summer his mother had died. The summer all the restrictions on us were lifted and we ran wild through La Crosse, two lost, grieving boys with only each other to turn to. Our friendship had always been solid, literally born into us, an extension of our mothers’ love, but That Summer it had bloomed into so much more.
We’d had no idea it would be dead by Christmas, killed by fear and youth and uncertainty.
And looking back now, I knew it had been love. Young love, first love, but no less real for that. And I had to hope that the roots were still there, maybe dormant but definitely solid and healthy. I needed it. I needed Eric more than oxygen. If he could give us a chance, I would make it work. Starting today.
“What time do you have to be back at the rink?” I asked.
“I don’t,” he said through a mouthful of breaded shrimp. “As someone reminded me recently, I’m the boss. Plus it’s Saturday.”
“In that case, why were you even there?”
He shrugged. “Not like I have a lot of other things to do with my time.” He pointed the remote at the TV. “You’re sure you want to watch this one?” he asked of the movie I had selected.
“I can’t even believe you would question my choice. ‘Cars’ is a masterpiece of modern cinema.”
“I’m not arguing against Lightning McQueen’s status as both the hero we deserve and the one we got, I just didn’t know if it was part of the Carson Grieves oeuvre.”
Fuck that guy, I wanted to say. “Just start it, Tiny.”
We inhaled the food as if neither of us had eaten in six months, scraping the plates for the last drop of sauce.
“Oh my God,” Eric moaned, leaning back against the couch with a hand over his stomach. “That was amazing. I want to go back already. I wonder if they have desserts. Oh, do you think they do brunch? Beignets and all?” He looked so excited about the possibility.
“We’ll find out.” I stood up and gathered up the plates.
“Just put the dishes in the dishwasher,” he said.
“Okay, do you want another beer?”
“Please.”
Eric sat in the curve of the sectional, the long swaths of couch stretched out on either side of him inviting me to lie down, put my head on his lap the way I used to. I didn’t, choosing instead to sit in the middle of one of the sections, not touching him, but not far either. I handed him his beer, and we tapped them together. “Cheers.”
We watched in silence as I tried to figure out what to do next. Sitting next to Eric, wanting to touch but not daring to was giving me flashbacks. I remembered endless afternoons watching TV in his basement in the days before our first kiss, trying to hide my erection, and tortured by the nearness of his body, with the smell of his sweat and body wash. I remembered the first day I’d noticed he was hard, too.
The next day, he’d followed me into the shed, pushed me up against the hot metal wall, and kissed an orgasm out of me. It still ranked as one of the single hottest moments of my life.
I must have switched positions one time too many, because Eric sighed, held up his arm, and patted his leg. “Come on. Lie down. I know you want to.” He didn’t look at me as he did. Seemed I wasn’t the only one remembering the past.
“I don’t know,” I said, teasing. “What if your dad walks in? Is he going to kick me out again?”
“He doesn’t have a key.”
“That’s a lie.” Eric was forever losing keys or locking himself out. He couldn’t be trusted with only one key.
“Fine. But he doesn’t just show up unannounced.”
“Fine,” I said as if I were doing him a favor. He smiled as if maybe I was.
I placed one of the throw pillows on his lap, and he dragged the knit afghan off the back of the couch and tucked it around me. Of course, it was the same one that had been in his basement all those years ago.
As soon as I was settled on my side, my head in his lap, the black cat curled up behind my knees. The other one sat perched on the back of the couch, draping himself around Eric’s neck like a living scarf.
I had a full belly, a little buzz from the beer, and Eric with his arm draped over