Page 11 of Mixing Drinks For Tipsy Weasels

"So you'd rather just sit here in silence?"

"Business," he says after a moment.

"Specific."

"Dad wanted me to come here, and wouldn't accept it when I wanted to go straight into the workforce, so business was our compromise."

"Sounds more like you just did what he wanted," I murmur as I collapse down the box and throw it to the side. I'm sure we're going to end up with more work later when we have to collect them all and take them out to the recycling, but that's just what we're going to have to do.

"I'm not sure I want to talk about this with you."

I shrug. "Then don't. But maybe I'm a good person to talk to. I've met your dad, I remember what he's like, but I also know nothing about nineteen-year-old Rupert, so I've not got any way of judging you for anything."

He snorts. "Though you might provide a cutting comment."

"At least you know I'm honest." I check the fridge map to see what needs to go in next to the coke and find the box of orange juice cans. I'm not sure how I feel about the fact that they're in cans rather than cartons, but I guess I'll find out if I order one of them.

"True." He stops stocking bottles. "I guess I did do what he wanted. Do you remember the look he got on his face whenever he was really disappointed?"

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, I find a smile coming to my face. "Like the day we made ourselves sick with the toffee apples?"

Rupert chuckles, a warm sound that I think I want to hear more of, though it's nothing on the unrestrained laugh of his childhood. A pang of longing goes through me, one I don't think I've ever actually experienced before in regards to him. I think it's just the loss of what was between us and the change to what it is now. It makes me sad for what the two of us have lost.

"That's the one," he says, reminding me of the conversation. "Well, he looked at me like that every time I mentioned that I wanted to go work instead of studying. From his reaction, you'd have thought I'd told him I planned on lying around for a few years doing nothing."

"I'm sorry."

"What? No cutting remark?"

"Would that help?" I ask. "I remember what your dad was like. I don't think that's necessary."

He sighs. "Maybe not. So I'm guessing you followed through with your ten-year plan?"

"How do you know about that?" I ask. "We weren't even friends at thirteen."

"Everyone knew about it," he reminds me. "You would talk to anyone who listened about exactly what you were going to do, and how you were going to do it. Which means that everyoneelsein the vicinity got to listen."

I grimace. "Sorry about that."

He shrugs. "Nothing to be sorry about. You knew what you wanted, and you went for it. So, did you?"

"Yes, I'm studying psychology. The only downside is not being done with exams yet, my last one is on Thursday."

"Ouch. And you're here rather than revising?"

"I had study group earlier," I respond. "Not that you need to be worrying about my revision schedule."

"Wait, no, that isn't what I meant," he says quickly.

I snort. "You're the one who said it."

"I didn't mean to imply that you're not taking your studies seriously," he says.

"Don't worry about it. It might surprise you to know that I don't put much weight behind your opinion."

"I'm wounded."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course you are."

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