The Summer of Everything

by Julian Winters

  “What’re you two up to?” Anna asks, riffling through the cheese puffs while looking around the room.

  This is the first time she’s been to the loft. Cooper too. Wes’s never invited any of his friends over other than Nico. Even Ella took at least a summer before Wes admitted where he lived. He’s always kept this unconscious barrier between himself and the people he likes.

  “Nothing,” replies Wes. Ella continues to burn a hole through his skull with her eyes.

  Cooper clears his throat. “We’re discussing the future. Specifically, the future of Wes Hudson, son of the great Savannah Kirk.”

  “Perfect timing then.” Ella smirks at Wes.

  His head cocks so far to the right, it almost detaches from his neck. “Is it?”

  Ella nods, finishing her iced coffee.

  He squints at Cooper. Then Anna. Wes studies each of them, suspicious, before he asks, “Is this my intervention? Was this planned?”

  He’s spent copious amounts of time on YouTube, scanning through suggested videos when business has been slow at the bookstore. Wes knows that when someone’s friends—even the ones who currently hate them— “unexpectedly” turn up for a group conversation about that person, it’s a sign they’re going to rehab.

  “No,” Cooper says as Anna declares, “Yes!”

  “Coop, how could you?” Wes accuses, snatching the near-empty bag of cheese puffs from his dirty, tangerine fingers.

  “I didn’t!”

  “He didn’t,” Ella confirms. She crosses her legs, hands in her lap. “This wasn’t planned. But it’s been discussed.”

  “By who?”

  “All of us.”

  “Bullshit.” Even though they’re on radio silence, Wes is certain Nico wouldn’t participate in any discussion like that. Zay too. Gossip in any form isn’t their M.O.

  “Fine,” Ella huffs. “Me and Anna. Today, at Brews and Views.”

  Anna gives a guilty nod. Cooper sits, arms folded, pouting. It’s not until Wes passes back the bag with apologetic eyes that Cooper grins, all forgiven.

  “Why?” Wes asks, his voice small and distant.

  “Newsflash, dude,” Ella says, her eyes set into a glare that could destroy entire armies. “I’m not the fat, sarcastic sidekick in your Taylor Swift-esque love story, okay? I’m not the marginally cute friend who gets to vicariously live her fantasies through your trope-filled, cliché coming of age arc. I’m your best friend. That guarantees me, at the minimum, fifty percent of your self-growth and Molly Ringwald happy ending.”

  Wes laments spending an entire weekend last summer devouring the John Hughes ‘80s films because, according to some clueless commentator on Reddit, they were “the films of this entire generation.” Wrong. They were mildly funny, predictable, hella racist and problematic, with some killer dialogue and tingly romantic moments.

  “There’s not much to discuss,” Wes says indifferently.

  “Ha.” Cooper’s smiling mouth is crusted in cheese dust.

  Kindly, Wes flips him off.

  “I’m thinking about going into teaching,” Ella says, shaking the ice around in her cup. Their eyes immediately shift to her. “I think I could be good at it,” she declares, unblinking. “You saw how I was with Cassie.”

  One customer out of two hundred isn’t exactly a winning record, but Wes will never forget Cassie’s expression when she left the bookstore.

  “A school counselor,” he suggests.

  “Yes! You could put up all of those inspirational posters on your office walls,” Cooper says ecstatically. “Aww, ones with kitties on them.”

  “Or I could just mount your head to the wall as a warning not to piss Ms. Graham off,” Ella counters.

  Cooper sinks into the sofa, face scrunched.

  “Anyway,” Ella turns back to Wes, “I love working with the younger generation.”

  “Okay. Calm down, grandma.” He chuckles. “You’re only eighteen.”

  Ella gives him a double middle finger salute.

  “What about you?” Wes asks Anna. “What’re you gonna do when the store closes?”

  There, he’s said it out loud. Two months ago, Wes would’ve had to lock himself in a bathroom, struggling to breathe, before he’d accept the bookstore’s closing. But he’s being an adult. Wes is taking this like a champ, pretending that mist that’s clouding his vision and the soreness in his throat aren’t there.

