I shakily step aside and gesture for him to come in. He hesitates slightly then moves his eyes away from mine, looking ahead like he’s nervous, before stepping into the hallway. My hand trembles as I close the door behind me while Devon takes his shoes off.
Once he’s placed them neatly by my shoes, I lead him into the living room. It’s still relatively dark so I walk over to the coffee table and turn on the lamp before walking over to my Christmas tree and turning it on too.
*
‘When I’m big, I’m going to buy all the awesome superhero ornaments in the shops that my mum never lets me buy,’ I tell Devon as we sit at the base of my tree and ogle the presents underneath it, trying to guess what they are with our x-ray vision.
‘Me too. When we have our own house, it will be so cool. No one will tell us what to do. Our Christmas tree will be the best,’ Devon replies, flicking an ordinary gold bauble with his finger and watching it sway on the branch. My mum likes her tree elegant and themed; it’s always all gold and silver, and it’s rare that she lets my sticky six-year-old fingers help decorate it.
*
I absent-mindedly graze my fingertips over a plain silver bauble before turning to look at Devon. Strangely enough, something about him and his broad frame making my modest living room seem tiny makes me feel like all is right with the world once more. He adds something to my colourful, clean space but I’m not exactly sure what.
‘What was all that about yesterday, Scar?’ he asks, interrupting my thoughts. The only person who has called me “Scar” in the last ten years has been my dad. I move to the couch and take a seat, picking up a cushion and cuddling it to my chest as I tuck my feet up underneath myself in need of comfort and security. I don’t feel Ed would appreciate me scooping him out of his bowl for cuddles.
‘What was all what about?’ I retort, with a whole mix of stubbornness and fake innocence. If he’s referring to my outburst of questions, I stand by that I had every right to ask them.
Devon stays put, standing by my coffee table, his brown eyes wide, glaring at me.
‘It was a professional interview with cameras present and media personnel. You can’t do that,’ he explains, a hardness to his voice that I’m not accustomed to hearing from him.
‘I’m very sorry that I embarrassed you in front of a room full of people. I have absolutely no idea what that feels like,’ I say, my voice coming out a little higher, with sarcastic undertones, as memories of high school come flooding back. I squeeze my cushion tighter.
‘What do you mean? I’ve never embarrassed you.’ Devon’s voice comes out softer; concern flashes across his face. In one stride he’s sat on the couch next to me. I kick my feet out from underneath myself.
‘Really, D? You think that when you left, high school became a delightful paradise and all of a sudden Ruby took pity on me and her days of embarrassing me were magically over?’ I scoff, looking over to my tree. The headache from last night that I had managed to cure this morning with wonderful Christmassy thoughts is returning.
‘I don’t know,’ he replies, slowly. The care in his voice irks me. I focus on the glittering tinsel. ‘I just thought, maybe with growing up…’ he starts.
I turn back to look at him. ‘What? That they’d all just snap out of it, be nice to me and accept me?’ I enquire, gripping the cushion tighter still, trying to resist the urge to whack Devon across the head with it. I don’t think the new and mature Devon would appreciate that, though the urge is terrifyingly strong.
‘People can change,’ he offers in return; his hands look as though they are about to reach out and touch my knees before he thinks better of it and retracts them. I let out a breath that had apparently got stuck as I watched his movement. I shrug, not having a response to that. Thanks to the man before me, I’m not all that keen on change. While yes, the idea of Ruby changing overnight into someone whose main objection in life was not to make fun of me would have been pretty swell, I’d have preferred some things to have simply stayed the same, like my protection and sidekick not up and deserting me.
‘You seem like you’ve done well for yourself though. You work at the magazine – that’s cool. Are you drawing for them? I’ve kept an eye out for your comics, but I wasn’t sure if you’d changed your name. Do you have a pen name?’ With each question Devon asks, I get a glimpse of the old, enthusiastic Devon, who loves to talk and often does so with his hands. It’s unnerving. It can’t be this simple; opening up, chatting as if we were still sixteen, skirting over the fact that our lives are now worlds apart and have been for ten years. Am I supposed to just fill in the blanks and forget the past?
‘D, I can’t do this. Congratulations on your movie, on your life. I’m so happy it’s all worked out for you. I really am, but you left,’ I say, standing up and making towards the living room door. ‘You left and we’re different people now,’ I add, as I get to the door. Him thinking that my life turned out exactly as I had planned makes the disappointment I have in myself stir in my gut; it’s extremely unpleasant.
‘You never wrote back,’ Devon says, his words coming out quiet and vulnerable, making something twinge in my heart. I stop moving and go to retaliate, to make an excuse. He’s the one who hurt me, who lied and didn’t tell me he was leaving, but I come up empty. It had been too hard. I didn’t want to be pen pals; I wanted him with me. I couldn’t skateboard, deal with the school bullies or go to parties with a pen pal.
‘It was easier that way,’ I mumble, barely audible, not quite believing myself. Had it really been easier living a life pretending that Devon didn’t exist? No superheroes. No comic books. Had it all been worth it? If life had been better without him then why did I still think about him? Why did I struggle every year on the anniversary of his departure?
‘Easier?’ he scoffs. ‘Easier, for who?’ D murmurs. I don’t turn around; his voice sounds so defeated and hurt and it’s all because of me.
‘I’m going to make coffee,’ I splutter and shuffle into the kitchen. My familiar friend guilt is back. When I was sixteen, I hadn’t thought about how hard it would have been for Devon to leave. All I had heard was great opportunity this, fantastic opportunity that, and that New York had the most amazing schools. I didn’t listen to Devon saying he would miss me. I skimmed over the part in the letter where he talked about visiting. All I knew was that the person who had been by my side for sixteen years wasn’t by my side anymore and that it was painful, for me. He had hurt me.
*
‘Sssh, just don’t tell her, Scar,’ D pleads in a whisper.
‘She’s going to ask where your pocket money went and what am I supposed to say to my mum now?’ I ask, annoyed.
‘Just keep him hidden and don’t say anything. I’ll come and get him tomorrow. It won’t take long to clean my room.’ D goes over his spontaneous and terrible plan as he passes the hamster cage up to me whilst I’m balancing on the large tree branch outside my bedroom window. I could now add hamster smuggling to the list of things my mum could mark against me should she find out.
‘If my mum finds out, I swear I’ll…’ I start but D interrupts me.