Birthday(54)

“Hey, hey, hey,” I say as I pick up and turn the music down. I try to sound cheerful.

“Hey, man,” Peyton says. He sounds nervous, which is weird for him. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” I say. “What’d you get me?”

“Check’s in the mail,” he says. “How are you?”

“My girlfriend dumped me,” I reply, aiming for nonchalance.

“Aw hell,” Peyton says. I hear a grunt and then the rattle of a fire escape, followed by the click and hiss of a lighting cigarette. “I was just gonna talk for a minute, but lay it on me.”

“It’s not a big deal,” I say. Hearing him shifting around makes me want to move too, so I start the car.

“Sure it isn’t,” Peyton says. “Sure, sure. What’d you do?”

“Nothing,” I say as I pull out of the parking lot.

“Yeah, dude,” Peyton says. “Sometimes I’ll do ‘nothing’ and me and Chelsea’ll fight about it for days.”

“No,” I say. “Literally, I was doing nothing and she didn’t like it. Or I was doing the wrong nothings.” I notice a red light at the last minute and stop short. A car blares its horn at me.

“I get it. Sucks either way even if it’s for the best. But, uh, hey! There was something I wanted to tell you.”

“Shoot.” I pull into the gas station at the bottom of the hill leading up to my neighborhood. My tank’s almost empty. I lean against the car while the pump does its thing.

“It’s … it’s hard to say this, and I know you’re gonna be cool, but…” The pump clicks and stops but I stay where I am, staring off into the street as I focus on his voice. “I’ve … uh, I’ve seen a lot the last two years, man. Met a bunch of people. Done some thinking. And I’m ashamed I put this off, but I owe you an apology.”

“An apology?” I don’t know how else to reply, but all the same I feel light on my feet. Isaac’s been a nonentity since he moved to Seattle, and the one time I was able to get him on the phone after Mom left, I sort of got the impression he was siding with Dad. The idea that he lived in the same house with the same parents and came to that conclusion made me too angry to see straight, but instead of cussing him out, I dropped the call and haven’t spoken to him since.

“There are reasons I acted like I acted. You know some of ’em, but I won’t go into the others because those aren’t your problem.”

“Well,” I say. “Thanks, man. That … actually means a lot to hear.”

“Good,” he says. “So, any plans tonight?”

“Hanging out with Morgan,” I say, feeling slightly nervous as the name leaves my mouth.

“God,” Peyton says. “That kid. If I ever see him again I gotta apologize to him too.”

I smile sadly. That’s true. It’ll probably never happen, but this is a good start. It’s nice feeling like I have at least one brother in my corner, but if you’d told me four years ago that it would end up being Peyton I would have assumed you were insane.

“Yeah.” The line goes quiet again. “Anyway, dude, I won’t keep you. Before I go though, one more thing, and this is so corny and so, gah … lame, but bear with me.”

“Okay, man.” I chuckle.

“I think, of the three of us, you’re probably the best man,” he says. “Boy. Young man. Whatever. Like, the most decent. I wanna say the softest, but in a good way. And I worry a lot about you being alone with Dad.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say. I start to add, “What’s the worst he could do?” but stop. Peyton knows the worst he can do better than any of us.

“Yeah, well,” Peyton says, suddenly serious. “You’ve got my number. I’m gonna send you Chelsea’s number in case I’m ever not available. If anything ever does happen, you call me.”

“Peyton…”

“I need an affirmative on this one.”

“Okay,” I say as I pull onto our street. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll call.”

“Good,” he says. “Love you. Happy birthday.”

“Love … you too?” I say, but he’s already hung up. I try to remember the last time he said that to me but, as I pull into the driveway, nothing comes to mind.





MORGAN



I could just not tell Eric. What’s a promise if I only made it to myself and my therapist? Easily broken is what it is. I’m standing on Eric’s front porch with a cake in my arms thinking about death, hoping his neighbors can’t see the way my knees shake. My mouth feels dry. I raise my hand to knock, but before I can the door opens, and there he is in a Joy Division T-shirt and tight jeans, his curls glittering in the afternoon light.

“Oh!” Eric says. There’s a moment of blinking surprise and then he smiles wide. What if this is the last time I see that smile? “There you are. I had a feeling.” His eyes drift down to the cake and go wide. “Whoa.”

“Surprise,” I say, wobbling it theatrically while being careful not to drop it.

He leads me inside and I slide the cake onto the counter while he rummages in the silverware drawer and produces a knife. I catch a glimpse of his dad futzing with the mower through the back patio door.