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It’s turned awkward. “Well, you always did like her tits.”
He snorts. “I did.”
I fall back onto my bed, staring at the white ceiling.
“I wish you were here,” he says quietly. “We could just go together.”
Closing my eyes, I imagine Brooks in a tux and me in a dress. Us dancing and laughing.
“That’d be nice.”
“Do they do anything like prom over there?”
I nod before realizing he can’t see me. “Yeah, a school formal. They did one at the end of last year for year eleven. I think they do another one at the end of sixth form.”
“D’you go?”
“No,” I declare strongly. “Of course not. I told you. I’m literally the weirdo loner of the school. I’m like a pariah.”
“You just need to put yourself out there, Squirrel. I hate the thought of you being alone.”
“I like being alone,” I defend.
“There’s nothing wrong with that, but one friend wouldn’t hurt.”
“I have one friend,” I argue. “You.”
“One who you cansee, Henley. One who you can spend time with. One who you can think with.”
“I didn’t call you to be lectured, Brooks.”
I know he’s right, and I hate it. I hate that he can see through my words and hear my loneliness.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “I promise.”
“What have I told you about promises? Don’t ever make me one, Squirrel. I might find myself believing you.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“You’ll break my heart when I find out you’ve broken it.”
“I should go.” I swallow against the lump in my throat.
Silence meets my declaration, and I wait for him to speak.
“Give me a minute?” he asks eventually.
“For what?”
I hear the sound of his steady breath down the line. “I hate saying goodbye. Just sit quietly on the line until I’m ready.”
So we do. We sit in silence, the sound of our breathing echoing back and forth before he finds it in himself to hang up.
* * *
Three days later,I receive the text I’ve been dreading.
Brooks: Gran died.
