21. Foster
TWENTY-ONE
FOSTER
Sophie’s house is very her. All fresh decor but with touches of warmth everywhere. Pictures of her with her parents and friends and even cows line the walls. More throws than one person needs are draped over the couch and armchair and spilling out of a cloth basket. Well-loved books fill the shelves surrounding the TV.
“So you’re a real grownup,” I say, walking over to the bookshelf to see what she’s got.
“I am pretending to be one, somewhat successfully,” she chirps, joining me.
She has the entire JRR Tolkien catalog, and I pull out the special edition of The Hobbit . I read this book every summer. I wonder if she remembers that. Cass used to tease me about it, but Sophie never did.
“Oh, are you a fan of his?” she asks innocently.
“He’s alright.” I shrug, slipping the book back in its place. “A bit long-winded at times.”
“No one could describe a tiny insignificant detail like he could,” she says solemnly.
“Can I have a tour?”
Sophie spins and waves for me to follow. “This”—she turns back to the living room—“is the living room.”
“Ooooh,” I revel. “It’s very green. Very chic.”
“I like green,” she says, turning to admire the walls. I like her in green, surrounded by it, wrapped in it. “This way.”
I follow through the living room and into an open, modern kitchen with pale green walls, white counters, and dusty blue cupboards. A vase of cherry blossoms sits on the counter, adding to the fresh spring vibes. Sophie stands in the center with her arms out like a showroom model. I’d buy anything she was selling.
“This is where all the magic will happen tonight,” she jokes, dropping her arms and turning toward the dining area.
I have to remind myself that she means that there will be delicious food served from this room, and not that we’ll be acting out one of the dreams I used to have about her when I was a teenager. Dreams that have begun to slowly creep back in, except now they’re more intense, more detailed than anything my teenage brain could come up with.
“Is this where the eating happens?” I point toward the table that is the focal point of the room.
She smiles brightly, indoor sunshine. “I see you’ve been in one of these before.”
Running my fingers across the white table, I offer a small shrug. “Once or twice.”
Next, we head down the hall to the bathroom, a spare bedroom, and then she stops and points at a closed door. “And that’s my room, but I didn’t clean it so we won’t be going in there.”
“Why do I feel like that room is cleaner than ninety percent of bedrooms out there?”
“Because you’re looking at how clean the rest of the house is and applying logic. I cleaned all night after my mom called to tell me she was coming, but I didn’t touch my room. That is where all the mess moved to.” She points at the door. “It’s amazing I got the rest of the house done, but nothing cures avoidance like company coming over.”
I give her a once-over. She’s flawless in her dark denim and green sweater. Her hair is up in one of those messy ponytails that looks effortless but I know from my sister takes forever to look fashionably messy. I’m pretty sure she’s only got mascara on, like usual.
“You don’t look like you were up all night.”
“That’s because I’m used to functioning on very little sleep.”
What I would give for a sleepless night with Sophie Hore.
The front door swings open as we’re heading back to the living room, and I hear a voice I haven’t heard in years sing hello through the house.
“Hey, Mom,” Sophie sings back.
Mrs. Hore sweeps Sophie into a hug, and her eyes widen comically when they land on me. She quickly guides her daughter out of her way and has me pulled into her arms a second later.
“Foster Walsh,” she exclaims into my sternum. “My god, it has been forever since I’ve seen you.” She takes a step back and she studies me. “Sophie, why didn’t you tell me you had a handsome man over? I could have gone elsewhere.”
Sophie rolls her eyes as a pretty blush spreads across her cheeks. “We work together, Mom, and I figured you might want to see him.”
“Oh, that’s right, Cass mentioned that, and that you went to a concert together. Odd you hadn’t.” Mrs. Hore’s tone is inquisitive, like she thinks there is more to it than Sophie forgetting. “You’re an EA, right?” she asks.
“I am.”
“I never would have guessed that’s where you’d end up.” She laughs.
“Me either,” I agree. My parents certainly wish it wasn’t where I’d ended up.
“He’s really good at it,” Sophie says softly, glancing quickly over at me. “His students adore him.”
It’s out before I can stop it. “Thanks, sunshine.”
Mrs. Hore’s expression softens. “Oh, I’d forgotten you called her sunshine. Karl was so mad that he had never thought of it.” She looks up at her daughter approvingly. “She is sunshine, isn’t she?”
Sophie is totally red now, avoiding looking at either of us as we appraise her.
“She is,” I agree. I have no idea what my face looks like, but in my head I’m wearing a dreamy expression that screams you are the best part of every one of my days .
Sophie shakes her head and skirts around her mom, heading out the door. “Okay, well, now that we have established that I am a ball of fire, can we help you with anything?”
“So, have you two been spending a lot of time together?” Mrs. Hore asks, setting a massive slab of lasagna on my plate.
“I mean, not a lot of time, but catching up,” Sophie tells her.
“You went to the Nyx Avalon concert together.” A statement, not a question.
“Well, Cass couldn’t go, and so she asked Foster, who graciously put his taste in music aside to attend the show with me.”
