Pecan makes a face. “Never said what?”
I grit my teeth, but with them both staring at me, I cave: “That she loves me.”
Callan snorts. “Of course she does.”
“Duh.”
“She’s never said it!”
“Because you’re both new!”
Pecan rolls his eyes. “Never,my peachy butt. She told me she loved me last week and I mostly irritate her!”
“That’s different,” I shout.
Callan sighs. “Zach, just be patient?—”
“I can’t be, dammit. I fucking love her and it’s taking over me and…” My shoulders slump. “It’s driving me crazy.”
“Lemme see if I can summarize this using my fluency in Zachlish. Zach’s missing his mom but because we’re choking on red pills and dudes aren’t allowed to cry, he just keeps beating shit up and/or fucking anything with a snatch. Then, in rolls Denny. The one woman who’s seen him break down, but even though he’s allowed to be vulnerable with her, podcast bros keep telling us that’sno bueno. With her away, he can’t fuck his problems into herorhis feelings, so his head’s slowly loosening on the screw that attaches it to his neck.
“So, instead of sitting down and talking to her about how it hurts losing the one parent who had his back and didn’t give a fuck if he quit hockey or if he never amounted to anything on the ice and who loved him—with or without saying the words—despite his assholish tendencies?—”
“Thanks, Peeks.”
“—he just gets jealous and possessive. Because she’s new to this shit,” he steams on like I never interrupted. “D thinks it’s hot. But Zach has enough emotional capacity, despite being a Neanderthal, to know that that won’t last for long. D’s independent as fuck and won’t let a brother tell her how to live her life or who to talk to.
“So, Zach had a meltdown and decided to give himself some space because he’s also a moron and thinks that he can avoid said patriarchal BS by ignoring Denny, i.e., the one person he actually feels safe enough with to grieve his mom because he won’t do it in front of me, the person he’s second closest to, because we’re bros.
“As a result, Denny’s upset, Zach’s upset, I’m upset, you’re upset, and all because Denny hasn’t said the words. That about sum it up?”
“You mean you can speak in paragraphs and I have to trawl through your five-word sentence essays?” Callan bursts out, rounding on Pecan like the menace he is.
Pecan’s nose wrinkles. “That’s your take?”
“Well, no. But you’re annoying, fucker.” He clicks his fingers at me. “He’s also right.”
“Yeah,” I rasp, slouching on my desk chair, elbows on knees, hands covering my face.
“We won’t say anything if you cry, man.”
“I don’t want to cry.”
“Big ask, Pecan. We build up to that stuff.”
“Hey, I cried in front of him when Benji Kliowski’s blade swiped over my pants two years ago. If I hadn’t been wearing my jockstrap, my cock would have been a goner.”
“And what does that have to do with grieving mothers?” Callan huffs. “Look, you don’t need breasts to understand that it hurts losing someone you love.”
“Breasts help.”
He shoves Pecan in the side. “Shut the fuck up. Someone who can articulate what you just articulated and berightneeds to stop playing up the moron act. There’s more in that skull of yours than you’re comfortable with, and you helped Zach but this isn’t. So, back down with the hockey gorilla he-man shit and just be Peter. Zach’s friend.”
Curious, I drop my hands and look at Pecan, whose mouth opens and closes a few times at being called out.
He clears his throat. “I loved Jo.”
“What was she like?” Callan asks, scooting back on my bed and falling onto my pillows.
