Watching them has made me think more about Daniel in the last few weeks than I ever have before. About what it might’ve been like if he’d had something like YA to go to. He was small for his age in high school—skinny and clumsy. His hair was always a mess and he had this expression when he was pissed off, which was most of the time, that I’m sure he thought was intimidating but really just looked like he was in pain. It was a beacon to anyone who picked on the kids who showed weakness. He was always coming home with black eyes and bruises and split lips. When Brian was still in school with him, we’d sometimes ask who he fought with so Brian could take care of it, but Daniel would never say.
“What’re you thinking about so hard?” Rafe asks, startling me. He strokes a hand up my neck and into my hair.
“Um, about Daniel, I guess.”
“You always think about him after we’re at YA.”
“Yeah, maybe. I watch them and the way they are with each other. I don’t think Daniel had… friends. Anyone to talk about stuff with.”
“None?”
“Well, he never brought friends home.” Of course, that could’ve been because he was embarrassed of us. “And Brian was in school with him when he was a senior and Daniel was a freshman, and he said he never saw Daniel talking to anyone. He got picked on a lot. He was scrawny.” I snort. “And mouthy.”
“Imagine that,” Rafe says and raises an eyebrow at me, which is as close as Rafe gets to teasing.
But he settles onto the couch with me, and it feels right having him here, even if I’m still not clear on exactly what’s going on between us.
Earlier in the week, while I was doing the dishes, Rafe’s sister Gabriela called. I was half listening to Rafe’s side of the conversation, amused at how often Gabriela cut him off to lecture him about something. It sounded like it might be about some family dinner. After a few minutes of being interrupted, Rafe came up behind me and dropped his forehead down on my shoulder, sighing in irritation. He’s too tall for it to have been comfortable for more than a minute, though, so he wrapped an arm around my waist and pressed against my back.
“Gabri, no— No, thank you. I appreciate it but— Well, he sounds— No— Sí, but— I’m sure he is— I don’t even know what that means, Gabri— Yes, I’m sure doctors do make a lot of— I don’t— Por el amor de dios, sis, stop!— Porque!— Fine, because I’m already seeing someone, okay?”
Rafe glanced at me, but I was careful to give the dishes my full attention.
I don’t know why it freaked me out that Rafe would say that. I mean, I’m not an idiot. I know that’s what’s going on. I just don’t know what it means. About me. About the future. Anything.
Rafe was looking at me intently.
“Hermana, I have to go—no, I’m hanging up. I’ll talk to you later. Te amo. Okay. Colin?”
“Hm?”
“I think it’s clean.” He took the dish I’d washed three times out of my hand and dried it. He tipped my chin up so I meet his gaze. “I probably should have confirmed that with you before I said anything.”
“What? No. I mean, no worries. I know that—that we’re… you know. Sure.”
“Well, you’re nervous rambling and you can’t even say the word ‘dating,’ so I think maybe it’s not fine.”
I shook my head and changed the subject, but things were awkward for the rest of the night and he hasn’t brought it up since. Of course, neither have I.
“YOU WANNA watch the game with us?” Brian asks as work is winding down.
I search my memory, trying to remember if Rafe is going to come over tonight. Maybe we’ll go running….
“Dude, what is your deal lately? You never want to hang out anymore. You don’t come in on Saturdays, and you never stick around after work.” Brian’s looking at his feet and twisting his shoulders nervously like he did when he was a little kid. “You too cool for me now, bro?” He says it like a joke and slugs me on the shoulder, but he looks hurt.
And he’s right. Usually, I’d hang out here with Brian and Pop after work on Saturdays and a few nights a week. We’d get pizza, have some beers, and watch whatever games were on, arguing about players and stats, adding our bottle caps or beer tops to the jars where Brian and I have measured our rival victories for years, until Pop fell asleep in the permanently reclined recliner. But the last month I’ve barely seen them outside of work and I hardly even noticed.
“Well, I’m definitely too cool for you,” I say, throwing an arm around Brian’s shoulders. Brian gives a weak smile but shrugs me off. “Sorry, man. It’s not like that. Um, yeah, let’s watch the game. Pizza sounds good.”