Page 20 of The Heartstrings of Harry
My chance to backpedal. “Nothing. I was getting confused.” But it was too late, the cogs in Dad’s still-hungover brain were spinning.
“Oh fuck! It was Harry’s birthday yesterday, wasn’t it? Shit, I always forget. I’m such a shit friend sometimes. How the hell did you remember?”
“Oh. Um. I guess I got a Facebook reminder.”
“Harry isn’t on Facebook.”
“It was something like that, then,” I muttered vaguely.
Dad went back to kicking himself. “Shit, we really need to invite him over for a drink now. I should bake him a cake,” he mumbled… before realizing, “I have no idea how to bake a cake.”
“Dad, Dad, relax. Harry’s not the kind of guy who’s gonna hold this against you. Besides, you forget every year. Don’t make a big deal out of it, Harry would hate that.”
Dad was already fumbling with his phone, stabbing slowly at the screen with his calloused index finger which was his clumsy way of communicating via text. “I know, I know. But I kinda get the feeling this was a big one.”
“What do you mean?” I knew exactly what he meant, but it wasn’t my place to put two -and -two together for him. I regretted not sending Harry the birthday message I’d typed the night before, but Astrid was right, it was kinda gushy and emotional and yes, hot. Note to self: go back and delete that message.
Dad, meanwhile, plonked himself into a chair at the poker table, still jabbing at his phone. “Yep, I’m sure it was a big one alright. Harry’s six months older than me, and I’m thirty-nine which means…”
“You forgot your best friend’s fortieth birthday?”
“I know, I know. I’m such an asshole.”
“No, you’re not, Dad. Harry would never think you’re an asshole.”
“I know, but I still feel bad.” He paused, finished his message, then read it aloud. “Hey Harry, Dean’s home. Come over for a drink. Besides, I owe you a birthday beer. Happy Birthday, big guy.” He looked up at me. “How does that sound?”
My head was focused on the words “big guy.”
They reminded me just how hot Harry was, even despite the fact that the words had come from my father’s mouth.
“That sounds great. You didn’t make a big deal of it, that’s perfect.”
I could see an idea flash through his mind, as he typed and spoke at the same time. “Why don’t I invite Madeline too.” He hit send and said, “Done.”
He looked pleased with himself, like inviting Madeline as well—whoever that was—would make up for forgetting Harry’s birthday. What wasshegonna do, jump out of a fucking cake?
HARRY
I readthe first message and my heart raced with excitement. Dean was home!
I read the second message and muttered to myself, “Why did he invite Madeline? What’s she gonna do, jump out of a fucking cake?”
I typed back, nervous and thrilled and trying to keep from throwing up at the idea of seeing Dean for the first time in a year.“Sure. Sounds good. Be great to have Dean back home for a while. Absolutely no need to make a big deal out of my birthday. It’s nothing. I actually forgot too,”I lied. I inhaled and added,“No need to invite Madeline. I’m sure she has plenty of school assignments to catch up on. The three of us can just hang, you, me and Dean. That’d be great.”
I hit send…
Then I looked back at the message.
“Jesus, that was way too long. Talk about overthinking things, Harry. Just calm down.”
I didn’t calm down.
I tried onevery single shirtI had in my closet before realizing Ineverwore a buttoned shirt to Andy’s place. I put them all back and settled for a plain black T-shirt.
I pulled on my jeans then tried on a nice pair of shoes, then a pair of sneakers, then my boots. “Boots,” I decided, knowing that’s exactly what anyone would expect me to wear.
I stood in front of the mirror and ran my fingers through my hair. I ran the tap, wet my hands and tried to finger-comb my hair into something vaguely fashionable. I pushed it up…Did guys wear their hair up these days?I wet it down…Did guys slick their hair down these days?I scruffed it up into an old man’s version of what Dean had always done with his hair, making it look messy, like I was way too cool to give a fuck.
