Page 81 of Septembers

Theo stirred the soggy remnants of his cereal. His own phone sat beside the bowl, a blank, joyless reminder that Jordan wasn’t texting him back.

“So,” his mom said, “how are you coping?”

How did she know? Did she have spies in his social circle? Did she finally manage to bug the apartment?

“Hellooooooo,” she said in a sing-song voice, “Dae’s return? You must be nervous about getting your best friend back.”

Ah. That. “So, first you thought I wasn’t coping with Dae being gone, now I’m not coping with Dae returning?”

She gave him a mom-huff and shook her head. “Fine, we won’t talk about Dae. How’s Jordan?” He winced and she threw up her hands. “Throw me a bone here! Who can I talk about? Are you still dating that handsome professor?”

He groaned and bent in half, his head plunking against the table. “Mom, you’re killing me.”

“The feeling’s mutual!”

His aunt’s head appeared in the background. “How’s my favourite nephew?”

Theo sat up, his stomach churning at their expectant faces. “He doesn’t get here until Saturday.”

“Make sure you give him the mug.”

“I will.”

“Don’t forget!”

Theo had never seen his mom and aunt more excited than when he told them Dae was coming back. Not even when he told them about getting into university or being offered a permanent junior agent position at North Talent. They were happy for him, of course, but they were unabashedly over the damn moon about Dae’s return.

“What about you guys?” he asked, desperate to shift the conversation away from his disaster of a life. “Anything new?”

His mom pursed her lips and got up, her disembodied voice terse. “Ask your aunt.”

Liana watched her go, then turned back to the camera with barely contained excitement. “I got my motorcycle license.”

“Awesome!”

His mom clanged dishes in the background. “Do not encourage her!”

He leaned in and whispered, even though he knew their speakers would be turned all the way up. “When are you going to get one?”

She leaned in too. “Next week.”

“Let me come!”

“Of course!”

His mom grunted. “You two are exactly the same.”

“I take that as a compliment,” he said.

“Well,” his mom bellowed from the kitchen, a mere few feet away, “I take it as the cause of my ulcer.”

“Wait, do you really have an ulcer?”

His aunt shook her head, rolling her eyes, and his mom yelled, “I will someday, and it’ll be because of you two!”

The front door opened and Jordan walked in rolling a suitcase behind her, stopping when she saw him, her stare apprehensive.

“I have to go. Love you! Bye!” He shut the computer and stood. “I’m sorry. I’m an asshole. Please don’t be mad at me anymore.”