  Anna taps her chin thoughtfully. “I’ll finish school and then maybe work at a bank? I could manage a branch. I’m good with money.”

  She is. It’s the management part Wes thinks could use some extra care. But Anna’s held up well while Mrs. Rossi has been M.I.A., so he decides to let it slide.

  Their eyes turn on Cooper. He shakes his head. “Don’t look at me. I’m sixteen. I just figured out what pizza topping I like best.”

  “Lies,” Ella says, reaching over to steal the bag. It’s empty. “Just last week it took you ten minutes to decide if you wanted marinara or white sauce.”

  “Still.” Cooper angles his body in Wes’s direction. “Aren’t we allowed to change our minds about things? As much as I love my parents, I’m pretty sure they have no clue what they’re doing half the time.”

  “Well, we know my parental figures sure as hell don’t know what they’re doing,” Ella says, eyeing Wes.

  His cheeks warm. “I’m sorry about—”

  “I’m not mad about it,” Ella interjects. She lowers her chin and picks at her nail polish. “I think I was more pissed because someone else called me on my own shit.”

  They’re all quiet for a moment. Then Cooper says, “My mom’s quit smoking sixteen times in six months.”

  Anna, nodding, says, “I haven’t seen my mom in seven years. She likes to bail on responsibility. And my dad’s kind of a wreck when it comes to taking care of himself.”

  “So,” Ella says, popping her gum, “All of our parents are still making bad choices.”

  Wes slouches. The tightness behind his ribs loosens.

  “I like Kyra,” Anna says, unexpectedly. Then, sheepishly, she whispers, “I really, really like her.”

  “Oh-kay,” Ella sings.

  “Sorry. I thought we were having one of those confessional moments.”

  “I mean, yeah. Sure.” Ella pats Anna’s shoulder. “Good for you. And her.”

  “I’m aroace,” Cooper says, eyes bright, a soft flush to his face. He drags a hand over his hair, staining it orange. “I just thought—uh. I wanted to share that.”

  Ella tilts her head, eyebrows lowered.

  Cooper tenses.

  Then, Ella pats Cooper’s shoulder too. “That’s awesome, kiddo.”

  Simultaneously, Cooper and Wes exhale. Ella stares at Wes. “Since we’re all sharing stuff, is there anything you’d like to add?”

  “Um.” Wes lowers his eyes while dusting cheese crumbs from his onesie.

  “Fine,” Ella says dramatically. Head titled back, she squints at the ceiling. “I was—I am mad with Mrs. Rossi. Not just because the bookstore’s closing, but because…” Her voice catches. She blinks and blinks. “Because she’s the closest thing I have to a mom. To a role model. And she’s just giving up. I want her to fight, but she’s not.”

  A thick wall of silence closes in around them. Cooper eyes the empty cheese puff bag. Cautiously, Anna has slipped an arm around Ella’s shoulder. Wes counts Ella’s sniffs. Five. It’s the only thing grounding him.

  “Maybe she did,” Anna says. “She’s a tough cookie.”

  “She has to be to deal with you, El,” says Wes, stretching his leg out to kick her knee.

  Cooper bumps her shoulder, whispering, “That’s why you’re so awesome.”

  “Ugh. Quit trying to win cool points with me.” Ella leans into him; a single tear leaves a black trai
l down her left cheek.

  Wes clears his throat. He has no clue what he’s doing. His heart leapfrogs into his throat, but he says, “I like Nico. A lot.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” Ella asks, craning in his direction.

  “I said—”

  “A little louder, please.”

  Anna giggles into her hands; her hair falls across her face. Cooper raises his phone, playing music. Anyone who’s ever said The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven” isn’t the ultimate feel-good song is the biggest liar.

  “Come on, Molly Ringwald,” says Ella. “Scream it for all the losers pining everywhere.”

  Wrinkling his nose, Wes almost pretends he never said anything. But what for? It’s not as if he’s had the guts to at least say this to Nico’s face. He might as well shout it to his friends. “I have the biggest, middle school crush on Nicolás Alvarez!”

  “Again!” Cooper and Anna yell simultaneously.

  “I love Nicolás Alvarez!”

