“Do you want to meet them?”
I shrug. “I guess I don’t really have a choice, do I?”
Nathan stands up and peers over the edge of the roof into the backyard. “That’s a hefty drop, so … I’m thinking no.” Nathan offers me his hand again and helps me stand up. “They’re cool, I swear.”
“Okay.”
This isn’t really how I was planning on meeting Nathan’s parents. I’d imagined about a dozen different awkward encounters where I’d either call them by the wrong name, or not say my own right, or call them Mom and Dad by accident.
We walk back across the roof to his room. I almost fall again when I try to step through. At least this time the chances of falling tragically to my death are minimal. But Nathan catches me in his arms.
He’s really warm, and for a split second I can smell his sort of terrible cologne and his deodorant. I think that’s lime. It probably shouldn’t make for a good combination, but right now, it smells so good.
Oh, shit.
“Thank you.” I try to smile off everything and pull myself as far as I can.
“No problem.” He lets go of me slowly, his hands lingering just a little too long. No, wait. Stop, I’m being creepy again. “Hey, what if you stayed for dinner?”
“Um, sure. I don’t think Hannah would mind.”
“Nathan?” a voice shouts from below. “You home?”
“Yeah, be down in a second!” Nathan yells back, then he looks at me, holding out his hand. “Ready to go?”
I take it, slowly, and let him lead me out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
“So you’re Ben.” Nathan’s mother takes my hand, shaking it quickly. “I’m Joyce, and this is my husband, Robert. It’s nice to finally meet you. Nathan speaks very highly.” She winks, and I don’t know what that’s supposed to imply, but I don’t question it.
“He does?” I ask.
“Oh, here and there,” she says.
While he packs groceries into the refrigerator, Nathan’s dad says, “And every night at dinner, and before he goes to bed, and at breakfast.”
I turn to Nathan, who’s currently seated at the counter with his face buried in his hands, and God he’s so cute right now.
“I do not talk about him 24/7!” he argues.
“He’s right.” Mr. Allan folds up the leftover plastic bags and slips them into a small container under the sink. “He has to sleep sometime.”
“Oh, hardy har har.” Nathan rolls his eyes. Then he mouths Sorry. But I’m too busy laughing.
“So, Ben, did you want to join us for dinner?” Mrs. Allan asks.
“Um, sure,” I say. “If y’all don’t mind, that is.”
“Of course not!” Mrs. Allan leans against the counter. “We were just going to do pizza, if that’s okay with you? I’m too beat to cook tonight, work was a nightmare.”
I shrug. “I’m good with whatever.”
“Any dietary things I should know about? No meat, no cheese?”
“No, really, I’m good.”
“So, what have you boys been up to?” Mr. Allan asks. It doesn’t really sound accusatory, but there’s still that worry. Like what if they think we were fooling around upstairs or something?
“Just hanging out. I took him up to the roof.”
I’m actually kind of surprised Nathan doesn’t cover, like say we were studying or something. Nope. We were on the roof, meaning we had to be in his room before we were there. Totally alone, without any parental supervision.
“Oh, lord.” Mrs. Allan chuckles. “You mean you weren’t completely terrified?” she asks me.
“No.” I almost say wasn’t my first time, but I feel like that would be counterproductive. “I was at first, but it’s not so bad.”
“I do wish he’d quit doing that,” Mrs. Allan mutters. “Scares me half to death knowing he’s up there.”
“It’s not that dangerous,” Nathan says. “And I’m careful.”
“I know, I know.” Mrs. Allan ruffles the top of his head and kisses Nathan’s temple. “But you’ve still got me worried.”
“Do you want me to order?” Mr. Allan asks his wife, his phone already in his hand.
“Yes, honey. Just get a large cheese and a large pepperoni.”
“Got it. Huh? Oh, yes. I’d like to place an order …” Mr. Allan says into the phone before he starts walking down the hallway, his voice trailing off with him.
“So, how long have you been at Wake, Ben?” Mrs. Allan asks. I guess that means that Nathan hasn’t told them anything. Not that I thought he would; it’s just … nice to know he kept that secret.
“A few months now. I moved here in January.”
“Are you enjoying it?”
I shrug. “It’s nice. Different.”
“I was so nervous about Nathan going to a new school when we came here. It’s got to feel strange having to start all over. New friends, new classes, new teachers.”
“Yeah.” I lean back against the counter, eyeing Nathan.
“Do your parents like it here?”
“I live with my sister.” For some reason it feels impossible to lie to Mrs. Allan.
She doesn’t ask for details, like it’s not this super strange thing to her. But maybe it isn’t, plenty of people live with their siblings, I guess. “Does your sister like it?”
“Yeah, but she’s lived here for a while.” I can see her trying to connect the dots in her head. Whether or not she comes to the right conclusion, I’m not sure. Seems doubtful.
“I’m glad you and Nathan are friends. It’s tough to go through high school alone.”
“Okay, okay.” Nathan stands up. “Enough of the interrogation.”
“I was just asking questions,” Mrs. Allan protests.
“And Ben’s had a very busy day, so we’re going to go watch TV.”
“It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Allan,” I say, before Nathan grabs my hand.
“You too, Ben.” Then she has to shout because we’re already halfway down the hall. “We’ll call you down when dinner gets here!”
“Thanks, Mom!” Nathan shouts, and he takes me right back to his room. “I’m going to use the bathroom real quick, okay?”
“Okay.” I watch him vanish back down the hallway, and it dawns on me that I’m in Nathan Allan’s room all by myself.
My eyes catch all the titles lining his flooded shelves. I really just want to spend the better part of a day organizing all of these for him. There are at least five copies of Pride and Prejudice, all their covers battered and worn. I flip through one, but see that he’s written things in the margins, faded highlighter decorating entire passages.
I put it back down quickly. That feels too personal, almost like I’m peeping into his diary. The rest of the books range from fantasy to contemporary stories. I can even recognize a few of them.
There doesn’t seem to be any sort of organization though. Not by series, or author’s last name, or title. Even the heights of all the books are off. His desk is neat, at least, the screen saver of his laptop playing in the background.