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She walks in, gently shutting the door behind herself. Stepping over the broken glass, she picks up the frame and looks at the picture of the four of us. Brady, her brother Cooper, my best friend, Sebastian, who’s also our fourth roommate, and I are staring back at her, having just played the game of our lives. It was a great day, and Nat was there, cheering us on.
After putting the picture back on the shelf where it belongs, Nattie sits down next to me on my bed. She grabs my hand and rests her head on my shoulder. “I caught the end of what she said.”
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” I lean my head against hers and let that reality sink in.
She squeezes my hand. “You’ll figure it out, Murphy. And we’ll help you.”
* * *
An hour later, I find myself in our backyard, sitting by the firepit. The smell of campfire and roasting marshmallows lingers in the air, “Blinding Lights,” by The Weekend is playing through the speakers, and a bottle of Jack Daniels is in my hand. Tonight is our farewell party for Cooper Sinclair. He’s Nat’s twin brother and one of my best friends. Coop signed away the next eight years of his life to the US Navy in his quest to become a Navy SEAL.
So, while the rest of us are playing football for Kroydon University, Cooper’s going to be going through basic training and BUD/S. He’s been training all summer and bulking up his already bulky, six-foot-five frame. He’s shaved his dark blonde hair in preparation for leaving tomorrow night, making him look less like the California surfer I met nearly two years ago and more like GI Joe.
Remnants of the party are going strong inside the house, but my roommates and I sit around the bonfire with Coop. We’re all a little quiet.
I’m nursing my bottle of whiskey.
Nat is sitting on Brady’s lap, roasting a marshmallow. Her long blonde hair is hiding her face and some of the PDA that’s going on in that chair.
Brady is happily holding his girl. Nattie looks tiny against our six-foot-five quarterback. These two have been through a lot to get where they are now. They’ve earned their happiness. You could get a cavity just looking at them.
Bash is drinking a beer and texting someone on his phone. My best friend likes to keep his shit quiet and locked down. Even I don’t know who Pretty Boy is talking to right now.
Coop is on the far side of the fire with his ex-girlfriend Tiffany in his lap. Guess she’ll be giving him a good send-off tonight.
Brady’s sister, Chloe, is sitting next to me. She just started her senior year at our old high school but spent as much time as possible with all of us this summer.
My sister, Carys, is pissed as hell I won’t let her party with us yet. But she’s only sixteen, and I refuse to let some fucker take advantage of her.
Tomorrow, Coop and Nat’s dad is throwing a BBQ at his house. Joe Sinclair is the head football coach for our local pro team, the Philadelphia Kings. Luckily, it worked out that his team has a home game Monday night, so he’s able to spend his Saturday with his kid instead of in another state with his team. It’s supposed to be the official goodbye before Coop’s flight leaves later that night for Great Lakes, Illinois. But looking at us all right now, we look like someone ran over our dog.
We aren’t celebrating Coop leaving. We’re mourning that our friend will be more than a few houses away for years to come.
Just as that thought crosses my mind, Coop stands, pulling Tiff up behind him. “I think we’re going to head to bed, guys. Thanks for tonight. Nattie, I’m claiming your room for the night.”
Natalie blows the flames off her marshmallow. “You’ve slept in there more than I have. Go ahead.”
Brady mumbles, “You won’t ever be sleeping in there, sweetheart,” before sucking the marshmallow off one of her fingers. I’m guessing those two will be the next to head into the house. Brady and Natalie might as well turn fucking into an Olympic sport, they’re behind Brady’s closed bedroom door so often. They’re not quiet about it either.
And...that thought brings me right back to my guest earlier tonight.
What the fuck?
I always wrap it up.
Always.
I haven’t had any broken condoms.
I never play “just the tip.”
How the fuck am I going to break this to my mom? It’s going to break her heart. My mom is that mom. The one who shows up for everything. The mom who brought oranges for the whole team to every football game until I asked her to stop my freshman year in high school. My dad left and started a new life with his secretary in Texas when Carys was five and I was eight. He wasn’t any father of the year before that, but at least he was around.
We’ve gotten cards in the mail over the years but haven’t seen him once since he left. My mom made sure she was enough for both of us and did it all while taking over as chairman of the bank her father started. I don’t know how many times she’s told me to be careful and that she’s too young to be a grandparent. I’ve never wanted to let her down.
This is gonna kill her.
