Page 61 of We Can't Be Friends

“With them? Years. Sometimes, I sleep outside on holiday or on our balcony when the sky is cloudless—nights like tonight. But that’s few and far between. Lately I’m too tired. By the time my head hits the pillows I’m asleep.”

I take a sip. “That’s nice.” My body shivers. The summer nights are beginning to cool. Callum shrugs off his jacket.

“Here.”

I take it, pulling it over my shoulders. “Thank you. Are you close with your family?” We’ve talked, most of the conversations slightly one sided from his quietness. Hearing him willingly share is the cherry to tonight.

“I am with Audrey, my little sister.”

“I’ve met her.” He tilts his head. “Virtually.”

“We’re only a couple of years apart. Our brothers, Jack and Harrison, are older, married with kids, different stages of life than us. By the time I was ten, they were off to school or back in Australia.”

“I didn’t know you were from Australia.”

“I am. Claim both. Mom is from Brisbane. Dad is from England. He grew up on the farm, but when he turned eighteen he decided that wasn’t his life. Herding sheep and milking cows. He took off for Sydney, loving the sun and beaches. Pickedup surfing and met my mother at a competition. Eventually, they found their way back to England when we were all young.”

I sit up, eyes wide. “Please say no for me.”

“No,” he says, and I’m instantly disappointed that there is no Australian accent.

“Dang. I was hoping under your English accent there was an Australian one. You know, no,” I give it my best shot.

He laughs and a bit of champagne comes out of his mouth. There is a drop running down his chin. I reach forward, running my thumb across it.

Not exactly sure why, but I did.

“When are you seeing them next?” I ask, trying to steady my increasing heart rate.

“I’m going to fly home for Christmas.”

“They’ll love to have you home, I bet.”

“Yeah.” There’s something in how he draws out the word—a quiet sigh at the end and the slight tension in his shoulders. I think back to that night in my bathroom, his dazed confession. Or how he needed a fake girlfriend.

I let it drop, letting the silence blanket us.

I lay on my side, glancing between him and the sky.

“Now you,” Cal says. “I told you something about myself, it's your turn.”

I could tell him about my family, about my past. I could, but I won’t. “I hate smarties.”

“They are gross,” he agrees. “What about your family, Henry?”

“Miller is my twin brother. He’s the one I told you about moving here with his kid. Mom and Dad are back in Boston with most of my extended family,” I say quickly, ripping the Band-aid of information.

“Do you think your parents will move now that he’s here?”

“No, they love the northeast.”

“Do you miss them?”

I blink several times. “I’m not the child that is on a different continent. I’m a short flight away from my parents, and Miller is here. Doesn’t seem fair to say I miss them.”

I do miss them, though, more than I like to admit.

“Mmmm, I think you can be sitting right next to someone and miss them. Missing a person doesn’t have to do with the proximity to them physically.” He shakes his head. “Do you miss your family?” Cal asks again.

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