Mrs. Hore glances over at me as she hands Sophie back her plate, which has a slab equal to mine. “What kind of music do you enjoy?”
“Oh, classic rock, mostly.”
She sighs. “I remember when that was just called rock. One day Nyx Avalon is going to be classic pop, and you’ll understand,” she says to Sophie.
“One day, but not today.” She smirks back.
Once Mrs. Hore has food on her own plate, I dive in. When the flavor hits my tongue, I’m fifteen again, sitting in my parents’ dining room with Cass and Sophie eating lasagna Mrs. Hore had sent as a thank-you for something I can’t recall. They were talking about Matt, some guy in their riding lesson that Sophie had a crush on. Two weeks before I wouldn’t have cared, but now I was suddenly interested in what it was Sophie liked about him. Apparently he was tall and cute and a bit of a rebel. Sophie liked that he bucked the rules and was totally fearless.
I was tall and had been told I was kind of cute, but I liked rules. I was always home by curfew, cleaned my room, did my homework and the dishes, and I had a healthy fear of things that could kill me. But if that was the kind of guy Sophie was into, then I could probably break a rule here or there and, I don’t know, try something a bit more daring at the skatepark. A few weeks later I was grounded and had pins in my arm after I lost control of my friend’s dirt bike.
The whole ordeal did spark something in me, though. I suddenly found it thrilling to not do exactly what my parents wanted, something I’d watched Cass do since we were kids. But as the eldest, I always toed the line—until I jumped right over it.
“This is incredible,” I moan once I’ve swallowed the first bite. “I can’t believe I went so long without this stuff.”
“Foster is a great cook,” Sophie tells her mom.
“Oh? What do you cook?” she asks me.
“Pretty much anything.” I shrug. “I like to make Korean food because it’s hard to find around here, and I bake when I need to clear my head.”
“His thank-you cookies are pretty good,” Sophie says, glancing at me.
Mrs. Hore looks from me to Sophie and back again. “Thank-you cookies?”
“Chocolate chip cookies that I made as a thank-you.”
“Definitely better than a card,” Mrs. Hore agrees. “Certainly tastier. How was that event for the alumni you went to?”
“It was fine,” Sophie says as I blurt out, “She looked amazing.”
Mrs. Hore’s head swings my way, and when I notice the look on Sophie’s face I realize I should have kept my mouth shut. But I couldn’t help it; she was breathtaking.
“Are you an alumnus too? I thought you went to Waterloo?”
I look over at Sophie, but she’s back to eating her food. “Um, no, I went as Sophie’s date so Gregory didn’t treat her badly.” Sophie’s head snaps up the minute her ex’s name is out of my mouth and she looks horrified and I think angry? It’s not a look I’ve ever seen on her before.
“Why would Gregory treat you badly?” her mom asks.
Sophie’s eyes are glued to me, and the lasagna loses all flavor in my mouth. “Sophie?” her mom asks again.
Sophie slowly turns toward her and puts her fork down. “Because he always treated me badly, Mom.”
“What do you mean? He was always a perfect gentleman.”
The scowl that forms on Sophie’s beautiful lips physically hurts to see. “In the beginning, sure. In front of other people, absolutely, he’d never want anyone to think poorly of him. He had a reputation to uphold. But the minute we were alone…” Sophie’s words fade, and she stares down at her plate.
“Soph, I…” I start to apologize but she cuts me off.
“Not now. I’ve had a really nice day, and I’d rather not do this right now.” She turns to her mom. “If you don’t mind.”
Mrs. Hore reaches over and takes Sophie’s hand, her face a portrait of concern and confusion. I can see the questions bubbling at the surface. What did he do? Why didn’t you say anything? Do I need to hire someone to take care of him? Thankfully she doesn’t vocalize any of them.
“So what did you get up to earlier today?” she asks instead.
“We went to a drag brunch,” I answer, my eyes still glued to Sophie who seems to be a million miles away. All I want to do is crawl under the table and pull her down with me to hide from the world. Hold her until the clouds break and the sun comes back.
“How fun. So,” she says slowly. “Alumni gala, drag brunch… what else have you two gotten up to?”
I keep my mouth shut, attention still on Sophie so I see the exact moment the mask slips back on, smiling at her mom. “Oh, well, like I said, Cass couldn’t go to the Nyx Avalon concert with me so she gave her ticket to Foster. Ultimately, it was better than going on my own. He even learned some of the songs.” She smiles over at me, and I’m almost convinced it’s real.
“She’s no Zeppelin, but I can’t deny that her songs are catchy,” I admit.
“You and Karl would get along well.” Her eyes slide back to Sophie who’s pushing her food around the plate before looking back at me. “What are you doing for Easter, Foster?”
“My parents host a breakfast so I’ll be back home for the day.” Easter is my most hated of the holiday meals. Between the overcooked eggs and my uncle making passive-aggressive remarks about my chosen profession, hair, tattoos, and general existence, I’d rather bathe Gary with my tongue.
“Well, if you’re able to slip away, you’re more than welcome for brunch or leftover brunch that we end up eating for dinner.”
I can’t read Sophie’s expression. There is maybe hope there, but also some dread. Hope I’ll go? Dread that I’ll say yes? “Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” I say.
