“Even Special Agent Fitzsimmons?” I tease her.
“Dad, too. My parents are so impressed with how you did with Nyall and how well you’re communicating with Joel. And my mom just thinks you’re so sweet to me. I think she got a little swoon-y.”
“Your mom?”
“Yeah.”
“Well. That sucks, because I don’t know if I like your family…” I glance at her briefly out of the corner of my eye, giving her a sour expression as I tease her. “It sucks snow cones, actually.”
“My family is awesome,” she says, nodding.
“They are. I like them a lot. I feel like I have two more brothers… and I hope, after this weekend, you feel like you’ve gained a few more, too.”
“Max will be here?” she asks me as I take the turn on the newly paved road to our lakefront property.
“Max, Jon, Livvy, Will, Shea… and some other cousins, aunts and uncles, I’m sure.”
“And why is it okay for us to stay together at the lake house?”
“Because Liv and Jon set a precedent when they were in college, and because this house isn’t a sacred space for my parents. The brownstone is off-limits. It’s the house we grew up in and the house they still live in. But this place? It’s kind of the party house anyway.”
She starts to laugh.
“What’s funny?”
“Your parents having a party house.”
“Blame my mom.” We drive past six parked cars before I take my spot in the garage.
“This place is crazy-town,” she tells me, not waiting for me to open the door for her. She wanders onto the lawn and looks up at the sprawling three-story mansion facing us. “The Hollands pretend to be all modest in Manhattan, but this is where the money is…”
“Well, our older lake house is actually pretty modest. This was a splurge, but as you can see from the cars and amount of guests, they needed a big place to accommodate the family. And it took Dad years to finally commit to spending money on this place.”
“Does he have more homes elsewhere?” she asks. I nod. “Investments, I’m sure…”
“Sure,” I say with a smile. “Believe me, he still gives away far more than he spends on us.”
“I do actually believe you. Are there servants to bring our bags in?”
“Servants? We don’t live in Downton Abbey, laureate. And last I checked, we brought two pretty small bags. I’m pretty sure I’m man enough to carry them in.”
“T! Get your ass in this house!”
“Callen?” I turn to the front door and see my friend standing on the porch. “What the hell are you doing here?” I point to the house. “Max is in there.”
“Max invited me.”
“No, he didn’t,” I say, stunned.
“He sure as fuck did.” He walks toward me. “Coalmine, I presume?”
“Dicklick, her name is Coley,” I tell him plainly. “And I can’t believe Max invited you.”
“He did,” he responds, looking at my girlfriend. “Excuse T’s language. It’s nice to meet you, Coley.”
“Callen McNare?” Her eyes are fixated on him.
“Yep,” he says. “Ya heard of me?”
She giggles nervously as I roll my eyes. The McNare name is so prevalent on buildings in Manhattan, it’s a wonder they haven’t changed the name of the borough yet.
“Thank God you’re gay,” I tell him. “I think she’s more infatuated with you than she was with me.”
“That’s not true,” she says, smacking me on the arm. “I just never expected to see Callen McNare here.” She shakes it off. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“Carry our bags,” I tell him, shoving them in his chest. He holds on to Coley’s pink bag, but lets mine fall to the ground. “Good to see you.” I reach for mine and lead the way into the house, listening to them talk about a news story Coley had seen about his father on the Internet a few days ago. As soon as I get inside, I leave them together and find Max, distractedly waving to my relatives as I pass them on the way.
“Mascot?” I ask him, pulling him into an unoccupied bedroom on the first floor and shutting the door. “What in the hell is Callen doing here?”
He shakes his head and starts to laugh, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. “So, Callen had texted me last week to find out when I was flying back for spring break, and we found out we were on the same flight. He asked me to come see his last game before the break on Friday. Told me he’d put me up in a hotel room in LA and take me to the airport the following morning. I was wondering how I was going to work out the whole get-to-my-flight logistical thing on Saturday, so it solved a problem for me. And it’s a UCLA game. They’re on fire this year–hell, he’s on fire. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see a game. So I said yes.
“He told me to leave my stuff at the hotel and to pick up my ticket at will-call at six-thirty. I knew the game didn’t start until eight, but I went anyway to watch the warm-up. So I get to the arena, and I have one ticket. Mid-court, front row. All the seats were filled–all of them–except mine. Makes no sense, right? The Bruins are good, but shit, nobody cares that much to watch them running drills, right?”
“Yeah, that’s weird.”
“Sit down. Watch this.” I stare at his phone curiously as he pulls up a YouTube video. It focuses on Max in the stands, then zooms out to get the crowd in the arena. Finally, after jumping around to a few different average looking fans in the stands, the camera settles on the empty court where the cheerleaders emerge, forming a circle around Joe Bruin, the mascot bear of Callen’s college. A fast-tempo drum-beat begins, and the camera goes back to Max’s face. He looks around, intrigued, first only with his eyes, but then he makes more of an effort, turning his head in all directions.
“That’s your song, isn’t it?” I ask him. “Yours and Callen's?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s going on?” I ask him.
“Watch.”
“But why are they focusing on you?”
“Watch, fucknut.”
