“Hi there,” Ryan said as he put her down.
“Hey,” Oscar mumbled, tracing lines over Lina’s desk.
“Look, Ry. Do you like the decorations?” Lina asked, taking him by the hand and leading him to the picture wall. She showed off the jewelry drawers Oscar had set up and the mirror she’d decorated with individual bulbs, and Ryan followed and nodded, saying, “yes, babe. Cool, babe. Ah, amazing, babe.” His blond hair was combed and parted to the side. Oscar imagined the ass already believed himself a police officer, even though he hadn’t even entered the Academy yet. He’d started tucking in his shirts and wearing belts and shaving his puny mustache every morning.
Lina dropped to sit on the edge of her bed, taking Ryan’s hands in hers.
“It’s such a surprise. I didn’t think you’d show up,” she said.
“Course I did. I wanted to help.”
Oscar had to stifle his scoff.Help? Oscar and Lina had put together an entire room. It had taken them more than four hours to get everything together. And now this goof had just waltzed in carrying three boxes and pretending like he’d ever been useful for a minute in his entire life.
“And you did. Youhave. Carrying all those boxes all at once. Oscar and I had to keep going back and forth. It took ushours.” She laughed, eyes crinkling again.
“Well, of course you did, babe. You two never should have been carrying things. That’s a man’s job.”
Lina’s face fell at the same time that Oscar’s heartsplintered in his chest. Fine, he’d never liked Ryan, not even for a second, but this was new. His sister’s eyes slid across to his. Ryan could have drenched her in boiling water, and she wouldn’t have looked as scalded as she did just then.
If Oscar didn’t know how much Lina loved Ryan, he would have punched his teeth out.
Instead, Oscar turned on his heel and left. And even when he heard Lina’s shoes hitting the hallway floor as she chased him, calling out for him to wait, he didn’t look back.
If he had, he wouldn’t have been able to see her through the film of his tears.
7
WOVEN COMFORT
Screaming matches were household staples when Oscar was growing up. Much like bread and butter, you could find one every time you opened a cupboard or a fridge. At least, every time Oscar did, his mother would find something to say about it—about his stomach or his cheeks or his thighs. Every time he moved a muscle in a direction not to her liking, the woman would implode.
And Oscar had learned early on to give back just as badly.
After, when the shouting ebbed and the water jug sitting on the tainted dinner table was gulped down to soothe scratched throats, Papa would nudge Oscar out and take him on a needless errand.
A lot of the time, they’d drive around with no real destination, and in the end, they’d stop at Paulie’s and buy something they didn’t need, so his mother wouldn’t question the excursion.
Oscar wished he’d spent more of those hours talking to Papa, but he cherished them still. He knew now more than ever the value of a man tired from work, exhausted by a home life that took far more than it gave, still willing to drive aroundwasting fuel he couldn’t afford so his son could listen to depressing rock music and look out of the window, pretending he was one of the people in the music videos, running away from home once and for all.
Except Oscar wouldn’t have back then. Not with Papa living in that house.
He thought about him now, brow pressed against the cold glass of the bus window, the white fluorescent tubes blinking above the aisle obscuring his view of the rolling buildings of the approaching town, the edges of his reflection blurring with each puff of breath as Oscar bit down on his lip and labored not to cry.
CowBoy0705: How was the pizza? *Seethes in envy*
Oscar’s lip wobbled as Aaron’s text pinged in. Oscar wished he’d seen more of him. Aaron had gone on a mysterious errand after their breakfast and then he’d started working at all his odd jobs again, and Oscar had continued racking up the hours at his beta testing gig. He’d have to make the most of what remained of summer before he switched to part-time hours for the semester. But they had texted endlessly. Back and forth. Every single day. At every hour they could spare. And boy, did Oscar like him.
Spikey: :(
Before Oscar could return to his depressing rock music and the vision of his own warped reflection in the glass, his ears began to beep, the phone vibrating in his grip.
Despite the panicked skittering of his heart as it tried to claw its way up his ribs, Oscar answered, because Aaron giving up was not an alternative he wished to explore. As much as he hated video calls, this was an opportunity to see Aaron inmore than just a still shot in an apron and a cap, a chance to watch him move and brighten and smile.
Something lit up in his chest at the sight of Aaron’s face taking over his screen, those freckled cheeks and the pretty lips Oscar hadn’t yet kissed. His hair looked indeed quite red beneath the warm lamplight, but Oscar could only get a glimpse of it; Aaron’s bangs were pushed back with what looked like a stretchy headband with bunny ears, soft and yellow, with googly eyes and cotton teeth. Something was misting up his glasses, curling up from a spot below the screen.
“Get back to dinner,” Oscar murmured despite himself.
“What’s going on?” Aaron asked. His eyebrows curved low, denting the skin above the bridge of his nose. “Why aren’t you in your sister’s dorm room eating junk food and watching shows on her laptop, like you were supposed to?”
