Chapter 3
LACHLAN
My tie is too tight, and my blazer stretches across my shoulders every time I move to pick up my water glass. Uncle Norm is on his second martini. Third, if you count the first one, which he drank half of before he sent it back for not being cold enough.
God, I hate this place. I slump into my chair as tears burn my eyelids, then shake myself and paste on a smile. It’s all fine. Everything is fine.
Uncle Norm insisted we go to Restaurant étienne in Santa Barbara for my birthday dinner. Since it has an old-school dress code, my entire family is dressed up.
Norm’s in a full three-piece suit, his gray hair slicked back.
Grandma Belinda is wearing pearls and a rose pink shift dress with a matching silk jacket, her hair up in a complicated twist. Mom, eyes glazed from whatever meds she’s on, managed to fix her hair and put on a little black dress and heels, and my seventeen-year-old sister, Ivy, is in a gold minidress that matches her long, sandy brown hair.
Quinton, her two-year-old son, is with his dad, Jared, tonight.
No one asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday, which, for the record, would’ve been to get sandwiches with someone who doesn’t make me sick from stress.
But nope. We’re here: white tablecloths, shiny silver, crystal, and whispered conversations in an exclusive restaurant. There are no menus. You get served whatever the chef wants to serve. I’m scared it’s going to be fish. I hate fish.
I know why we’re here, though. When we walked in, it took us forever to get to our seats, because Uncle Norm got stopped by six people he knows, including a woman who I thought looked familiar.
He told us when we finally reached our table that she’s the lieutenant governor and was dining with her son and the son’s boyfriend.
Norm was all toothy grins while chatting with them, even though he was probably sneering internally at the two men.
He’s always pressing the flesh for donors, since he dreams of rising above his current position as mayor of our small city.
“You look so good,” Grandma says, as she appraises me from across the table. “Happy birthday, Lachlan.”
“Thanks.” I attempt a grin, but it’s likely more of a grimace.
Mom passes me a small box wrapped in blue paper with a silver ribbon. “This is for you.”
“Thanks,” I repeat. “Should I open it now?”
“Obviously,” Ivy says, rolling her eyes.
As I untie the ribbon, three servers appear with small appetizer plates in hand and, with a flourish, serve all of us in seconds. Fuck. It looks like fish.
Actually, it looks like someone smeared fish on a canvas and added microgreens.
Everyone else picks up their forks, but I keep unwrapping my present. It’s a watch—a more expensive one than a Casio, but not the kind that costs more than a house. It has a rectangular face, a metallic case, and a dark brown leather strap.
As far as presents go, this could’ve been a lot worse. “Thanks,” I say, yet again. “This is very nice.”
“It should be, with what we paid for it,” Uncle Norm says.
“It’s cool.” I take it out of the box and buckle it on my wrist. While I like the way it looks, it’s going to remind me of them. “I’ll be sure to wear it everywhere. Well, everywhere I can. I’ll have to take it off for football.”
“How many more games do you have?” Grandma asks. I ignore the fish before me. “We’ll have to remember to come to one.”
“Five or six,” I say.
The schedule is up on the fridge. There are three home games and two away games, none of which are too far for them to attend.
But I have a lifetime of experience at holding my tongue, and I don’t really want them to come anyway.
I pick at the microgreens, and when the waiter takes away our plates, I exhale. The next course appears: some kind of hollowed-out vegetable filled with other vegetables. Maybe it’ll be better than fish, at least.
It’s disgusting.
“Well, what are you going to do the rest of the night?” Ivy asks.
“Go to a strip club, eh?” Uncle Norm booms, in a voice that is way too loud for this establishment, although the noise from other tables is increasing as people get farther into their wine.
My lips press into a flat, thin line, and I turn away from him, looking for something, anything to stare at.
“Oh, no. It’s a school night,” Mom says.
Like she cares.
