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“I don’t want your motorcycle,” Nic says with a frown.
“Well, you’ll never beat him for Sexiest Man in America without my motorcycle.”
“That man doesn’t ride a motorcycle.” Nic glares at me and walks away. He’s probably right, but the motorcycle is a classic. Maybe Gabriel Sinclair is a collector. Maybe that Boy Scout has a bit of a bad boy trapped inside. I’m not going to judge.
There’s a rock star looking at an old snowboard. Jessie drew a picture of me on it once, flying off a jump, grabbing the edge. It was cool as fuck. I’ve still got it somewhere.
A couple of guys from an outdoor TV show are squaring off over the dirt bike I haven’t touched in years. That bike got me laid a lot, so I stroll by and casually mention this. It also was a gift from my parents on my eighteenth birthday. Riding it felt like freedom. I finally had their blessing to go out into the world and be myself. That bike and I had some adventures, but life got too busy, I guess, or I got too interested in other things. Always thought we’d have more time together.
An actor from Warwick runs his hands along my surfboard. After Nic’s parents passed, we spent a couple of months surfing. That board was practically an extension of my body. I can still smell the wax and feel the weight of it under my arm and the crushing feeling of watching my best friend fall apart while I could do nothing except stand beside him.
Without Nic at my side, my collar is too tight and the room too warm. I grab a beer from where the counter has been turned into a bar and let myself into the backroom, where I hope Mina will work soon, despite what we’ve lost. I like thinking of her here, sewing with that cute, focused look on her face.
One deep breath. Two.
I can do this. It’s my life and I want this. Besides, I’m selling physical things, not my memories. Those will always be mine. As hard as this is, it feels right.
Would Mina trust this? Would her answer be any different if she walked through those doors and saw me getting rid of all my stuff? I didn’t tell Nic to tell her or not to tell her and he hasn’t mentioned if he did. When I asked him how she was, he told me to call her if I wanted to know.
I’d call her, but she wanted space and I have to respect that.
There are no messages on my phone from Mina, but it doesn’t stop me from checking again. Just in case.
The door opens and Nic pokes his head in. “Hey, Danny’s looking for you. He has some questions about the motorcycle.”
“Okay, but Gabriel has deeper pockets. Wanna hang out tonight?” I ask, tucking my phone away. “Shoot some pool?” Danny and Freya are gone—Freya to her mom’s with lots of stories about Uncle Timbo that will land Danny in hot water, I hope, and Danny to his bachelor pad. I miss the noise of them. Living alone is the worst. It makes me wish I lived closer to my parents and sisters. God, how much fun would it be to randomly turn up at Jessie’s place and annoy the shit out of her? Amanda and Hazel’s place, too, so I could hang out with my favorite niece and nephew. Teach them my wisdom. Hand down my Nerf guns.
Today’s been hard. Not as hard as Mina saying no, but still. I don’t want to be alone tonight. There’s no one to stop me from crying into the undies she made me.Dude, your face is gonna smell like your ballsis permanently etched into my memory thanks to Danny. Freya’s giggle too. And yes, they did catch me crying into my undies, and that’s probably more embarrassing than Mina witnessing my masturbatory misfire, because yeah, those undies were from the hamper, not my drawer. And they did smell like balls.
“Yeah, let’s hang out,” Nic says. “If I can offload some baking onto you.”
“Always.”
We go back out front and I answer some questions from Danny about the motorcycle he’s not going home with. Then I find Gabriel Sinclair and force him to take a selfie with me—which I send to the family group chat with the caption:
The Sexiest Man in America. And Gabriel Sinclair.
It’s late out East, but the responses come quickly.
Mom: oh thank god you’re selling that motorcycle. Who’s Gabriel Sinclair? He looks a bit like Nic.
Jessie: No he doesn’t—Gabriel Sinclair is sexy and he can act.
Mom: Jessie be nice.
Amanda: Yeah, Jessie, be nice.
Hazel: I want your skis. Please rig the auction so I win at an affordable but socially acceptable charity price so we can still have our Caribbean holiday.
Jessie: Who’s the guy bending over in the background? He’s got a nice ass.
I can’t help it, I guffaw. I haven’t laughed like this in ages. I can’t stop, either, and I don’t care how many people are looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. Tears are leaking out of my eyes, I can’t talk when Nic gives me a questioning look. This is too damn good.
Mom: Oh, he does!
Amanda: Meh.
Hazel: I know that ass.
