Page 75 of Oar Than Friends

Turns out, the more perfect a pie, the harder you cry; I cried until I wasn’t even sure what I was crying for. I missed home, and Jake, for sure. But it also occurred to me that the past few weeks I’d also had this pressure building up, right between my temples, right in the middle of my frontal lobe, where all my emotions were currently pushing and shoving against each other trying to get first in line, all tied together with a neat Oz-coloured thread.

Oz.

Since our first date, we’d stolen time together on the Saturday river clean-ups – where we consistently made the smallest contribution to the group due to the minimum of fifteen minutes’ kissing in the bushes before any cleaning was done – and, on two lucky occasions, we’d sneaked a second and third date. I’d discovered that not only was he the best kisser I’d met, he was the best at hugs too, and as long as no one was around he was always touching me somewhere. But we still hadn’t had our weekend in bed, which was something that occupied my brain more and more every day.

Two weeks ago, I’d hopped on the train to Oxford, and taken him to a pie shop I’d read about in a guide book. We tried almost everything on the menu before deciding my favourite was the classic cherry, his was the banana, chocolate and pecan, and it was all washed down with hot chocolate. I got back on the train in dire need of an insulin shot, and with a belly ache I wasn’t certain had come from the sugar intake, but from leaving him on the platform.

We spoke every day, and as our schedules were almost identical, FaceTimed most nights before bed. Neither of us was out partying like normal students, because normal students weren’t getting up to train on a freezing river at five a.m.

On the surface it was easy.

What wasn’t easy was the distance, because ironically we’d become closer. I’d confided more in Oz than I had my therapist, and I listened while he worried about finishing school and what he was going to do next; about his siblings, and his mother, and hating his dad more with every news cycle which mentioned him.

I’m not sure I’d have believed you if you’d told me two months into term I’d be missing a boy I’d met from the rival university so much I could almostseemy chest aching. One night when I’d not been able to sleep I’d stood in front of the mirror for what seemed like hours while I searched my body for the cracks I swear appeared when I’d left him earlier that day.

All I’d seen was someone I didn’t recognize staring back, and I’d nearly fallen asleep in my chemistry class the next morning.

Now, standing here, half a slice of the pie he’d baked in one hand, while I mopped up my tears with the other, it was no surprise he was the only person I wanted to see; to speak to; to touch.

It was true.

I missed Oz.

And because he had a wicked sixth sense for when I missed him, my cell began vibrating with a FaceTime request.

‘Hey, Yanks.’ He grinned, except the second he saw me his face dropped. I probably shouldn’t have answered. ‘What’s wrong? Why are you crying?’

I did what anyone does when faced with the question he’d asked, I cried more while simultaneously protesting that I wasn’t, in fact, crying.

‘Kate, Katey. Babe. What’s happened?’

‘No … nothing,’ I hiccupped. ‘Nothing. I’m fine.’

‘You obviously aren’t fine.’

‘I got … the … the pie.’

Through my tears I could see his face crease up in confusion, ‘Was it that bad? I’m so sorry, don’t eat it. I’mgoing to kill Charlie,’ he added with a mumble, which only made me wail louder.

‘It’s the best pie I’ve ever had.’

‘I don’t understand.’

He waited in silence until I managed to catch my breath, and sip at the glass of water on my desk.

‘Thank you. It really is the best pie. I can’t believe you did this for me. No one has ever sent me pie before.’ I sniffed hard before the waterworks started up again.

‘Babe, why are you crying?’

I let the shudder run through my chest before I answered, ‘I miss home today. I miss Jake, and then when I got back to my dorm, this pie was waiting. It’s honestly the best present I’ve ever had. Thank you, Ozzy.’

A soft, concerned smile etched on his face. ‘I don’t want you to be sad, is there anything I can do?’

I shook my head with a sigh, ‘No, I have to go to class, then I’m going to come back and get in my Thanksgiving pyjamas, and have an early night.’

‘Okaaay …’ he frowned.

I didn’t hear the rest of his words as I caught sight of the clock. I’d wasted so much time crying, I only had fifteen minutes to make a twenty-minute journey. However I spun this I was going to be dramatically late to class.

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