Chapter 9
Josh and his parents come over to our house for Thanksgiving and his parents are holding hands at the table. They came in holding hands, and I don't think they've stopped all afternoon. It's sweet.
What's not so sweet is that all four of our parents, after barely one glass of wine each, started sharing memories of Josh and I when we were little that are equal parts embarrassing and cute, but I'm having a hard time not focusing on the embarrassing part.
After everyone's plates are filled and we've said grace, Josh's Mom asks mine about how her garden is growing and if she still works with Rose hybrids.
Mom starts, "I do, not so much since I opened my own practice, but.." she doesn't finish her sentence before she blurts out, "OH! Carol do you remember that time when," Mom starts laughing and it takes her a moment to get herself together before she can start again, "when we found the kids in the backyard and Josh was peeing on the roses trying to water them because Katie told him she wasn't allowed to use the garden hose? What was he about three or four years old?"
Everyone at the table over 17 busts out laughing. I have my lips sealed so tightly together trying not to laugh as I see Josh put his elbows on the table and hide his face in his hands. I'm not laughing but my whole body is shaking from keeping the laugh locked inside until I can't hold it in anymore and I'm laughing along with everyone else.
"Oh, you're one to laugh young lady," Dad said and Josh's head snaps up looking right at me on full alert. Uh oh. I'm not psychic but I think I'm next for story time.
"You remember she was about five that summer when she got so mad at us, gosh…what was it?" Dad's trying to think and I have a brief moment of hope that I'm going to be spared by Dad's faulty memory when I look to the right as Mom snaps her fingers saying, "yes! That summer when Josh had the chicken pox."
Josh's Mom chimes in with, "that's right, now I remember," she said turning to me, "you were so mad because we had to keep you guys apart because Josh had the chicken pox and you hadn't and we were so worried about him being contagious. We had to keep you apart until he fully recovered. It took almost two whole weeks."
"Oh you were so furious with us," Mom said looking at me, "you decided you were going to run away but you left me a little note that said you didn't care about chickens and you were running away from home to go live with Josh."
Dad startles me when he practically yells out, "Now I remember! I pulled up that afternoon to find her running up the sidewalk bare assed naked wearing nothing but her little teddy bear backpack. She said she didn't want to get her clothes dirty so she stripped down and packed them up before she started to go next door."
KILL ME NOW! I think as I try to hide my face behind my napkin right before Josh howls with laughter and starts clapping his hands. Oh, payback is brutal.
"Shut. Up. That is not funny," I try to yell at him but I can't because I'm trying not to laugh too, "if there's no pictures there's no evidence."
Josh's Dad must sense my discomfort because he chimes in with, “maybe we should ease up, the kids don’t seem to be enjoying reminiscing as much as we are.”
“Dessert?” Josh suddenly said looking at me.
“Outside?” I suggest.
“AGREED!” We say almost at the same time grabbing our plates and bolting for the back door.
It’s damp from the light rain that morning but not too bad. The fort walls are insulated now but I don’t remember cold stopping us when we were little. We practically lived in the fort every day regardless of what the weather was like outside. When you’re little I don’t think you even know what weather is. You just know inside or outside.
Once we're comfortably settled on the beanbag balancing our plates he told me how cherry pie is his favorite and he’s so glad my Mom made it.
"This is delicious."
“Thanks. Actually I made it," I tell him with more than a touch of pride in my voice.
“Seriously? You bake?” he asks, "now would that be bare assed naked baking?"
"DON'T YOU DARE START!" I laugh, "No, I don't. I took a cooking class elective last year, fruit pies were my specialty.”
“That's cool," he said still smiling.
“If I’m being honest, they are the only thing I didn’t burn,” I tell him.
He gives me an appreciative smile saying, “Well that’s one thing more than my record. I can't boil water. Maybe you could teach me sometime?”
Why am I blushing? I’m embarrassed by pie? Or the crazy embarrassing stories? Really Katie?
Thankfully he changes the subject, “how are you feeling? Still sore muscles everywhere?”
“Not so much now. That first week back was a bear though. I can’t remember ever feeling that sick. How about you?”
“Never by natural causes. Self inflicted once though. That was bad enough,” he said with a sadness I’ve never heard in his voice before.
He takes a few more bites and when I ask him what he means he surprises me by talking about how he got drunk on three beers about six months after they moved to NC when he was ten. His grandpa found him in the garage.
“I was so sick to my stomach; I remember it felt like I was going to die. Then suddenly, my Dad was there. I remember my grandpa yelling at him, something about being a man, hurting his kid. It’s not really all that clear. The next thing I remember is I’m back in my bed upstairs at grandpa’s house and my Dad’s kneeling on the floor holding my hand and….he’s crying. I’d never seen my Dad cry before. I think I was in shock, and probably more than a little drunk still. I hadn’t seen him in six months. He just kept saying ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ over and over and over. I didn’t know what was going on.”
