Page 5 of Can We Just Be Happy Now?

She shoves my shoulder playfully. “You know I’ll save you one. Come on, Coop. I’m not doing anything different than any other year. Making cupcakes with Mom then reading whatever book you got me.”

“Hey, how do you know that’s what I got you?” I arch a brow.

She humors me with a fake laugh. “You better have!”

I bite my lip to hold back my grin. It’s been a tradition for the past three years since she turned thirteen. It’s so fucking hard finding presents for a girl friend who isn’t your girlfriend–not that I have experience with that. Somehow I ended up with her Amazon book wish list, and I pick one out for her each year. I usually read the description before choosing one, so I know they are love stories. She went into a rant one time about how she’s too embarrassed to ask anyone else to buy them for her, so I’m assuming there’s sex in them. I’m not sure why I’m the exception or how we got to this point in the first place since we’ve never had an actual conversation about relationships or sex–real or fictional. I wanted to pry because I’m sure I could help her feel more confident about it, but I selfishly want to remain the only one she’s this comfortable with.

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

She rolls her eyes in response as I pull into my driveway. “Bring me my book before you go out, please. I’m withholding your cupcake until you do.”

“You wouldn’t.” I shift my car into park and turn it off, shooting her a playful glare before we get out.

“Try me.” With a grin, she shrugs, then skips over the stepping stones toward her midnight blue house, the edges of her sundress fluttering around her. Once she’s inside, my glance falls back to the stepping stones. There are four of them, two with our childhood handprints pressed in them, and the other two with slightly bigger prints belonging to our older brothers. They’ve been here so long, I don’t remember making them. It’s weird to think I’ll be moving out of the only place I’ve ever lived in a couple of weeks.

The hum of Troy’s white Honda Civic pulling into the driveway flips my attention back toward our sage green home. He steps out of his car, and I meet him outside the front door, greeting him with the ridiculous “secret” handshake we created when we were like twelve. I have an older brother, Carter, but Troy might as well be my brother too. He’s lived with us since I was nine. He’s a year older, though, and in his first year of college at the University of Oregon. Since we only live ten minutes from campus, he’s still here all the time.

“Congrats, bro. You’re done. How are we celebrating?” he asks as we head inside.

“I was thinking about hanging with Sophie for her birthday.”

“Let’s all do something. I’ll call Emily.” He digs his phone out from his front pocket to call his girlfriend.

I reach my hand to cover his screen. “Nahhh. That sounds double date-y.”

“And remind me again why you two aren’t dating?”

My eyes roll at the question I’ve been asked far too many times. “We’re just friends.” I groan. It’s not that I’ve never thought about what it would be like if Sophie was my girlfriend. She’s beautiful. We have a blast together and never argue about anything. We have the set up of a good relationship. But I have this idea in the back of my mind that it’s all because we’ve grown up together–like the comfort and consistency of it is the reason I love her, not anything more. Everything appears better when it’s familiar. Something about the thought of our friendship being more feels foreign. I look across the living room through the window facing the house next door and wonder if she feels the same.

“The way you look at her says otherwise,” he states over his shoulder as we walk into the kitchen. My mom is standing at the gray slate counter sprinkling Ritz cracker crumbles on top of homemade mac and cheese. “Mom,” Troy continues, “Help me out. Coop totally looks at Sophie like he wants to see under her sundress, huh?”

“Troy Bolton. Do not talk about that sweet girl that way.” She pauses before looking at me and chuckling. “But sorry, sweetie. You follow that girl around like you’re a puppy.”

Mom bites off half of a Ritz cracker as Troy adds, “A cute one, though!”

My head tips back, my hands dramatically dragging down my face. “No ganging up on me.” I groan. I know we are lucky to be raised in a home where conversations like this aren’t uncomfortable. Mom has taught us everything we need to know about relationships, and I appreciate that. But I’m also annoyed. Maybe there’s been curiosity around Sophie, especially as we’ve gotten older, but I’m a guy, and she’s cute as hell. Friend or not, I’m human.

Choosing denial and planning my escape route, I walk to the rack by the front door for the keys to our motorcycles. “How long until dinner?” I yell back at Mom.

“Not until seven when your dad gets home from work,” Mom says.

I turn to Troy. “You want to go for a ride?”

“Let’s do it.”

Saying goodbye to Mom on our way out the door, I toss Troy his keys and we push our bikes past our cars from their place in the garage.

After buckling our helmets, Troy pulls out onto the street first.

I follow him out of our neighborhood to the backroad that winds through the trees toward a few of the nearby wineries. An hour later, we’re back in town and flip out our kickstands in a parking space at Skinner Butte. No one else is in our vicinity as we make our way to the edge of the overlook.

“Is whatever you’re pondering as serious as it looks?” Troy asks, our feet dangling over the side of the brick wall. This park in Eugene is where we end most of our rides before heading home. The winding road brings us high enough to have a birdseye view of the entire downtown enclosed by trees that are currently a perfect shade of spring green. I love Oregon.

I kick the heels of my black Nikes against the brick. “Nah, probably not. I’m overthinking it.”

“Just tell me,” he presses, leaning back on his hands.

Letting out a long breath, I ask, “You’re teasing me about Sophie, right? You don’t actually think I should date her, do you?”

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