19. Foster
NINETEEN
FOSTER
From the moment we leave the concert, I start counting down to Sunday’s brunch. I’d consider myself to be a pretty happy person, but Sophie brings a different kind of happy out of me. The kind of happy that makes life a bit lighter. She’s always had that effect on me, I just didn’t realize it until she stepped back into my life. My sunshine is back, and I am reaping all the rewards of a healthy dose of vitamin D.
When Sophie stops in front of my building, I have the urge to invite her up, not because I want to move this relationship out of the friend zone into a romantic one. Even though I would in a heartbeat if she said the word. Looking over at her, I want to ask, Do you want to come up for a bit? I've got cookies. You could meet Gary. We could debrief about the concert over some decaf or tea or water. Her eyebrows rise as if she’s waiting for me to speak, and I realize I’m only thinking things and not saying them. I don’t need anything else to convince me that I am in no shape to host anyone at this moment.
“Tonight was a blast. I’m glad I could fill in,” I finally manage to say.
Sophie’s eyebrows drop, and she smiles softly. I watch as her hand lifts toward my face, and I automatically move my head toward it. Only it lands on my shoulder a split second later.
“I hope you’re able to sleep tonight. You don’t even look like you’ll make it to the door,” she teases.
How about I sleep here? You can keep me company. With your hand on my shoulder and your sunshineyness surrounding me.
The hand on my shoulder gives a squeeze, and I realize I’ve started to drift off again. Pulling away, I throw the door open and go to step out, only to be pulled back into the car by the seatbelt that is still very much buckled.
“The universe seems to want me to stay put,” I mumble, hearing a click and then watching as the belt slides across my body.
“I don’t think your body would appreciate that in the morning,” Sophie muses.
I look back pathetically. “Can we forget how tired I was?”
“I won’t mention it to anyone, but I don’t think I’ll be forgetting about it any time soon.”
I nod because, fair. “Thanks again, Soph. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I don’t hear Sophie pull away, and as I open the door to my apartment I wonder if I should text her to let her know I made it all the way without falling asleep or getting trapped in anything.
Gary is sitting by the window when I flick the light on and I walk over to join him. Sophie flashes her lights and drives away. I lift my hand in a delayed wave only to have Gary move his head toward it.
I watch him nuzzle in. “I think we spend too much time together, Gary,” I tell him as he succeeds in doing what I had automatically done in the car.
“Why do they call dogs’ bits their privates?” Pete asks Friday afternoon during gym class.
I should be used to him asking random questions by now, but I’m not sure I will ever be. “Excuse me?” I ask, dodging a rogue basketball.
“A dog’s bits,” he says emphatically. “My mom called our dog’s bits his privates last night. ‘Dougie, put your privates away.’” Pete’s impression of his mom is phenomenal. “But his bits are on the outside. There isn’t anything private about them.”
The kid has a point. “Well, I think it comes from calling, um, well, humans’…um…bits?” I ask and he nods, “privates so we use that term for dogs too.”
“Hmm,” he ponders while squinting up at me, and I know I’m about to have an even harder time not laughing because I’ve seen that face before and something ridiculous is coming. “I think we should call them their publics, since they’re out swinging around”—he leans in and whispers—“in public.”
I’m about to tell him that we should use the proper terms for body parts, but I’m clocked in the face by a stray basketball before I’ve even opened my mouth. “Fudgesicle,” I grit out, grabbing my face.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Walsh.” I hear one of the kids yell from across the gym, and I wave away the apology.
To say I’m counting down the hours until I can go home is an understatement. I’m probably going to crash through my door and then sleep for days right there on the kitchen floor. Not even Gary’s incessant meowing will be able to wake me.
The only thing that could make this day better would be seeing Sophie, but she spends Friday afternoons at a different school now, so I won’t see her until I pick her up for brunch on Sunday. Probably for the best in my state. I’m embarrassed enough by my failed car exit from last night.
