Page 47 of Grief & Glitter

“They’d be crazy to not get you on the student roster. Did she see your WAG pictures?” Dad shouted to be heard over Arnaud gracing the locker room with a French rendition of “When I’m Sixty-Four” by the Beatles. The goalie danced about behind Gids and Dad, spinning in circles until someone chucked a jockstrap at his head.

“She did, and she said they were nice. I’m going to go bonkers waiting for a reply from them. The internet says to expect two to four weeks or even longer. Ugh.”

“We’ll keep you busy, don’t you worry,” Dad said with a wink then disappeared to go yell at someone spreading powder into the air. When the white cloud blew past Gids, I saw he was grinning at me widely.

“I’m so proud of you, Ryan. Are you coming to the rink now?”

“Maybe? I took a personal day so I can come watch skate.” I paused. “I’m in a skirt.”

“So what? Larry in maintenance just came through pushing a broom while wearing a rainbow clown wig and a red rubber nose. Why? Who the fuck knows?”

I snorted. “Well, if Larry can wear a wig and a rubber nose, I guess I’ll look tame in comparison.”

“Yeah, you will. Come down. I need to kiss you.”

There was no way I was not going to run to him when he wanted to kiss me. I wasn’t a total fool!

Chapter 16

Gideon

My phone buzzed somewhere under the couch cushion. I ignored it.

Ryan was stretched out against me, feet tucked under him, scrolling through makeup videos while I pretended to watch the end of some home renovation show I’d put on. I had no idea what happened to the house. There was a wall, then there wasn’t a wall, and someone cried over a kitchen island. Apparently, this was entertainment. I was having a better time playing with Ryan’s hair and inhaling the scent of him.

My phone buzzed again.

“Your friends are fighting,” Ryan said.

“They’re always fighting. And they’re our friends.”

He smiled as he glanced over. “What are they fighting about?”

“Bob decided a hot dog isn’t a sandwich.”

The argument had been going on for three days in the art group chat. Arnaud produced diagrams. Bob called the diagrams propaganda. Walker changed the group name to THIS IS NOT A FUCKING FOOD CHAT, and Arnaud changed it back within minutes. Chip made the mistake of mentioning tacos. That opened an entirely new front.

My phone buzzed a third time.

“See?” I said with a huff. “They’re still going.”

Ryan laughed and went back to his phone. I didn’t check mine, not then, and that was the part I kept coming back to afterward. Three buzzes and I hadn’t even looked.

We finished the show, and Ryan went upstairs first, since his nighttime routine apparently involved enough products to stock a small pharmacy while mine involved brushing my teeth and hoping for the best. I turned off the television, checked the doors, carried two empty glasses into the kitchen, and stood there a moment looking at the life I’d somehow started building without noticing. Ryan’s jacket hung over the back of a chair, his shoes sat by the door next to mine, and there was glitter dusted across the bathroom counter that I’d stopped bothering to wipe away. He hadn’t officially moved in, but every new trace of him I found made my heart a little happier than I was ready to admit.

“Are you coming?” he called from upstairs.

“Yeah.” I grabbed my phone off the couch. Twenty-three messages in the group chat, of course, and I swiped them away without reading a single one then stopped at the notification underneath.

NOAH

For a second, I only stared at my brother’s name.

Noah didn’t text me. I texted him every so often over the years: birthdays, Christmas, Ethan’s anniversary, and the occasional “saw this and thought of you” when something stupid reminded me of being kids. Sometimes I’d get the little notification telling me he’d read it, mostly not even that. He never answered. I never expected him to. I didn’t think I deserved one, not really. I was the one who’d let our brother die. Of course he hated me.

My thumb felt numb when I opened the message.

Noah: I’m sorry, Gid. I can’t keep doing this. Tell Dad I love him.