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“Oh?” She perks up.
“Yeah. I’ve got a girlfriend.”
Jemima’s eyes widen, and she leans forward. “Really? I want to hear all about her. How did you two meet? It was from that dating app, wasn’t it? I deserve credit for helping you with your profile.”
I tell Jemima the whole story. At one point, our drinks arrive, and I take a break to chew on a tapioca pearl before continuing. Jemima’s one of the few people I can ramble on to without feeling guilty about talking about myself too much. When I finish talking, she smiles while tucking her chin into her neck, reminding me of an old lady.
“Oh, that’s so cute. My little brother’s got a girlfriend!”
“Stop it.”
She tilts her head, surveying me. Suddenly, she grows serious. “Make sure she treats you well, okay?”
“I already told you she’s nice,” I say.
And it’s true. We’ve officially been dating for two weeks, and Cleo’s as friendly and charming as ever. I mean, sure, sometimes she’s late to our hang outs, which makes me worried. Sometimes, she doesn’t reply to my messages for hours, but that’s just me being clingy. And yes, sometimes she’s brutally honest, interrupting me when I’m talking about something I found interesting in my classes because, “No offence, I don’t really care about science mumbo-jumbo.” And that time when we went out for dinner and we picked a restaurant at random, and she took a bite of her meal before announcing it was terrible and refusing to eat any more of it.
Jemima’s voice rips me from my thoughts. “Charlie,” she begins. “I’m glad you’re in a relationship. And I’m happy you’re happy. But sometimes… sometimes you can be…” she looks down at her drink and swirls the straw around.
I narrow my eyes. “What?”
She’s silent for a beat, before shaking her head. “Nothing,” she says, picking up her glass and taking a long drink. “I’m happy for you.”
Before I can respond, her phone buzzes. “Oh, that reminds me.” She picks up her phone and shows it to me. On the front screen, there’s a notification from a reminder app.
BUY MUM’S BIRTHDAY PRESENT.
Jemima’s the type to write everything down. She’s been using a calendar and to-do list since she was ten. One time my grandparents witnessed her planning her month and called her precocious, and Jemima added “look up the definition of preckoshus” in her to-do list. I only know this story because my grandparents tell it when we get together for Jemima’s birthday every year.
“Have you bought Mum a present yet?” Jemima asks.
“Not yet.”
“I already asked her if she wanted anything, months ago so she wouldn’t remember. She said the usual — candles, Australian novels and anti-aging stuff. I’ll have to remind Nate to get something. That’s if he hasn’t already spent all his money on bite coin or whatever.”
I laugh. Nate is two years younger than me, and as soon as he turned fifteen, he got a job at the local McDonald’s. He lasted one day before quitting and announcing that he’d make money off the internet instead. Since then, he’s started multiple businesses. Some have crashed and burned — one time, his room was filled with plastic toys he was sure would be the next fidget spinners. Some have been surprisingly successful though, if his expensive but ugly designer sneakers are anything to go by.
Sometimes I give him shit, but to be honest, I’m proud of him and his initiative. I would’ve expected him to grow up as a brat, because my parents have always spoiled him since he was the youngest.
Another thing about Nate is that he never wanted to play with me. Every time I tried to introduce him to my imagination games, he would refuse and watch TV instead.
Maybe that’s part of the reason I liked spending time with Lucas so much — because he was like my little brother. Even though he was only a few months younger than me, he was always amazed by my imaginary worlds and loved listening to my stories. When he had problems, he always came to me. And I always listened, not because I wanted to be needed (okay, maybe that a little bit) but because I truly wanted to help him. I wanted to be important to someone.
“Dad’s booked a reservation at The Golden Orchid,” Jemima continues, referencing Mum’s favourite restaurant. “Her birthday’s on Saturday, so we’ll drive there Friday and leave Sunday. Does that work for you?”
I don’t have a car since I live in the city, and there’s no need, but Jemima’s got a car since she lives in the suburbs.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I don’t have classes on Friday.”
“Good.” Jemima notes that down.
CHAPTER SIX
Then
High school me would’ve never expected that I’d be living with Lucas in university.
It happened by chance. Kind of.
