little of the almost-boiling water from the kettle into the teapot to warm the pot.
I swill the water around, then pour it away and place three teabags into the pot. If Mum were here, she’d be moaning about using teabags in the pot instead of leaves, but who has time for the faff of tea leaves? And teabags brew much better in the pot than in a cup – they need space to steep properly. It’s science, and I am nothing if not a scientist.
When the kettle finally boils, I pour the water into the pot, place the lid on top, and take it through to the living room, the bobble on the novelty crochet tea-cosy wobbling from side to side with every step.
I find Corey curled up on the sofa in frontof the fire, legs folded up underneath him, and one of the chunky knitted blankets from the basket beside him over his knees. He’s still wearing my cardigan, and the sight of him looking cosy and relaxed on my sofa, my clothes keeping him warm, makes me inexplicably happy.
“I’ll be mother,” he says a few minutes later when the tea is ready to pour. He pours my cup and adds just a splash of milk. “I’m assuming you like your tea as dull as you like your coffee?” he teases.
I scrunch my nose at him as I take the cup.
“The fact you are right about my tea has no bearing on your opinions on what constitutes good coffee.”
We laugh, and I enjoy the peaceful energy he brings with him into my home. I’ve been happy here, but once Shelley’s and my marital home had been sold, and I moved in here, I felt a little bit like I was rattling around for a while. Corey brings a warmth with him that feels like it belongs here.
I don’t linger too much on that train of thought – I can’t.
“So, enough avoiding the question,” he challenges, and I nod. “What makes you think your brothers wouldn’t be able to handle it if,God forbid, something went wrong with the adoption? I mean, is that likely?”
“No, it’s not likely. Now that I’ve been approved, it should be fairly straightforward, but,” I dither a moment, trying to get my reasoning straight in my own mind. The longer this has gone on, the less reasonable my rationale has felt, and now, trying to verbalise it to an objective person, it seems even more ridiculous.
“It doesn’t make a lot of sense when I’m looking back on the decision not to tell them now, especially when my parents and Wren all know. But my brothers… Look, Cole, for example, is brash and speaks without thinking sometimes, and can come across as inappropriate, and lewd, and all those things, but anyone who knows him knows it’s all a front. He’s sensitive – probably the most sensitive of all of us – and if he got attached to the idea of being an uncle, he’d be all in. He’d be buying gifts left, right, and centre, and it would break his heart if it didn’t happen. Once he has something in his mind, he finds it really hard to change course. Part of that is his ADHD, but part of it is just him. He has a huge heart, and he wears it on his sleeve once you get beneath the facade.
“Archer is a different kettle of fish. He’s a bit harder than Cole; he’s less emotional, buthe’s just as big of a softy when it comes to kids and animals. And Aid? Well…” I trail off, unsure how much Rain has shared with Corey about Aidan’s anxiety disorder. I don’t want to just put that out there if my brother might not be happy with me for sharing it with someone he barely knows.
“You’d be worried about his anxiety?”
Relieved he is at least somewhat aware of what Aidan lives with every day, I continue.
“Exactly. I couldn’t in good conscience pile that on him. He’d go into hero mode. He wants to fix every problem for everyone he cares about, and if something went wrong with the adoption, he’d be all in trying to fix it, which would be unfair for him. I can’t do that to my brother.”
Corey tilts his head at me, a look of sympathy on his face as he sips his tea.
“Don’t you think you’re doing them a bit of a disservice? They’re your family, Nash. They’d want to be there for you.”
“I know, but I’m the oldest. It’s my job to protect them from things that might hurt them. And…” I stop myself, realising in that moment how infantilising that is to my brothers, who are all grown adult men, more than capable of handling their own lives.
“The truth is, you have an amazing family who would want to be there for you every step of the way.” His voice is stronger now. “Don’t take that for granted, Nash. Please. It might sound great in principle, being independent and handling whatever life throws at you on your own terms, but in reality, it’s really fucking lonely.”
His eyes are glassy, and the hitch in his voice tells me how true this has been for him, and fuck if I don’t feel a little piece of myself latch onto him, just so he’ll never be alone again. As friends, obviously. We can only be friends, but I can give my friend a hug if he’s sad, can’t I?
“Come here,” I say, taking his tea from him and placing it beside mine on the coffee table, then pulling him into a hug. Holding Corey in my arms feels better than it has any right to. His small frame fits perfectly against my own, and the warmth of him, even with the heat of the fire in front of us, seeps into my bones. “I think we’re going to be really good friends,” I say, trying to remind myself it’s all we can be. All we should be.