A tear slips down Josh’s cheek and I think it suddenly dawns on him where he’s at and that I’m there next to him. He sort of sniffs putting his plate down and wiping his eyes with his jacket sleeve before he pulls his knees up to rest his arms on top and looks out the window.
Should I hug him? I don’t know what to do. I have never seen anyone cry except Laurel and that was only once when we were watching Ghost and Demi Moore was crying too and then that second week when Josh and I were up here and let down all the walls we built up for the last seven years, but I was crying with him then.
I don’t know what he wants from me. I don’t know what a friend is supposed to do in this situation really, do guys want to be comforted, or should I ignore it? Instead I decide not to move but sit there and softly tell him, “a couple of my friends’ parents got divorced last year and they always talked about wishing their parents got back together. But they never did. Now they only see them on weekends, and there’s lots of fighting sometimes, and they have to go back and forth living between two different houses. At least your Dad came back. That’s a good thing right?”
“He came back because he was afraid of my grandpa,” he said. I can’t tell what’s worse, the anger in his voice, or the misery.
“It sounds to me like he came back because he was afraid for you. For hurting you. And your Mom maybe? I was watching them at dinner. She seems happy. She was laughing and smiling a lot. They were holding hands through the whole meal. They both seem happy now.”
“I know. They’re constantly holding hands and hugging in public, they kiss all over the house. It’s so weird,” he said.
“I know right? My parents are all over each other at home. It’s so gross and embarrassing.”
He looks back over at me and we both laugh over our shared parental humiliation.
It’s a tender moment and if this was a movie, he’d probably lean in and kiss me, but my palms aren’t sweaty and my breathing’s totally normal. What’s different? He’s not really a guy guy. It’s just Josh--my former best friend, back in our fort. Just like old times. It feels normal. Sort of.
Instead of leaning in, he stretches out his long runner’s legs and leans back into the beanbag on one elbow before he said all serious, “Kat, there’s something I need to tell you.”
&nbs
p; He won’t look me in the eye. He keeps looking down distractedly picking at a loose thread of the beanbag seam. His face is so serious. I’m holding my breath. His forehead is all wrinkled. Josh, what the heck are you thinking so hard about?
It’s never good news if they can’t look you in the eye or if they’re quiet for too long. If he asks me to be his wingman to help him snag a cheerleader, so help me God this renewed friendship is over right now and I will push him out of the fort headfirst.
He must have decided because he finally looks up. We’re lying there on the beanbag for a few more minutes just looking at each other when he asks, “would you read to me for a while Kat?”
I’m a little taken aback. That’s what he was struggling with for so long? Of course I immediately agree and try to lighten his mood. That’s what friends do for friends right?
“Um, sure. We have a broad selection to choose from here at the fort library. I can regal you with a chapter from Ray Bradbury’s Martian Chronicles or Rowling’s Harry Potter. Pick your poison.”
“You choose,” he said leaning back closing his eyes, “I just want to hear the sound of your voice for a little while.”
I swallow hard and say, “ok, the wizarding world it is,” and for the next forty-give minutes I bring him up to speed on how Harry’s doing in the tri-wizard tournament until we hear, “Josh your Mom and Dad are getting ready to head out. They can use some help with the leftovers we’ve piled on them.”
I thought he’d fallen asleep on me at some point, but when I look down at him, I find him staring up at me. Were his eyes always that deep green? They make me think of new spring grass and leaves. How long was he watching me read?
I can’t help clearing my throat, I have been reading out loud non-stop for a long time, and now my throat feels dry, but in the tiny fort it sounds louder than I meant it to, “your ride is leaving. If I know my Mom, you have an entire meal plus a whole pie waiting for you in the kitchen.”
He gives me a tiny lopsided grin as he hefts himself off the beanbag and starts to back out feet first to climb down the ladder. Those rare half smiles of his are really starting to grow on me. I put Harry back on the shelf and follow ‘walking’ across the fort on my knees. There are some advantages to not being overly tall. I don’t even have to duck my head like he does.
He’s nearly on the ground but his upper body is still blocking the doorway. I’m waiting my turn for the ladder when he lifts his head and gives me the most intense look that stops me in my tracks. He suddenly pulls forward on the ladder poking his head back in the fort and plants a kiss on my cheek.
“Thanks Kat. For everything.” Then he hops off the ladder dropping the last foot to the ground and sprints back into the house without looking back.
My stomach does a little flip while I’m still kneeling there in the fort doorway. I try to ignore it and climb down. Emphasis on try.