For the first time in ten years I picture him stood lonely in the school hallways, with no one to hang out with, away from home, instead of my usual imagery of him swanning off to New York, becoming fast friends with every kid on the playground and happily forgetting all about me. My stomach knots guiltily.
‘Any American girls capture your British heart?’ Hope asks boldly. Devon blushes a deep shade of red.
‘Dude, you probably have girls throwing themselves at you,’ Jess comments, tucking into the olives.
I try and settle the sudden weird, uncomfortable feeling of guilt and I don’t know what in my stomach with a piece of pita. I haven’t eaten since lunch and my stomach is suddenly scolding me for it with all its odd rumbles and squirming. I catch Hope looking at me from the corner of my eye and smile and raise my pita at her in thanks, while Devon mumbles through an answer.
It occurs to me to save him from being put on the spot like this, like when we were kids and he forgot to do his homework. I was used to his mum’s disappointed looks, but Devon was not. His mother had high and strict standards and Devon hated to upset her. It was usually my fault his homework had been forgotten. Forgive me for thinking that the safety of Springhollow ranked as a higher priority than maths. But I don’t say anything and there’s a small part of me that is intrigued by his answer. He’s grown rather tall. He’s got those dark features and looks handsome in a suit, which is what women apparently go for.
‘Erm ha, me? No, not really,’ Devon humbly replies.
‘So, there’s no special someone in your life?’ Hope pushes. Devon shuffles on the couch, his shoulders stiffen and his hand rubs at the back of his neck.
‘No, no special someone,’ he replies quietly, cheeks ablaze.
‘Do you prefer Christmas in New York or Christmas in Springhollow?’ I blurt out, sitting up straighter, unable to sit back and watch Devon sweat for much longer. He used to be a lot better with the mushy-gushy, best friends for life stuff, but talking about women has him looking hot under his collarless shirt.
His shoulders fall a few inches as he helps himself to some bread and when he turns to face me the red in his cheeks slowly starts to fade and he relaxes once more.
‘You’re going to hate me but, well, both,’ D answers, all excitement back on his features. I gasp, mock horrified.
‘No, it cannot be. There is nowhere on earth that does Christmas like Springhollow,’ I protest.
‘Ahh, but, Scar, New York has this magic and the Rockefeller tree is spectacular; like nothing you have ever seen before.’ Devon’s eyes light up in wonder.
‘We have a tree,’ I argue, playfully, nibbling on more pita.
‘Yeah, I know.’ Devon tilts his head from side to side, the dimple in his right cheek growing more prominent. ‘But it doesn’t quite compare to the Rockefeller tree. It’s gigantic and sparkles from every branch.’
I pop an olive in my mouth. ‘Our tree sparkles and it doesn’t have to be big or the biggest to be awesome. It’s not the size that matters.’
Hope chokes on her hummus and Devon’s cheeks return to a lovely rosy hue.
‘And with that, I think dinner is ready,’ Hope says, standing. It takes me a minute to register what I just said and how my wonderful friends could have turned it into something inappropriate. I nod awkwardly at Devon who lets out a laugh, shakes his head and stands.
‘After you,’ he says with a smirk. It’s my turn to blush as I clamber off the couch, only meeting his chest when I stand. I automatically punch him in the bicep and tut at his teasing smugness.
‘What was that for?’ He laughs, rubbing his arm. ‘You always did have a way with words,’ he adds shoving me towards the door before I can respond with another playful jab.
13
Hope hands me a glass of wine as I take my seat at the table. Devon sits next to me, Hope and Jess across from us. I take a few big gulps to cool the burning in my cheeks and see Hope smirk out of the corner of my eye.
‘To second chances and new beginnings,’ she announces, raising her glass. I clink mine against hers and the boys’ pint glasses, rolling my eyes at her toast, but my stomach rumbles again so instead of analysing her words I choose to dig in.
Hope has made a delicious feast of salmon, asparagus, roast potatoes and cauliflower cheese and every bite is scrumptious. There’s a big quiet as we all take a couple of moments to simply enjoy the food before us. Before long I’m on my second glass of red wine and have loaded my plate with a few extra trimmings of roast potatoes and cauliflower cheese and everyone is chatting merrily.
‘You two must have had some fun Christmases together when you were kids?’ Hope sits back having finished her one plate. I finish my bite of potato, its buttery flavour and the wine make me feel deliriously happy.
‘Remember that Christmas we tied Thor to the neighbourhood cat, and she didn’t like it too much and took off through my house, knocking all the baubles and pines off the entire bottom half of the tree?’ I reply, leaning back in my chair and looking at Devon. He too is relaxed, beer in hand, eyes glassy from yummy starchy potatoes and creamy veg.
‘Then your mum banned the real trees after that, and you were only allowed fake ones.’ Devon lets out a laugh.
‘She wasn’t best pleased.’ I shake my head, laughing, and take a sip of wine.
‘What about that time on the construction site when we got stuck on the roof and your dad got mad at us for peering off the scaffold?’ Devon reminisces with a smile on his lips.
I cringe. ‘I don’t know who took the heat worse for that one: us or Dad. Our mums were fuming.’ I can’t help chuckle at the memory and the fact that my dad still calls us his favourite tag team and likes the idea of seeing the two of us together again, when I’m pretty sure Mum didn’t talk to him for two weeks after that particular incident.
‘You two sound like right troublemakers,’ Jess notes. Both him and Hope are sat grinning at our misdemeanours.
‘Arrgh, it was all in the name of fighting the good fight and keeping down the crime rate in Springhollow.’ Devon shrugs.
Hope bursts out laughing. ‘I’ve never known Springhollow to even have crime,’ she says.
‘You’re welcome,’ I say with a nod of my head, holding up my wine glass, which causes Devon to laugh his loud and hearty laugh that has grown deeper with age.
I see Hope studying both Devon and me. Her lips are pursed her eyes are narrowed and then a smile spreads across her face and she stands. ‘I’ll get dessert.’
Devon helps her clear the table while I refill both mine and Hope’s glasses before Jess places two cold beers on the table and takes his seat, looking all the more relaxed in Devon’s company now than he did two nights ago at the pub.
‘So, what’s it like having a superhero for tea?’ I ask, teasing him only a little.
‘By the sounds of it we have two. Why did you keep it from us all these years?’ Jess asks, a thoughtful, concerned look on his boyish face. I’ve briefly explained myself to Hope and even though I have no problems turning to Jess for advice on day-to-day problems or asking for his help when say there’s a giant spider in my house, it’s hard for me to admit that I kept Devon and my love of superheroes from them out of anger and fear. That and it was hard to explain it to them when I couldn’t even understand it all myself. Thinking about it now, it seems absurd that I punished myself with no drawing or comic books and abstained from all the movies I once loved, but it had become a coping mechanism, my way of trying to get Devon out of my head. Would Jess understand that?