Page 33 of Afterglow
My roommate snickers, his shoulders shaking as he smiles. I can’t stop now.
Two young women wearing oversized Carleton University tees over bike shorts take turns whispering to one another and giggling.
I lift my pitch, higher than my normal tone. “He asked me if I liked it,heeheehee! And…Oh, my god, what did you say? I told him I couldn’t feel it!Heeheehee, that small? Oh no! Then he cried!Heeheehee.I had to leave!”
“Bea,” Fletcher chides through a chuckle. “Jesus.”
“Hey, that’s the first time you called me that.” I nudge with an elbow. “I like it.”
He takes out a container of cucumber sandwiches and hands me one half. I try it before skewering a ball of fresh mozzarella, tomato, and a leaf of basil with a toothpick.
“You went all out with this spread. It’s so classy.”
“It’s from the store. I can’t cook nearly as well as you do.”
“Stop, you’re such a flirt.” I shake my head at him. “But go on.” A group of four beautiful women on rollerblades laugh as they pass. “Whew.” I fan myself. “I’m no better than a man.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re hot.”
“If you say so,” he adds, opening another can of beer and refreshing our drinks.
“You don’t think so?”
“Not really. But you’re allowed to be attracted to whoever you want.”
“It doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”
“What doesn’t?”
“That I’m attracted to women, too?”
“Is it supposed to? It’s who you are, right?”
“Yeah. It is.”
Easy as that. Not sure any man has accepted it so quickly, at least not without suggesting a three-way. Then again, I’ve never really hung out with decent men.
My hand drops next to his on the blanket, centimeters away from touching.
He nurses the rest of his beer while watching two boys toss a lacrosse ball back and forth. The younger one misses, and the ball goes into the water. “Aw, come on, Sam!” The older one scolds and goes on a rant.“You coulda caught that!”
“What a dick,” Fletcher mumbles. “Sounds like my brother.”
I hiss. “Sorry.”
“Not your fault. Parker’s been angry for a long time.”
“Why is that?”
“Park was the hockey all-star.” He keeps his sunglasses on, despite the setting sun. “Got drafted to Winnipeg right out of high school, got some decent play time for a rookie, too. But he got into a car accident in the middle of his second season. He’d been drinking and lost control over a patch of black ice. Smashed right into a lamppost and shattered his left knee. He was only nineteen, so they did surgery, months of physical therapy, but it always gave him trouble.”
“That really sucks.”
Fletcher nods with a sniffle. “They ended his contract because he couldn’t play without injuring himself. He came home and started coaching. My dad was livid. He thought he’d gotten a free ticket to finally get out of Summerside. Instead, Parker pushed me into it, hoping for a better outcome. I made it farther, I suppose, but it’s still not good enough.”
“God, Fletcher.”