“I’m watching!”
Ten seconds later, the opposite side of the arena stands up and starts singing and flailing their arms around. Meanwhile, the cheerleaders are being outshone by this bear that’s much more coordinated than I would expect a typical person in an animal suit to be. I'm used to seeing ungainly clown-types on the court, their main purpose to bring laughs to the audience. This one’s enthusiastic. I keep waiting for his head to fall off.
All of the dancers–the bear, included at the end–march up the mid-court line and each do a personal dance, seemingly for Max. Each one points at him, flirts with him. He’s laughing as the camera shifts back and forth from them to him and back again. Being the ham that he is, by the fourth dancer, he’s on his feet, dancing for them, too. He looks behind him after about twenty seconds, assuming everyone in the arena is on their feet since the other side is still performing some sort of routine, and is shocked to see no one else moving. He stops–but only for about four seconds.
It’s Max, after all. He’s never cared what people thought about him. When he starts dancing again, he hears roaring applause from his side of the arena. He glances around to see why, finally looking up at the Jumbotron to see his own image projected up there. He starts jumping up and down, pleased with the surprise. I can’t stop laughing at the joy on his face.
As the song nears its end, the bear does an impressive dance. By this time, the entire stadium is clapping with the rhythm. With the final beat, Joe Bruin climbs up onto the railing in front of Max, spotted by the entire team of cheerleaders with their pompons. He points to his head, the camera zooming in on the interaction between man and bear.
“What?” I can see Max ask him.
The bear points more aggressively until my friend puts his hands on the side of the oversized mask and lifts it over the head of the dancer.
“Oh, my God,” I say, covering my mouth as I burst out laughing.
Upon seeing
Callen, Max drops the poor bear’s head into the mass of gold and blue pompons, his eyes wide and his smile big. A hush comes over the crowd and someone places a microphone into a big, brown paw.
“Hey, Max,” Callen says, grinning and breathing heavily, his cheeks red–likely not only from exertion, but from embarrassment, too. This is not something Callen McNare does.
Max pulls the microphone toward him. “Holy –––.” Whoever posted the video decided his language wasn’t appropriate for its audience.
“Oh, my God!” I repeat, pausing the video. “That was really him dancing?”
“Yes!” he says.
“Oh, I have to watch that again–”
“Finish the damn thing first!” he yells, pressing play for me.
“I’ve been going through this dry spell,” Callen announces. “It’s lasted six-hundred-thirty-five days, to be exact.”
The exuberance quickly diminishes from Max’s face in the video. “That’s not my fault.”
“No,” Callen says. “I messed up a good thing. The best thing in my life. But I left the person I was back then on that island, Max, and I don’t miss him at all. I haven’t had a drink since then. I haven’t been on a date. I haven’t even wanted to be with anyone but you.”
The crowd cheers at his proclamations. While he waits for silence again, Callen steps out of the bear costume, revealing his UCLA basketball uniform. The crowd’s response is uproarious. He is their best player and has been since the first game he played his freshman year. He drops the mic to his side and leans in, speaking into Max’s ear.
“What’d he say to you?” I ask, hitting the pause button once more.
“He apologized for putting me on the spot like that, but he said I forced his hand by asking him not to call me and not wanting to see him. And all I was thinking to myself was–well, first, was that I was going to look like a monumental asshole if I just walked out of the arena on him, and secondly, that I couldn’t believe what he’d done for me. On the court, with that dance, and then with what he said… and then with the previous six-hundred-thirty-five days.”
I smile at him, continuing the video. Max takes the microphone from Callen and holds it between them. “Even if I told you I couldn’t forgive you, would you still love me?” he asks.
“You haven’t forgiven me yet, and I haven’t stopped loving you yet. Not for a second. But I’m more sorry than you will ever know, Mascot,” he says softly. “I want you back. And if me, dancing in a bear suit in front of nearly fourteen-thousand people isn’t enough, just tell me what else I can do to show you what I’m willing to do for you.”
“Will you put it on YouTube?”
Callen looks down between them briefly before looking up and nodding, bashful. “Yeah. YouTube’s fine.”
“Can I have your jersey? I have a thing for your jerseys… memories…”
When Callen ran away from home before our junior year of high school, it was reported that he’d last been seen in his jersey, but Max actually had the jersey; he and Callen had swapped shirts before he left town.
Callen takes his jersey off right in front of Max and hands it to him. In kind, Max removes his cherished Viola Beach t-shirt to trade with him. I think if people had bullhorns in the arena, they wouldn’t be heard over the screaming and cheering coming from the crowd at the sight of my two shirtless best friends.
“This is disgusting,” I tease him.
“You’re just jealous.”
After they slip on one another’s shirts, Callen swallows hard and looks at Max seriously. He takes a deep breath, looking around before speaking again. “Could you, um… do you think you could ever like me like you used to?”
Silence.
Dead silence.
I stare at the look on Max’s face. In the video, first. Then in person, because that’s how long it takes him to answer. Sitting in front of me, one corner of his lip raises.
“I still do,” he says. I shake my head, grinning, as the crowd loses it. My two friends kiss one another briefly, and then hold each other for about a minute before the video fades to black.