  They all crack up. When the laughter dies down, Wes’s stomach is too tight for him to breathe. Ella squeezes his forearm and says, “For the record, I was always Team Nico.”

  They dissolve into laughter again. It’s the best Wes’s felt in seventy-two hours.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Steam swirls in a thin cloud from the mug of tea sitting in front of Wes. Engraved in the ceramic is the Brews and Views logo. He eyes it suspiciously. It smells good, an earthy bold flavor. Oolong, possibly. And Wes is ninety-nine percent certain it’s poisoned.

  Across from him, Leo stares, one eyebrow raised, his mouth twitching impatiently.

  “There’s cyanide in here, right?” Wes gestures toward the mug. It was sitting at the table waiting for Wes before he arrived.

  “No.”

  “Odorless horse tranquilizers? Arsenic? Heroin?” Tentatively, Wes sniffs, then sips the tea. He’s not experiencing any instant numbness. He’s not lightheaded. There could be delayed symptoms, but for now, the tea’s… incredible.

  “It’s regular, boring, overpriced oolong,” Leo confirms, sipping his own extra dry cappuccino. It’s decaf and made with almond milk, not because Leo’s lactose intolerant, but because he’s just a complicated, pretentious dick.

  Slurping his tea, Wes studies Leo. The first two buttons of his starched white shirt are undone; his sleeves are bunched at his elbows. He hasn’t shaved. His tie’s loose. Honestly, he looks a mess.

  “Sup with you?”

  “Interning, studying for the LSAT, and trying to ensure your fiancée doesn’t have an aneurysm over your ideal wedding venue being booked two years in advance is detrimental to my health.” Leo wipes at his foam moustache. “At least the coffee’s good.”

  “Sorry,” Wes says, sounding anything but that.

  “You haven’t answered any of my texts.” Leo folds his arms on the table.

  “Been busy. Planning a funeral for your childhood fantasies is a lot of work.”

  “Wes,” Leo tries.

  “Is that why you invited me here?” Wes asks, voice hard. “You need me to return to my wedding duties?”

  “Leeann misses you,” Leo says softly. “And you haven’t answered any of her calls either. That’s not like you.”

  Wes rolls his eyes. Leeann’s a narc. She’s sold Wes out to his own demonic kin.

  “So, what? You’re here to play nice?” Wes hisses, almost burning his tongue as he gulps tea. “This pretend, ‘I care so much’ version of Leo? You can keep it. I’m good.”

  “No,” Leo says, low and defeated. They’re seated in a far corner, close to the large storefront windows. Sunlight pours over them. The rain’s finally left. In its wake, a milder August warmth has emerged. Leo squints at the people passing by outside. “I don’t really know how to be the brother I should be to you.”

  “What?”

  Leo drags a finger around the rim of his mug. “We’re so different,” he says. “When we were growing up, I felt like I had to protect you. We liked different stuff. Different things set us off.”

  He clears his throat, eyes on the table. “The kids my age would make fun of you.”

  Wes flops back in his chair. “Okay.”

  Behind the bar, Kyra’s not-so-secretly watching over them. Beyoncé plays on the speakers, and she’s singing along. But her eyes never leave Wes’s face. She’s waiting for any indication to jump in. Wes loves her for that, but he needs to hear Leo out.

  “I tried to make you less… you,” Leo says, voice dropping in shame. “I tried to make you like different things. Act a certain way. I was hard on you, hoping you’d get the hint that I didn’t want to give anyone a reason to pick on you.”

  “Ha.” Wes’s forehead wrinkles. “How’d that work out for you?”

  Leo exhales. “They still made fun of you. So, I thought if I pushed you far enough away, they wouldn’t be able to talk shit about you. You wouldn’t be around. They’d find a new target.”

  “And?”

  “They did.” Leo’s eyes finally lift, soft and glassy. “But by then, the distance between us was so big, I didn’t know how to bring you back.”

  Poisoned or not, Wes sips his tea. It burns in the way he needs. He tries not to remember what it was like to have Leo shout at him or slam his bedroom door in Wes’s face. It doesn’t work. He can recall every time Leo wouldn’t let Wes follow him and his “friends” to the beach, every moment Wes wanted to share a new comic with Leo, but he wasn’t there.

