“Just checking.”
“I know.” Dad whistles loudly, then a few moments later Pop wanders into the kitchen with a frown.
“I’m not a dog. You can’t whistle and expect me to come.”
“And yet, here you are,” Dad teases with a sparkle in his gaze.
Pop just snorts, kisses Dad’s forehead, then disappears toward the back porch. How did I end up with such an asshole when I grew up watching them? Maybe it’s something inside me that seeks out the worst things for me.
The hot chocolate is rich and smooth, comforting in a way that I’d almost forgotten. We drink silently, until Dad lets out a very tired sigh. I know you’re not supposed to play favorites with your parents, but Dad has always been my favorite. Pop is my protector, the one who would kill someone for me, but Dad understands me in a way no one else ever could.
When I was a scared, lonely boy, he’d confided in me that he’d not been wanted either as a kid, but in a different way. His religious parents had kicked him out of the house when they’d found him with another boy. He’d been young and afraid and on the streets, and somehow the universe had senthim Pop. As a kid that story had been so magical—Pop the white knight came to save him—but the older I got, the more I realized Dad had saved himself, solely by allowing himself to be loved after years of being told he was unlovable. That’s the bravest thing someone can do, accept love after being taught they’re unlovable by those who should love them the easiest.
“I love you, kiddo.”
“I know.”
“Just reminding you. Ms. Marcia said you’re helping with the lantern festival?”
“Yeah, between the guitar lessons and gig she got me on the mainland. She needs help.”
Dad takes a thoughtful sip of his drink. “And the lesson with Charles?”
“He’s not totally inept.”
“Huge compliments from you.”
I snort, because he’s right. Patience is something I’ve learned over the years, it wasn’t something I was gifted with as a kid. “He’s paying well, so it’s in my best interest to make sure he learns well.”
“He and Pop became fast friends. They talk about cars, which you know.” Dad makes the universalover my headgesture. “It’s wild we have a Super Bowl winner living down the street. But he’s just some normal guy, honestly. He grew up in Nebraska, so he has down-home roots.”
“Down home,” I tease, as if Hope Island is similar to Nebraska cornfields. “I wonder how he ended up here.”
“Ask him.”
I scowl. “No, thanks. He was so weird about my hair tonight.”
“Must be a shocker to meet you with those blond curls and watch you shave them away.”
I purse my lips, which infuriatingly only makes Dad laugh. “Why are you laughing?”
“You look exactly like you did when you were constipated as a kid.”
“Great.”
Dad pats my cheek. “I love you, kiddo. I’m going to join your pop out on the porch before he becomes antsy and comes back in here to drag me out.”
I finish my hot chocolate in peace, rinse my cup out in the sink, then head toward my room. After a very hot shower, I dress in pajama pants and curl up in bed, ready to zonk out for the evening. Blessedly, I fall asleep fast. I wake early in the morning before the sunrise because my body knows just when to wake me up.
I brush my teeth and wash my face, having learned that I can’t just roll up to the beach looking a hot mess anymore. I grab one of my ancient hoodies from the closet, tug it on, then make my way into the kitchen. Luckily, Dad went shopping during the week and stocked up on all my old favorite gluten-free snacks. I grab one of the breakfast bars and make a hasty pot of coffee. Once my thermos is full, I head through the dunes with a beach towel under my arm, my thermos and snack bar in the other hand.
Rolling the beach towel out on the ground, I sit crisscross applesauce to watch the sun come up. The coffee is still too hot, so I leave the lid off in hopes it’ll cool down enough for me to enjoy it before heading back home. I should ask River to join me next weekend, like he did sometimes when we were lonely queer teens. Our island has always been accepting, but it was never fun being the only two gay kids at the local high school. Not that we got bullied or anything, everyone knew better, but it was still a lonely experience.We’d tried dating in high school, but we’re just too good of friends. River will always be my first of many things. First best friend, first person besides my parents to see me cry, and my very first kiss.
The sun is just starting to break over the horizon when a familiar jogging figure catches my attention at the edge of my vision. Charles is wearing those tiny running shorts again and expensive-looking running shoes, sweat dripping down his tight stomach. Fuck him. He wordlessly stops in front of me and aims a curious look at the empty spot on the beach towel beside me.
“Well, take a seat.”
Charles grins as his breaths slow. He joins me on the towel, all tight muscles, sweat, and unruly hair. He’s quiet as he sits beside me, not chattering to fill the silence, for which I’m eternally grateful.