“You should drive up together. Makes sense with gas prices being what they are these days,” Mrs. Hore suggests, pushing her chair back and starting to clear the table.
I rise to help but not before offering Sophie a reassuring smile. Her responding one is far more tense than I’d like. It’s one I’ve seen once before, at the gala, and I’d prefer to never see it again.
Between the three of us, we get everything cleaned up and packed away in no time. While I’d like to spend every possible second I can with Sophie far from the halls of school, I get the sense that if I stay much longer I will outlast my welcome.
“Soph,” I murmur, pulling her gently toward the front door. “I’m going to take off and let you and your mom spend some time alone.”
“You don’t have to go,” she stammers as her hand lands on my bicep briefly.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I insist, slipping on my shoes.
“Oh, no, not tomorrow. I’m at Bishop all day. I won’t be back at school until Wednesday.”
Nuts . Days with a zero percent chance of seeing Sophie in the halls are the worst.
“Right, well.” I hold up my phone. “I’m a text away if you get bored or can’t decide which pattern to wear one morning.”
I love how she uses her clothes as a way to put the kids at ease. Last week, Pete came back from meeting with her and went on for about ten full minutes about the different mushrooms that were on her shirt and how he once ate a morel but didn’t like it because it was too spongy.
Sophie opens the front door, leaning against it stiffly. “I’ll be sure to reach out if I’m having trouble deciding.” The storm clouds from earlier are still too dark for my liking, but I keep that to myself. I’m not going to force her to open up to me, standing in her doorway while her mom makes “I’m not listening” noises in the kitchen.
“Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Hore,” I call, stepping across the threshold. I hear the door click shut before I even have a chance to offer Sophie one final wave.
On the drive home, I replay the entire day, but the minute I get to dinner it’s as if there’s a glitch and I keep saying the same thing that called the storm into the room. No matter how badly I want to take those words back, I can’t.
Gary greets me noisily when I walk into my apartment, and after feeding him I sink into the couch with a frustrated groan, feeling like an absolute buffoon.
Monday and Tuesday drag, a fact that is exacerbated by the fact Sophie hasn’t reached out. The simple laughing emoji taunts me from her last message. A cruel little reminder that I got way out in front of my skis by saying anything about the gala in front of her mom.
“Mr. Walsh?” Pete shouts next to me, causing me to juggle my phone wildly and thankfully catch it before it hits the floor. “Do you think Miss Hore will like this?” He holds up the watercolor he’s been working on since the start of class.
It looks like a painting someone would have done if they were tripping on acid. Saturated non-mushroom colors jump from the page. Happy shrooms , I think.
“I think she’ll love that, bud.” And I mean it. Sophie will be adding that to her tiny office cork board that already has an impressive number of student artwork. She’ll light up the school with her smile when he hands it over. “Did you pick mushrooms because of her shirt?”
Pete nods, blushing. “Also, I love mushrooms.”
”You’ve mentioned that once or twice.” Pete is the only kid I know who regularly brings whole button mushrooms in his lunch.
“Mr. Walsh?” he asks again.
“Mmm?”
“Why are you so sad?”
Shiitake, I must look about as awesome as I feel right now. “I…” I stop and try to figure out what I’m going to say. I can’t tell him the truth but I can’t tell him nothing. “Had a busy weekend. I’m tired.”
His left eyebrow raises skeptically and his eyes shift down to my phone. “Who is Sunshine?” He points with his brush.
“Are you being nosy?” I question.
“It’s your fault for having your phone out in class,” he counters.
“Fair.” I slip the phone into my back pocket and lean back in the chair with a sigh. “Just a friend.”
“Is that why you’re sad? Did you have a fight?”
No, even if it feels like we did. “I never fight,” I say with a tight smile.
“Not like this.” Pete punches the air with both fists. “A feelings fight.”
“A feelings fight?” I repeat slowly, and he nods. “No fight with fists, feelings, or fungi,” I assure him.
“Mr. Walsh?”
“You know you don’t have to keep saying my name if I’m the only one you’re talking to, right?” I tease.
“Mr. Walsh?” he says seriously.
“Yes, Pete?”
“What is your favorite mushroom?”
I’m relieved he has moved onto favorites. This is one of the things I love most about working with Pete. The kid loves to discuss favorite and least favorite things, and I’ve been surprised to learn a thing or two about myself in the process.
“Enoki,” I say without hesitation.
He scrunches up his face, his upper lip curling slightly. “Enoki? Did you make that up?”
I shake my head. “Nope. They’re long skinny white mushrooms.”
He grabs a pencil, and as fast as he can manage, he draws what looks like a very elongated sperm, or very skinny penis and I have to bite my cheeks to keep from laughing.
“Not quite. Here.” I take the pencil and draw a less phallic mushroom.
“Huh,” he says, his head moving this way and that as he studies it. “What does it taste like?”
“Not much, actually,” I admit after taking a minute to think. “They have a fun texture, though.”
My phone vibrates, and I look down, hoping to see Sophie’s name. My heart sinks when I see that it’s only a message from my sister.