Page 18 of Afterglow
Nosy Parsi Aunty is Here to Stay
Behraz
Sitting nextto Fletcher Donovan is like flying too close to the sun, except I don’t mind having my wings burn away.
The warmth of his thigh against mine sets fire to the nervous butterflies in my stomach as he shows off a framed family picture. It’s fucking huge. His family, I mean. His thigh, too, but that’s beside the point.
There are twenty people posed on the front steps of a modest house. He’s number five of seven, he says. I count four couples besides his parents and six nieces and nephews. All of his immediate family have shades of red hair, except for one head of medium-brown. Of the group, Fletcher has the most freckles, and his hair is the richest shade of auburn.
I fixate on the freckles dotting his muscled forearm holding out the photo. What would they taste like? What wouldhetaste like? Probably as good as he smells, like soap and musky sweat. I could just, like, bend down and try. No, no. That’s weird, Bea. Too weird, even for you.
“What do you wanna know?”
I gulp, ashamed of my unhinged train of thought.
“Who is everyone?”
“It’s a lot…I don’t expect you to remember.”
“Try me.”
It’s my thing. I can remember names, faces, addresses. Feelings from the past I can’t shake. Hundreds of cases and rulings alongside a plethora of random facts and figures. Got a memory like an elephant. Except, it seems, when I sit for a timed exam that my career depends on. Information vanishes from my brain as if I hadn’t spent years studying the exact topic.
“My parents—Greg and Riona Donovan. Dad’s a commercial fisherman. Mom works at a local grocery store in Summerside.” He places his finger underneath each face in the top row. “Piper’s the eldest, then Parker.” Fletcher pauses. “He taught me how to play puck.” I wonder about the rueful look in his eyes, but he answers it before I can pry. “I probably spent more time with Park than my dad,” he admits.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, familiar with the pain of an absent parent. Or in my case, both parents.
“Of the two, Parker’s the better option.” He identifies two other older sisters, Greer, and Miller, who was born in the same year as him, and only eleven months older. “Then after me there’s Harper, and Hunter’s the youngest of all.”
“Are you all close?”
A foghorn sounds out in my brain.
Make way! Nosy Parsi Aunty coming through!
His shoulders lift, unconvincing. “When we were growing up, yeah. Not so much anymore. My older sisters all have their own families. Harper lives on the west coast in Vancouver. Hunt is backpacking through eastern Europe this year.”
“What about Parker?”
Nosy Parsi Aunty is here to stay.
Fletcher sighs through his nose. “We got into an argument.”
“That’s why you didn’t want to call your family?”
His thumb stays put under his brother’s face in the picture. “Park would have lost it.”
“Ah,” I say knowingly. “Older brothers.”
He returns a slow nod, the corner of his mouth pinching into a frown.
“I’ve got one of those. He’s super overprotective and annoying.”
Fletcher’s eyebrow perks. How did I manage to make this about me?Self-centered, my parents say. I guess I do it too often. My new ADHD therapist explained it’s a form of masking. I’m afraid of not being relatable because I already worry that I’m not, and instead, offer up something similar from my life.
It’s probably why I’m not great at making or keeping new friends. The behavior is either seen as narcissistic or sycophantic, and people get annoyed. But I can’t help it. And Fletcher shows no sign of annoyance. So, I keep going.
“When I got rid of my car and bought a bike, he gave me a motorcycle helmet because he said I’m so clumsy, I’d get myself killed on the streets of Ottawa in a tragic bicycle accident.” I fail to stifle my smile while eyeing Fletcher’s response. “Little did he know…”
