Chapter 20 Eighteen years old Sam
Eighteen years old
Sam
“Kath, I’m back early. Do you want me to cook us dinner?” Tom’s voice filters through the door.
Oh, fuck. I look at Kath wide-eyed. This is not good. Really, really not good.
“Err, is Sam here?” I hear him moving down the corridor and I suddenly realise that my shoes and shirt are somewhere outside, discarded in our rush to get upstairs.
“Shit, what do we do?” I hiss. I start trying to unwind myself from Kath and whatever contortion we’re in, scanning the room for my boxers. Where on earth did they go?
“Give me five minutes,” Kath calls out, eyes wide.
This is a nightmare. Her bra is on one side of the room and her dress on another.
“What the hell is going on in there? Why is Sam’s shirt on the landing?” Tom says and I hear him getting closer.
“Do not come through this door, Thomas!” she shrieks out. Not exactly the best way to keep your brother out of the room. As she leaps off me, she manages to knee my groin in the process. Pain explodes.
“Ouch— fuck, Kath,” I grit out as I roll back onto the bed.
She gasps, horrified. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry—are you alright?” She kneels back onto the bed, hovering over me, bra once again forgotten. I usually love looking at semi-naked Kath. But now is not the right time.
I groan, eyes squeezed shut. “I’m fine—just grab your clothes.”
“Kath, what’s going on in there?” There's a warning note in Tom’s voice through the door. “If it’s not what I think it is, you can open the door and we can pretend this conversation never happened.”
“Nothing’s going on,” she shouts, grabbing her bra and struggling to do up the clasp. “Don’t you dare come in!”
“You’re my little sister and there's a boy’s shirt abandoned on the landing. Of course I’m stopping whatever’s happening.”
I barely manage to yank the sheets over myself as Kath shoves her arms through her dress sleeves and the door swings open. Tom stops dead in the doorway. Eyes flick from me—topless—to Kath—hair a mess, looking like she’s just sprinted a 5K.
“What… the fuck… is this?”
Kath scowls at him. Tom ignores her, arms crossing over his chest as his glare locks on me.
“Why is he topless in your bed?”
I swallow hard.
“Actually, better yet,” he scoffs, stepping forwards. “Fletcher, you explain what you’re doing in my sister’s room in a state of undress. Given that as far as I know, you two aren’t dating and you’re leaving for America in a few weeks.”
Uh oh. The last name has come out.
“State of undress,” Kath scoffs at him, arms folded and eyes narrowed. “You sound like someone from the 19th Century.”
It would sound more cutting if her hair didn’t look quite so rumpled.
“Fuck off, Kath. You can’t distract me with history jokes.” He turns back to me. “Downstairs, five minutes. I want an explanation.”
He throws the T-shirt at me before leaving the room.
“Oh my god,” I groan, yanking my shirt over my head so fast I nearly dislocate something. “Your brother’s going to kill me.”
By the time we shuffle downstairs, I’ve gone from blushing to looking like I might need immediate medical attention.
Tom’s waiting in the kitchen. Arms crossed. “Sit.”
It’s not a suggestion. I drop into the chair, and Kath follows, nudging my leg under the table like she’s trying to tell me something. I immediately edge away.
Tom sighs, looking between us like a disappointed teacher. “Care to explain?”
Kath rolls her eyes. “Do you really need an explanation? I think I’ve found you in some pretty similar situations over the years.”
Tom scowls. “Yes, but you’re my baby sister.”
Kath groans. “I’m eighteen. And who put you in charge of my life anyway?”
“It’s not about that, Kath.” His expression’s pained. “I would’ve been all for this last year.” He levels me with a look. “But it’s not last year. You’re going to Exeter. He’s going to America. How is this going to work long-term?”
Kath shrugs. “We’re friends who are having fun. It’s temporary.”
I try not to flinch. Yep. Temporary. I know she’s just deflecting her brother, but still. I always knew that rule three existed solely for my benefit. It just hurts to hear it out loud, even though I’m the one who insisted on the rules in the first place.
Tom scoffs. “As if.”
Then he sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Just tell me now how this isn’t a monumentally stupid idea. I like Sam. But I’ll promptly stop liking him if he does anything that upsets you. And I can’t see how this ends without both of you getting hurt.”
“We’re being sensible,” she insists. “We know there’s an expiry date on this. We know we’re friends before anything else.”
“I’d never do anything to hurt Kath,” I add quickly, wanting to inject myself into this conversation that seems to be about me but happening entirely around me.
Tom watches me. Long enough that I think he sees through my facade. That he knows that there is more to this for at least one of us.
“Fine,” he says.
I sag in relief.
“It’s your funeral,” he adds, leaning back in his chair. “At least you’re better than the last one.”
“Amen to that,” I mutter.
For the first time, Tom almost looks amused. Then he smirks.
“You know Mum and Dad always thought you two might like each other, right?”
I choke.
Kath freezes.
“But if they knew this would happen, they definitely wouldn’t have been so free with all those sleepovers you two had growing up.”
Her head snaps towards him. “I swear, Tom, if you tell them—”
“Nah.” He waves her off. “I won’t if you don’t want me to. I know you’ve kept enough of my secrets in the past. But if Aquaman’s staying here tonight, I want absolutely no funny business. I mean it.”
When he leaves, I let out a long breath. “God, I thought I was going to get punched.”
“Tom likes you.” Kath shrugs.
Like might be too strong, but he did use that stupid nickname again. At least that means my imminent murder is no longer on the table.
But as we sit down for dinner, part of me starts wondering whether Tom was right. Are we being stupid here? Kath’s made it clear from that conversation that she doesn’t like me like that. But am I going to end up getting my heart broken?
I push the pasta around my plate silently. Kath and Tom chatter and bicker across the table, exactly as they always have, and it hits me how little this room has changed. The same chairs. The same scratches in the wood. Years of homework, science projects, film nights that ran too late.
I wonder how many more times I’ll sit here like this. How many ordinary moments are about to turn into something I’ll miss too much. I won’t be able to hear their laughter from the other side of an ocean. The Fords’ house feels as familiar as my own.
I already feel homesick for a place that isn’t even mine.