‘Hey, this is all your fault in the first place. She wouldn’t be monitoring me cleaning my room if you hadn’t decided we try and make our own fireworks last week. Now she thinks I’m hiding all sorts of dangerous objects.’
I try and hide a laugh as I climb over the ledge and secure the hamster cage in my cupboard. I cover it with my clothes, leaving just enough light for the tiny creature when Devon walks through my bedroom door, his hands tucked inside his rustling pockets. I move to close the door behind him.
‘We did it. Right I’ve got to go, Scar. Please look after him,’ Devon says, handing me the little ball of fur.
‘You don’t have to worry about a thing, I’ve got your back. If I go down…’ I say, confidently.
‘I’m going down with you,’ Devon finishes with a nod. I smile. ‘Bye, Steve Rogers,’ Devon says to the hamster in a squeaky baby voice before heading home.
*
The words ‘I’m going down with you’ rattle around in my head as I stir lashings of cold milk and peppermint syrup into two mugs of coffee. I breathe in the aroma to try and calm my nerves. I never thought I’d be nervous around Devon but then I didn’t think I would ever see him again either and here we are. I tentatively walk back into my living room and hand Devon his coffee.
‘Thank you,’ he says, taking the handle. I place mine on the coffee table and sprinkle a few flakes into Eddie’s bowl, having not fed him yet this morning.
‘What’s his name?’ Devon asks as I give Eddie a one-finger wave through the glass before taking my seat.
‘Eddie,’ I say, leaning over to get my mug. I take a hearty sip. Devon quirks an eyebrow. It’s not exactly the Steve Rogers of names I know, but I like it. I keep my answer short as I watch my once-upon-a-time best friend in his smart attire smell the mug before hesitantly taking a sip. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve gone off peppermint coffee? We used to get it from Rolphs’ Bakery every Christmas,’ I say, somewhat amused by Devon’s actions.
‘It’s been a while,’ he replies, puckering his lips at the sweetness. The elephant in the room returns with a heavy thud. A part of me wants to brush ten years under the rug and it’s a huge part of me. I just want to let it all out and chit-chat, but the other part of me is terrified to do so.
‘I’ve missed you, Scar,’ Devon tells me after a minute’s silence. His eyes are trained on his coffee mug.
‘When do you leave?’ I hear myself asking and it comes out harder than I had intended. My wall goes up immediately, reminding me that catching up is not a good idea, not when I assume Devon is only visiting for a short while to make his documentary. Suddenly Devon’s bottom lip juts out slightly, which is the tell-tale sign that I may have gone too far, that Devon is sad, and he is close to tears. Devon is more emotional than me; he always has been. It takes a lot to make me cry, like my best friend leaving without warning, but I’d never let anyone see my tears. But Devon is not my best friend anymore. His tears won’t affect me now; my best friend duties are in the past.
‘I leave next Sunday,’ Devon informs me and I feel like I’m sixteen all over again. I pass my mug back and forth between my hands, taking turns to wipe away their clamminess on the cushion. ‘Maybe we can hang out?’ Devon pipes up, looking at me with his puppy-dog brown eyes.
I raise an eyebrow and slurp my coffee, going over this proposition. My thoughts are currently at war with each other. On the one hand I can’t fake the ease that keeps sneaking into my heart or the buzz of joy that keeps fluttering around in my stomach with being in Devon’s company again; just like old times. And on the other hand, how can I trust that this is a good idea?
I can feel my inner child fighting to get out, ready to throw a tantrum if I don’t stop being so stubborn and not let Devon in. When he looks at me with those familiar eyes it makes me want to pull out my Superman cape, tie it around my neck and believe I can fly; then a second later I want to tie it around Devon and strangle him with it.
‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea,’ I say, trying to sound diplomatic, not wanting to cause any more hurt, to either of us.
For a moment silence descends on my cosy living room as we sit and stare at each other.
‘You don’t want to hang out with a superhero?’ Devon says, a playful smile threatening his lips, a sparkle breaking through the shadows in his eyes.
‘I’d only feel inferior. I’m no superhero,’ I say matter-of-fact, my lips twisting into a small grin. I’m happy for him, of course I am. I can’t deny the sting that we didn’t do it together, but my former best friend is a bloody superhero with cardboard cut-outs, posters bigger than me and full spandex attire.
‘Yeah, well superheroes wear pants, Scar. You should probably start with those,’ Devon says with a mischievous smirk and a twinkle in his eye. I look down and suddenly become conscious of my outfit: my oversized tee is resting at the top of my thighs, my tiny boy shorts visible. I jump up off the couch, lobbing a cushion at Devon as I do so. He shoots his hands out in front of him to stop my attempt at thumping him in his grown-up muscled bicep. His hands are large and too strong to get past and so I give up and race to my bedroom to grab a pair of shorts. My cheeks feel flushed for no reason as I rummage through my wardrobe. It’s just Devon, it’s not exactly a big deal – we used to have baths together.
‘You just let me sit there the entire time, you…’ I shout, halfway down the stairs, a nervous giggle creeping up my throat as I make my way back into the living room. The minute I walk through the door I freeze.
Devon has a shy smile plastered on his face and is stood awkwardly next to the couch, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. I peel my eyes away from him to the reason I have a chill down my spine. Hope is standing in the living room doorway.
6
I am pacing the kitchen making more coffee for my guests, wondering if it’s too early in the morning to make mine an Irish one. Through the hall I can hear Devon being his usual hyperactive self, answering Hope’s questions while showing great interest in her job at the magazine; it seems some things have stayed the same: he’s still a people person and a chatterbox when there are no cameras about.
When I had initially seen Hope in my living room, I had hastily excused myself to allow my best friend and former best friend to get better acquainted; and to avoid the onslaught of questions. When I hear Hope laughing – a high pitch giggle – I’m not quite sure if that was a good idea, especially when I re-enter the room and she shoots me daggers; apparently all her warmth and charm is being saved for Devon this morning.
I place the tray on my coffee table, a black coffee with one sugar for Devon. He smiles when he sees it. Hope grabs her peppermint latte in her cacti-print mug and crosses her legs on the deep turquoise chair to the side of the couch. All iciness evaporates when she takes her eyes off me and secures them on Devon once more.
I pick up my own coffee, glancing from Devon to Hope as I take a seat, back in my spot on the couch. Devon simply watches me. I can hear what must be his phone buzzing in his pocket; it’s beeped like twenty times, but he doesn’t make to answer it. Then Hope speaks up.