Page 123 of We Can't Be Friends

“Mate. Mate. Mate.” Riley sings to the melody ofRow, Row, Row Your Boat.

“Instead of best friends, I can be your best mate,” Cal offers him.

My ovaries are working on overdrive today.

I sneak down a few more steps, sitting right where I can catch small glimpses of them, not ready to interrupt the moment.

“I like that,” Riley peeps.

“Me too, lil’ man. Want to know a secret?”

“I’m the bestest secret keeper.” I presume Riley’s nodding his head with his grays all big like a baby deer. He loves secrets, and truthfully, he’s pretty stinking good at keeping them.

“You’re my bestest mate in the entire world.”

“I am!?”

Cal’s shoulders bops. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

“I thought Chloe was your bestest mate.”

I creep down another step silently. Leaning my back against the wall. Cal’s face comes into full frame. I’m in the shadows of the stairs, and I don’t think he can see me.

“She was till I met you.” Cal ruffles his hair, and they laugh in unison. He’s relaxed right now, even with the mess Riley is making. “You can’t tell her, though,” Cal reminds him.

“I won’t!” Riley takes the mixing spoon, running his finger along the concave side, sticking the heaping amount of dough into his mouth like a lollipop. Pulling the finger out of his mouth with aPOP!, not a lick of dough is left. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” Cal replies overly confident.

Riley is perceptive. He always has been, even as a toddler. I suspect it’s because of what happened between Miller and his mom.

Saying you’ll answer anything is a dangerous game.

The kid is curious and loves school. Loves learning even though he struggles with it at times.

One of the few holidays I was home for, he asked me a question I didn’t know the answer to. Instead of accepting ‘I don’t know’ as a response, he made me pull out my phone and google it. We spent the next hour learning about whatever it was—could probably ask him, he’ll still know every tidbit of information.

Callum could be in the danger zone with whatever comes out of Riley’s mouth next.

“Do you like Auntie Chloe?” he asks.

I’m on the edge of my seat, literally and emotionally.

“We are roommates, so yes.”Roommates.After his parent’s visit and the piano, I don’t know, I thought things were different between us? Maybe I misread everything.

I start to rise from the stairs when Riley modifies his question.

“No. Do you like-like her?”

I hesitate—anticipation building for Cal’s answer.

Seconds feel like minutes. The air goes dry, a drought waiting for water.

“Yes,” he replies simply.

“You do?” Riley shouts.

“Indoor voices,” Cal reminds him.

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