“Oh, Foster,” Jessica frets when she sees me after gym. “That’s going to bruise. Go grab some ice. I’m sure Pete and I will get along fine without you for a few minutes.”
I know Pete will be fine. My main concern is that if I go to the staff room to grab ice, I’m probably going to sit down, and if I do that, the likelihood of falling asleep in there is high.
I brush off her concern and start gathering the art supplies Pete’s going to need for the paper maché globes the class is working on. Mixing art with geography is brilliant.
“How’d it happen?” Jessica asks after I get back from the bus pickup line.
“Rogue basketball,” I mutter as I help put away the pieces of art that need to dry before the next step.
“Been there.” She chuckles. “However, not my jaw. You’re going to look super tough.”
“That’s why I got these.” I raise my arm so it peeks out of my sleeve. There are no specific rules about covering my tattoos, but I know they’ll distract the kids, and a lot of these kids don’t need that.
She looks over at me with pity. “Foster, I don’t mean to be rude, but nothing about those tattoos screams tough guy.”
I look down at my arm, now hidden under my sleeve again. I don’t need to see it to know what’s there though. I have no tattoos of skulls, roaring lions, severe Roman gods, or snakes. I have my full nerdom tattooed on my body for the world to see. My left side is all Lord of the Rings, and my right represents my favorite books as a kid. No one is going to look at a guy with a tattoo of the Velveteen Rabbit or the Giving Tree and think, oh, watch out, he’s a live wire . And now with what I imagine will end up being a nicely bruised jaw, I’m going to look like the guy who’s easily punched.
She takes my silence as though I am indeed offended and starts apologizing. “Really, they are fantastic tattoos. Ten out of ten on design and execution. Just, well, nothing screams tough guy like a stuffed rabbit.”
“I have layers, Jess,” I object. “Many complicated layers, and within those layers is indeed a tough guy.”
Her eyes narrow as she studies me. “I think if you were defending someone else, I’d be worried for the bad person,” she concedes. “Any plans this weekend?”
Even the word plans has my eyes growing heavier. The thought of having to do anything tomorrow is too exhausting, so I’m glad I don’t actually have to think. “Going to a friend’s show on Sunday, but that’s it.”
“What kind of show?” she asks as she grabs our coats from the closet.
“It’s a drag brunch.”
“Shut up, at Triple C’s?”
“Yeah,” I answer slowly.
She hands me my coat. “I’m going to that with a bunch of friends. Have you been before? It’s my first time.”
Alarm bells start going off in my head. If I show up with Sophie, Jess is going to see, then she’s going to speculate and ask questions. She’s the gossip goblin of the school. She’s going to wonder how the hell someone as accomplished as Sophie is out with a guy like me.
“I’ve been a couple times. It’s alright,” I lie, and my stomach tightens with guilt. “You definitely don’t go for the food, that’s for sure.” I don’t know why I’m saying this. I doubt me saying the food isn’t great isn’t going to stop them from going. And on Monday she’s going to point out that the food is in fact delicious, because it is. There isn’t a single thing about the Triple C’s drag brunch that I’d change.
She looks puzzled. “Huh, the friend who planned it is a chef. Her partner is the head chef at Triple C’s.” Shiitake mushrooms .
“Maybe I was there on a bad day. The second time I only had mimosas.”
We walk toward the parking lot together and I’m glad that she doesn’t ask any more questions. “Well, have a great Saturday.” She waves when we reach my car and continues on to her own. “And see you on Sunday!”
Slumping into my car I wonder if I can come up with a new date while still attending the brunch to support my friend. But then I think about how excited Sophie was when I’d mentioned it, and that goes out the window. We’re going to have to come up with a story. Maybe she can know Lucas too, and we’re simply two supportive friends who happen to find out the other one was going. Or we can be honest that we’ve known each other since we were kids and she’s my sister’s best friend.
I’m already hiding my true feelings, feelings that are rising to the surface far faster than I’d expected. If I add in more pretending I may let something slip. And for Sophie’s sake, I can’t allow that to happen.