  “I wasn’t a good brother back then,” Leo admits. “Or now. There are times when I don’t know the right things to say.”

  “Yeah, well.” The heat from the tea barely dissolves the lump in Wes’s throat.

  “But you’re still my brother.” Leo frowns. “I give a shit about you.”

  Wes snorts. But the honesty in Leo’s guilt-stricken eyes is unavoidable. Wes blinks until that sheen dampening his eyelashes passes. “I know,” he says tightly.

  A quiet filled by Beyoncé’s voice settles over their table. Wes refuses to cry. But that eight-year-old version of himself crawls out of the shadows Leo put him in, warming Wes’s chest, making him wish they’d said any of this to each other sooner.

  “I need a best man.”

  Wes sits up, shoulders drawn like a boss. “Are you asking or telling me?”

  “I’m trying,” Leo says, incredulous.

  “It’s a weak effort.”

  Leo gags; his body shifts as if he’s two seconds from reaching across the table and duffing Wes on the shoulder. But he doesn’t. “Well?”

  “Am I allowed to quote Green Day during the reception toast?” Wes wonders.

  “Hell no.”

  “You’re a dick,” Wes mumbles.

  “Thanks. I’d hate to disappoint you.”

  A laugh floods Wes’s mouth. Who is this alien?

  “Are you gonna ask Nico to be your date?” Leo leans back, his expression relaxed.

  Wes’s the one choking this time.

  “Don’t act, bro,” says Leo. He takes a quick sip of his drink. “You know you want to.”

  Wes face-palms, groaning. Of course Leo knows. Of course, the universe has let everyone in on Wes’s secret except the one person who should know.

  “I have no clue what to do,” he mumbles into his hands.

  “Wes,” Leo says, “If the worst thing you do in this lifetime is fall in love with your best friend, then I’d say you’re doing pretty damn good.”

  * * *

  On his lunch break, Wes sneaks into the alley behind Paseo Del Mar. He squats, spine pressed to the pastel pink wall, while scrolling through his contacts. He inhales deeply for courage before pressing the FaceTime button. It takes two rings before the video comes in fuzzy, then crisp.

  “Wesley?”

  And there he i
s, Calvin Hudson, droopy eyes deep brown with green flecks around the outermost parts of his irises. His hair’s cut close; the shadow of a beard and mustache outline his mouth. There’s a touch of gray in the black. His voice’s groggy, but so warm.

  “Hey, Daddy.”

  Damn, how long has it been since he called Calvin that? How long since he’s felt this vulnerable, a man-sized shell of a body containing a five-year-old desperate to crawl into his father’s lap for tea and cartoons.

  “Are you okay?” Calvin looks down, probably to check the time. “Are you at work?”

  “Ye-Yeah,” Wes stutters, smiling with all the muscles that’ll cooperate.

  “Mrs. Rossi good?”

  Wes doesn’t know. She’s taken another unplanned day off. Technically, he’s in charge, but he has the slightest faith Ella and Cooper won’t burn the store down in the next ten minutes.

  “Yeah, she’s fine.”

  Calvin hums; the camera shifts until Wes gets an up-close-and-weird view of him. He’s always been strange about FaceTime. He doesn’t understand the concept of keeping the phone still or what to do when the picture freezes and always holds the lens too close, as if it’ll make the moment more personal rather than awkward.

  “How’s the restaurant?” Wes asks, killing time until he can corral courage.

  “Good, good. But I can’t wait to get back home. They’ll be fine without me here.”

  Wes loves the confidence in Calvin’s voice. It’s taken him years to get to the point where he trusts anyone else to manage one of his projects.

  “Did you get my texts?”

  This is the point Wes’s been avoiding. For weeks, he’s kept Calvin on hold. Or he’s skirted the subject of school. But after talking to Leo, he knows this is what he needs to do. Thankfully, Leo’s got his back. He even offered to call their parents for Wes.

  But Wes needs to own this.

  “About that.” Wes scratches his cheek.

  Calvin hums again. The camera pans back as he lifts a cup to his mouth, slurping.

  “Is that tea?”