Page 44 of Counting Down To You

“That’s nice.”

“Yeah.”

I snort quietly and his eyebrows raise. “Sorry,” I say quickly. “It’s just…that’s the kind of ‘yeah’ that means the opposite.”

His lips quirk at the corners. “They worry about me. They always have, but I know the ski-rescue thing—well, they don’t love it.”

“Really? Seems like a worthwhile thing to me.”

“Oh, it is. But it’s also, you know, a bit dangerous.”

“Mmm. I can imagine.” I wonder what my mum would say if I announced it as a career plan, but it’s so far out of the realms of possibility that I can’t even get there.

On the table, Leo twists his mug of hot chocolate round in circles. “When I moved around a lot,” he says slowly, like he’s considering his words, “I always felt like I was letting them down—because I didn’t see them as much as I probably should have.”

“I get that.” I feel a little like that right now, for choosing to spend Christmas away from my mum, even if she would never try to make me feel guilty for it.

“I’m an only child,” he admits. “So it was probably selfish of me to keep hopping around from place to place.”

I frown. “I’m not sure if it’s selfish. Most people move away, after all.”

“Yeah. That’s true. I was a bit callous with it, though. I told myself I was living for the moment, but I did things to make them worry about me and I know my mum in particular found it hard.” He pulls his sunglasses over his eyes again, almost like he’s trying to hide them. “They wanted another child,” he says. “It wasn’t ever a massive deal or anything, but I know they tried to have another and couldn’t. So I guess that made it worse for my mum, me constantly moving about.”

“But you’re staying put now?”

“Yeah. And my choice of career is worrying them—which, you know, I do get. But it makes it hard to talk to them. My mum tries not to, but she does have a tendency to ask whether I’d consider changing my mind about the ski-rescue thing whenever we speak.” He shakes his head, a small smile curving his lips, showing affection there, underneath everything. “It’s like she can’t help herself. Anyway”—he runs a hand through his windswept hair—“it means I’m not sure how to talk to them sometimes.” He gestures at his phone on the table.

I nod, thinking about this. I wonder if I should offer some kind of advice, tell him that life is short, that he’ll regret not talking to them in the long run. But who am I to offer that kind of wisdom? I have no regrets about not talking to my dad, and I don’t think that will change on my deathbed. And look at me with my brother—I’m not exactly a role model for healthy familial relationships. Besides, it sounds like he is already well aware of the “life is short” philosophy. Which makes me think back to the day I first met him, near to the hospital, carrying a box of chocolates and a present for someone.

“The day we met,” I begin slowly, not sure if I’m allowed to ask about it. “In London, I mean,” I clarify—because “met” is maybe a loose interpretation of what happened.

“Ah yes. The taxi incident.”

“Right, that. You said you were dropping some things off for the hospital fundraiser. Is that because…Your parents, are they…?” I’m hesitant and awkward and already regretting asking the nonquestion. If he wanted to talk about it, he would have.

But he offers me a reassuring smile. “My parents are fine. Healthy, happy. The hospital…They took good care of someone a while back. So I just wanted to show my support—that’s all. What about you?” he asks, without pausing. I jolt, thinking he’s asking about what I was doing at the hospital—and although I’ve mentioned Robyn now, it’s not really something I want to discuss at length. But then he asks, “Are you an only child?”—and effectively changes the subject.

I let out a relieved breath. “Oh. No. I have a brother.”

I only realize I’m frowning when he cocks his head at me. “You don’t get on?”

I try to smooth out my expression. “Ah…Not really, no. We don’t really speak. It’s…kind of complicated.” I wonder then if it is—or if it’s as simple as he left and didn’t come back when I needed him. That he left, right after our dad left too, just to really hammer the point home that I’m easy to abandon. Which was proven again when Adam left me. And then, worst of all, Robyn.

I didn’t abandon you, Al. I imagine Robyn’s voice, small and sad. And I know she’s right. She didn’t abandon me—not by choice. It’s not the same as my brother, as Adam.

Leo is watching me from behind his sunglasses. “Complicated I get,” he says with a decisive nod. “And we don’t have to talk about it. We can talk another time, if you want to.”

I finish the dregs of my hot chocolate to avoid answering immediately, though I can’t help feeling glad, both that he doesn’t press the issue, and that he thinks there will be another time.

“Sorry,” I say as I put the mug down. “That got pretty deep pretty fast, didn’t it?”

“Well, we are meant to be getting to know each other.”

“Sure, but I thought we’d start on, like, favorite colors or something.”

“Blue,” he says promptly, and I laugh. “Yours?”

I think for a moment. I love blue too, like the exact color of the sky right now. But I can’t say the same as him. “Purple.”