“Now I’m picturing a lineup of coffee from all the shops on campus for a taste-testing competition. My dad did that once in the town I grew up in, actually.”
“Wait, wait. Your dad loves good coffee and you really said caffeine is caffeine?” He looks mortified.
I can feel my cheeks heat a smidge. “Well, yeah. I’m not picky. My dad has a far more refined palette. He has an espresso machine at home and loves to make all sorts of fancy drinks. Meanwhile, I just make it from the pot every morning.” Porter’s jaw falls open at my admission, and I can’t help but laugh. “It’s not that bad.”
“Well, I guess at least you didn’t call itexpresso,” he jokes.
“I would when I was a kid, but he corrected me when I was older. Said it was cute for a bit though,” I admit, smiling fondly about the memories.
“Your dad sounds great.”
“Yeah. I’ve always looked up to him. He’s taught me justabout everything I know, except lacrosse,” I say with a laugh. “He pretends to be into it because I am, even if I know it’s not his thing. It’s probably because he always emphasized that showing up matters because it’s the little things that stick with you. Anyway, what about your dad? Do you make him fancy coffee or did he teach you?”
As soon as the question is out of my mouth, I see Porter’s smile falter, and I realize I shouldn’t have asked.
“I, uh, no. My dad left when I was growing up, so no coffee for him.” I can tell he’s going for a teasing tone, but my heart breaks for him. The casual conversation feels like it’s instantly evaporated.
“Oh shit, Porter, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories, especially on your birthday.” I can tell my question hurt even though that was obviously not my intention. Fuck, I really need to do better with him. It’s like two steps forward and one step back.
He gives me a tight-lipped smile, a poor imitation of his earlier grin. “Don’t worry about it. It was a long time ago.” He takes a long sip of his coffee. “You sound like you really had a great childhood. That’s awesome, even if I am jealous.”
I can see his attempt to deflect. I don’t want to just brush past important topics, but it’s his birthday, so I don’t want to force him to talk about it either. I’ve already told him if he wanted to talk I was there, but there’s no way I’ve earned that privilege yet. Understandably so.
I offer him a small smile. “Moving on to more fun topics, do you want to go to breakfast? My treat.”
“Will Carter, are you still trying to buy your way into this friendship?”
“Is it not still working?” I joke. “You know they say, a way to a man’s heart is through his?—”
“Dick?” Porter interrupts before I can say stomach, and we both burst out laughing.
“I did not think you were going to go there,” I add through my laughter.
“Just wait, being my friend might be more than you bargained for. There’s still so much you have left to find out about me,” he challenges.
I’m not sure if he’s actually doubting my intent, but his comment doesn’t worry me. “I can promise you I’m really looking forward to it.”
Porter’s phone rings before we make any move to get up. “It’s my mom, I should probably answer or she’ll just keep calling.”
I nod. “Yeah, of course you should. Do you want me to go, or…?”
“Nah, it’ll only be a minute.” He answers the call with what I’m assuming is his best attempt at a cheery “hello” given his hungover state.
From my spot next to him I can clearly hear his mom’s response of “Happy birthday sweet boy! I hope you didn’t do anything too crazy last night to celebrate.”
“Thanks, Mom. Just went out with my friends, got some Taco Bell, nothing wild.”
“Well, I’m glad you have such good friends there,” she responds, and I wonder if he’s ever mentioned me. My mom knows all my friends, and she knows all about how I’ve been trying to win Porter over after being such an asshole freshman year. She’ll be very happy to know we toasted to our new friendship last night.
“Yeah, me too,” Porter agrees, and I don’t bother hiding my smile as he looks at me after saying it.
“Have you heard from Lewis yet? Did he say happy birthday?”
Porter groans. “No, Mom. And you don’t need to stress about that. It’s not a big deal. I doubt most eighteen-year-olds remember their older brother’s birthdays.”
“Well, you remember his, right? Is it so much to ask that my boys are nice to each other? One day I’ll be gone, and you two will be the only family the other has?—”
“Oh my god, Mom!” he interrupts with an exhausted laugh. “Yes, I remember his birthday. I already told you I’ll visit that weekend.”
