Page 89 of Flagrant Foul
He yanks the fridge open. “I need a drink, so I’m getting a beer,” he says. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Oh,” I trill, “you don’t have to do that. I can get one for you.”
I snatch the can out of his hand and crack it open. His expression doesn’t change in the slightest. He is still very displeased with what he’s uncovered, so I make a big show of getting a glass and pouring the beer for him, taking care to hold the glass at a forty-five-degree angle to ensure a decent head forms. I hand it to him like an offering known to bring peace. “Here you go.”
He takes three large gulps and wheezes as he throws himself onto the couch. I sit next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. It takes me a second to work out what’shappening, but I think this is positive. The fact that he’s still here is good. He’s not happy by any means, but he hasn’t left, he hasn’t punched Sev, and he hasn’t made him choose between us.
I’m taking it as a win.
“I know this is a shock, Nate, and I’m sorry about that. It’s not how we wanted to tell you, but, but d’you know what I think? I think when you’ve had time to process, and relax, and chill, and think it through, you might find it’s not that bad, and that you’re actually okay with all this. What do you think?”
His eyes aren’t quite as blank as they were before and a begrudging slope has formed around the corners of his mouth. “I kind of have to be okay with it, don’t I? It’s not like I have a choice in the matter.”
“No,” I agree, patting his shoulder and trying to keep my tone soothing. “You really don’t.”
He grunts and takes another sip of his beer.
“You’re handling this so well,” I lie.
That gets a slightly more mirthful grunt out of him.
Sev comes over with a couple more beers and a small bowl of peanuts. He places the nuts on the coffee table in front of Nate and hands me one of the beers.
He takes a seat next to me, and I pull his mom’s blanket over our knees. It’s not quite big enough to cover allthree of us comfortably, so we have to sit a little closer together than we usually would. Given the circumstances, I think it’s not a bad thing.
No one talks for a long time, and Sev flicks through channels, looking for something for us to watch that might distract us from the situation we’ve found ourselves in.
“Did you mean what you said?” I whisper to Sev when I can’t resist the temptation to do so for one more second. “Are you really in love with me?”
Sev leans down, bowing his head so our foreheads are almost touching. “You know I am, Tee.” He sighs helplessly and drags the back of a finger along my cheek. “How could I not be?”
“Oh Jeeesus!” groans Nate. “You’re going to kiss now, aren’t you? Ugh. God. There’s going to be kissing, isn’t there? This is exactly what I didn’t want. You two are going to be kissing and doing all this couple shit, and, and…you’re gonna leave me out all the time.”
“We won’t, bud,” says Sev, sincerely. “We’d never do that. You can hang out with us whenever you want. We love having you around. That’s not going to change.”
"It better not," says Nate. "And just so you know, Sev, if you hurt Tee I'm kicking your ass."
"Yeah, Sev," I tease. "You better watch out, or Nate will kick your ass."
"You also better watch out," says Nate to me. "If you hurt him, I'll kick your ass too."
"How 'bout no one kicks anyone's ass for a while, and we see how things go," suggests Sev reasonably.
Nate thinks that over, grunting and puffing, and ultimately settling down. We find a game on ESPN, and after a while, Sev gets up and refreshes our beers. As the game enters the second period, the three of us slip into an easy camaraderie, yelling advice to the players on our screen and letting the ref know he’s missing a great game.
My rib cage expands a little more with each minute that passes, until eventually, my heart is so full that I start making these weird high-pitched sounds.
“You’re a little shit, you know that, Tee?” Nate shakes his head at me, hiding early signs of a smile behind a mask of disapproval. “You’ve always been like this. Always gotta get your own way.”
“Mm,” agrees Sev, keeping his eye on the screen. “Spoiled rotten, he is. Always has been.”
Nate throws back a swig of beer and the mask cracks, exposing a thin sliver of enamel.
Nate and Sev look at each other, pausing for a moment, and then start to cackle.
“It’s our fault he’s like this,” they say in near-perfect unison.
I make a strong defense of myself, but they unanimously overrule me, so we turn our attention back to the game.