Spiders are crawling over my skin, and I calculate how long it would take me to cross this room and escape out the front door.
I reach up and tug at my tie, but I can’t loosen it or Uncle Norm will comment.
I reach for my water glass instead, taking a sip while my other hand forms a fist at my side.
The greatest birthday present I could receive would be to get out of here. But at least everyone is on their best behavior.
“I’ll pass on the strip club,” I say.
Uncle Norm eyes me knowingly. “Wanna go with your friends, eh? I understand that.”
No, I want to say. I shrug and mumble, “Something like that.”
“You’re making him uncomfortable,” Grandma says to her brother. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Jared told me Quinton is starting to be able to throw a ball,” Ivy blurts.
I shoot her a grateful look. While we don’t have a perfect relationship, and she often loses her temper at everyone, she is on my side.
“Oh?” Norm asks. “We’ll make a man outta him yet.”
And as we’re served oysters, salmon, and some kind of squid ink pasta—none of which I eat—I pray to be delivered from my family.
Back at home, I lie in bed, staring at my new watch and wondering when I can raid the kitchen. My stomach rumbles as it tries to devour itself. Dinner must’ve cost my uncle four figures, and I could barely eat any of it.
The neighbors’ house is quiet.
I miss Isak. He probably has no idea how much I think about him.
Or why I stopped talking to him.
I flop onto my stomach and reach for an old yearbook from elementary school. I flip through and find me with my hair super short and my favorite polo shirt, and there’s Isak wearing some weird dinosaur shirt with his hair sticking up in back. Damn, we were cute.
That was before everything. Before the accident. Before my mom checked out. Before Uncle Norm told me I couldn’t be friends with Isak anymore.
I was eleven or twelve and running with Isak in the walnut trees behind our houses.
“Arrrrrr!” he yelled, racing after me.
Shrieking, I fell as he tackled me. “Get off me,” I huffed, rolling onto my back and pushing him. But I was laughing.
Isak was laughing, too. I shoved his chest with both hands, and he eased off, sitting up so he was straddling me. His weight felt good against my body, and he stared down at me.
Isak’s dark brown eyes danced when he laughed. His mouth was a little too big for his face, and he had freckles scattered across his nose and upper cheeks like stars in a reverse-image sky. I closed my eyes to savor the experience.
“Lachlan!” an angry voice shouted. “Get in here! Now.”
Uh-oh. Uncle Norm.
“Jeez, what did I do?” I muttered. I got to my feet and wiped off my hands, then my knees. “Coming!” I said louder. “See ya,” I told Isak.
“Yeah, see ya.”
My uncle stood on the back porch, eyes blazing. I winced and rubbed my hands against my thighs, avoiding eye contact.
“Stay away from that boy,” Uncle Norm hissed. “You are not to play with him anymore.”
I tugged at my hair. “Isak?”
“Yes, obviously.”
Bile rose in the back of my throat. “What? Why? He’s my best friend!”
“You do not want to be seen with him. People will think you’re like him.”
But Isak was great. I’d love it if people thought I was like him. I took a step back. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, don’t be so dense, boy. That boy’s a damn …” He said a word I’d heard before, even if I didn’t really understand what it meant.
My trembling fingertips went to my open mouth, “What’s that?” I asked.
Even though I kind of had an idea. In fact, I kind of had an idea that he might be talking about … me.
“They’re someone you want to stay very, very far away from. You don’t want to be like them.”
“But that’s not fair!” I’d yelled, my eyes stinging.
“You’ll do as I tell you,” he barked.
It was a warm day, but cold seeped into my skin.
At first, I did my best to still hang out with Isak, but a sharp backhand across the face from my uncle a few weeks later stopped that.
He’d come over, and I’d pretend I wasn’t home. When we went to middle school, we ended up in different classes, and it was easy not to talk to him.
But, even now, I miss my former best friend.
Happy birthday, Isak. I hope you had a better celebration than I did.