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‘Why ruin your own day by having coffee everything? I bet you even have coffee throw pillows and that.’
‘You would know. You’ve slept in my bed.’
My body sings from the memory, but I say, ‘I was drunk. Maybe you took advantage of my state to hide your weird little coffee obsession.’
‘Why do you think I hide it from everyone when this is how they react when they find out?’
I pat his shoulder. ‘It’s okay. We all have unhealthy obsessions.’
‘What’s yours?’
‘Henry Cavill.’
He chokes. ‘I was expecting Hello Kitty or some superstitious chakra shit.’
‘Why?’
‘You have Hello Kitty straighteners in your room.’
‘That I got when I was, like, twelve! And you literally have ancient irons on your windowsill, so.’
His smile is soft, as if he remembers something. But he clears his throat, looks straight ahead, and says, ‘How are you doing?’
I know what he’s asking. What he isn’t saying.
‘I have ice cream, so things can’t be that bad,’ I deflect.
I can see he wants to say more, but he doesn’t pry.
We walk along the beachfront, licking our melting ice creams, and then we head back for the classic run. It takes roughly two hours to loop around Porthmadog, stop for tea—and coffee—and scoff a bag of chips between the three of us as we perch on the wall that runs along the dock, and drive back to the fields. Some busier roads are blocked off entirely for the run, and people watch and wave and swing Welsh flags and drivers honk their horns as onlookers cheer.
I’m not really moved by the merriment, but seeing the joy on my dad’s face is worth it.
By the time we reach the fields, I’m peckish again, so Chase walks with me to the snack van to grab some things for the road. I order a vegetable wrap with extra cucumber, to which Chase says, ‘Who even likes cucumber?’
And it’s like being hit by a train.
I watch him closely. Why does my mouth go suddenly dry as sandpaper? Why does my heart plummet like a bird falling from the sky? I whisper, ‘Depends which context you’re referring to.’
His eyes slowly meet mine, but there’s no surprise in his expression. Only wariness. ‘Please tell me you don’t like cucumber,’ he says. Herecites.
It makes sense now—everything makes sense.
Memories slam into me: Chase smiling as he gets a cucumber painted on his cheek, as he gets a gherkin the day after. At the time I thought it was simply Chase being Chase, but... What was it that Kai said that first night?Gherkins are elite.I’d happily eat all your gherkins. The guitar picks laid neatly in his room—I have my first gig next weekend at a bar in the city. Send me all your luck—and maybe a sick bucket. Singing Kings of Leon in the car—Wait....you like KOL, too?? Damn, when’s our wedding??
And even at the start, when we were messing around with names:Not Brian. I have a friend called Brian with a wog eye,and how Brian seemed annoyingly familiar to me when I saw him in the meadow. And all the times Kai teased that I ruined his high. And how every time I was with Chase, Kai didn’t reach out once.
I should have known. Kai and Chase are so similar. Kai and I talked about anything and everything, and nothing was ever too weird. And Chase…lying down next to him in the meadow and talking about clouds, how easy my words bounce off of him, and that day in his kitchen, my breath still reeking of vomit:
‘It’s okay to make mistakes, as long as you get up and try again,’ I say, reciting something Kai said last night.
I’m not sure if I imagine it, but Chase goes still. Something flares in his eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.
No. Not similar. Kai and Chase aren’t similar at all.
They are one and the same.
KaiisChase.