“That is awesome, Mascot,” I tell him before I give him a hug. “I’m… I’m so happy. Are you happy?”
“Yeah,” he says. “So happy.”
“I told yo–”
“Don’t you fucking say it.”
“Okay.”
“Trey!” my sister yells, busting through the door. “What the hell?”
“What?”
“Is that your girlfriend that came in with Callen?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not even going to introduce her to us? Do you know how rude that is?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, hurrying out of the room with Max. “I didn’t realize how long I’d be in here. Did you meet her?”
“No!” she says. “The poor thing is sitting in the front room by herself.”
“You didn’t talk to her?”
“I don’t know her!”
I stop and look at her. “Jon knows her. You couldn’t introduce yourself?”
“She’s writing stuff down in a book. Dear Diary. Trey is such a jerk to strand me here with a bunch of strangers.”
“Shut up, Liv. Coley,” I announce as soon as I see her. “I’m so sorry I left you like that…”
“It’s okay,” she says, closing her notebook and standing up.
“This is Livvy, my sister. Liv, this is my girlfriend, Coley. I’m sure she was writing poetry,” I explain to her.
“Yeah, I do that,” she says. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Livvy.”
Livvy smiles and nods, shaking her head.
“Are your parents here?” Coley asks me.
“They’re with the girls,” Livvy answers. “At the community paddling pool. It’s heated.”
“I wanted to thank them for letting you stay with my family this week,” she tells me.
“You need to apologize to Edie and Willow. They’ve been asking for him for the past five days,” my sister says to her. I look at her sideways.
“You don’t need to do either of those things,” I tell my girlfriend. “It was my choice.”
“Well, we missed you,” Livvy says.
“You’ve got us all weekend,” I say nonchalantly, picking up our bags and taking Coley’s hand in mine. “We’re going to get settled. Is everyone outside?”
“Around the fire pit.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“Don’t take too long,” she instructs me, bossy, leaving before she catches sight of my glare.
I turn to Coley. “I’m sorry about that. I’m not sure what her problem is.”
“How much did she like Zaina?”
I answer with a huff before leading her to my bedroom. Aside from a few of the girls’ toys, it’s spotless–apparently untouched since the last time I stayed overnight. “Welcome to your weekend getaway.”
“The view is beautiful. It’s a balcony?”
“Yeah. You can go out there.”
She steps outside and looks over the rail, then calls back to me. “Who are all those people?”
“Mostly cousins. Probably a few of my aunts and uncles.”
“I recognize Jon and Matty. Your uncle was nice to me before.”
“I’ll talk to Liv,” I tell her, picking up on her silent insinuation by the inflection of her words.
“You don’t need to. Let’s just give it some time.”
“She was a little cold, right? It wasn’t just me.”
“It was a little chilly.” I nod in her direction, taking my things out of my bag and putting them away in the closet and drawers. Coley joins me, making quick work of getting comfortable in my room. “Are you going to finish your novel this weekend?”
“Maybe. It depends on how much you want to distract me.” She wraps her arms around me and puckers her lips for a kiss. “How are you feeling?”
“I feel so much better after this week. So much better about Nya
ll.”
“You’ve seemed much better. Brighter eyes. Bigger smile.”
“You’ve been around a lot.”
“You’re not doing it for me, are you? For show?”
“No!” she clarifies. “I feel… up… around you.”
“As opposed to down?”
“A master with words, you are,” she teases me.
I kiss her again. “I’m glad, laureate. And I’m happy you haven’t shut me out while you’ve been going through this.”
“It has been my tendency in the past. Most guys don’t want a ‘mopey’ girlfriend. They don’t know what to do with depression. But in my heart, I know you can help. You have.”
“It just takes empathy, Coley. I always have plenty of that. I always will. Always talk to me. Always come to me.”
“I will,” she promises. I press my lips to the top of her head. “Can I meet some more people? You said Max was here. I want to see him.”
“Yeah. You have to watch the video he just showed me. It may inspire a little poetry–and make you think differently about Callen.” I laugh, remembering his energetic dance. “Let’s go downstairs.”
After making the rounds and introducing Coley to everyone at the house, we make room for ourselves at a large picnic table near the dock, joining Max, Callen, Jon, Livvy, Will, and his wife, Shea. Danny’s son, Finn, is there, too. Apparently, over the past week, he got back together with his college sweetheart, Katrina, who’s also one of Livvy’s best friends.
We sit down mid-conversation, so I zone out as Finn goes on talking about the experience he recently had buying a new house in Florida, where he settled after graduating from FSU. I consider the reactions each of my family members had at meeting my girlfriend. Some were kind and open, as I’d hoped they’d be. Others reacted much like Livvy did. They were distant and brief with their introductions. I can’t help but wonder if the video they undoubtedly saw changed their perception of her before they even met. It’s not fair.
Fortunately, everyone we’re with now–with the exception of my sister–was cordial and welcoming. Still, Coley’s meek and her body language shows her discomfort with the situation. I hold her hand under the table and nudge her shoulder with mine to show a little solidarity.