Extra Credit

by Sarina Bowen

  My birthday has never been so loud.

  I just sit there with my mouth hanging open as Bella draws closer. It’s a big cake—rectangular but tall. When she finally sets it down in front of me, I can finally make out its shape. It’s styled like a book. ROGET’S THESAURUS, it reads. EDIBLE EDITION.

  It’s the cutest thing I have ever seen in my entire life. And Pepe is grinning and singing a very enthusiastic but slightly off key version of Happy Birthday.

  To me.

  “Oh, wow,” I say when the song ends.

  “Make a wish!” Rikker yells, holding up his phone to take a picture.

  I take a deep breath and blow all the candles out. Okay, it takes two breaths. It’s a lot of candles on a big cake.

  “Joyeux Anniversaire!” Pepe says, squeezing me.

  “Here’s a knife,” Bella says, handing it to me.

  “Thank you. Both of you,” I say, including Bella.

  She shrugs. “Pepe did the whole thing. I just took delivery at the front door.”

  “Let’s eat it,” Pepe suggests.

  So I cut the cake and Bella produces a stack of little paper plates. After I serve a bunch of slices she takes over for me so I can eat one. “Single file line, boys!” she says. “No elbows. Save those for the finals next week.”

  Pepe eats a huge slice of cake and then teases me when I can barely finish mine. “There is one more thing,” he says, reaching for his gym bag on the floor. “I got you a present. It is a little strange…”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I say quickly. Although I’m pretty excited to see what it is.

  He hands me a pink gift bag, and I reach inside. It’s a T-shirt. Gray, with pink letters. It reads:

  The first rule of thesaurus club is we don’t speak, mention, jabber, natter, expound upon, discourse or declare thesaurus club.

  “Oh my God!” I squeal.

  Pepe’s grin grows wider. “You like it?”

  “I love it.” And I love you. It’s too soon to say that. But only the best kind of guy would know how much I adore this T-shirt. Pepe and I have only been together for three months. Okay, not even that long. But he somehow managed to choose a gift that was incredibly meaningful without being too expensive or too intimate. “It’s perfect in every way,” I assure him.

  “Let’s see,” Bella says, helping herself to a blob of frosting that clings to the cake’s tray.

  When I turn the shirt around, she cackles. “That is nerdy and cool.”

  It’s tempting to bristle at the nerdy comment, but only because it’s Bella that made it. Imagine what I’d be like if I ever met Marie, his long-term girlfriend. One look at her and I’d probably implode with jealousy.

  I’m still new at this girlfriend thing. But I’ve never dated anyone as popular as Pepe before. Last week we were at a party at the hockey house, and I watched a girl actually tuck her phone number into his pocket.

  He just laughed it off, of course. But I wanted to smack her.

  “Do you want to take extra cake home?” Pepe asks. “Or should I find someone to eat the last slice?”

  “Let’s find a hockey player to eat it, and then let’s get out of here.”

  “Good call, Jhosephine,” he says. “One moment.”

  Pepe picks up the cake and moves across the room to offer it to a friend.

  “Happy Birthday,” Bella says, gathering up a couple of sticky plates and forks. “He was super excited about that cake. He took a picture of your thesaurus on his phone and showed it to the bakery.” She smiles and shakes her head. “Don’t worry so much, okay? You don’t need to.”

  Wait, what? “I don’t worry,” I say quickly.

  Bella rolls her eyes. “Right. Sure you don’t.”

  I sigh. “Okay, fine. I do. I just care too much sometimes.”

  “No,” Bella shakes her head. “There is no such thing. Trust me. You and Pepe are the real deal. I know it when I see it. Speaking of which…” She checks her phone. “My man is back from visiting his mom. Gotta run! There’s things to see and a boy to do.”

  These words don’t make Bella blush, so I do it for her. It will be a good long time before I can talk about sex without turning red-faced. “Goodnight. And thanks for helping with my birthday cake.”

  She winks at me on the way out.

  Pepe comes back. “Ready, chaton?”

  I slide out of the booth and put on my jacket, tucking my gift back into its bag and hooking it over my hand. Pepe shoulders his gym bag, and we walk out into the night together. This is the same walk we did that evening in December, when I didn’t know how to invite him up to my room.

  I’ll never be smooth, but I’m getting a little better at saying what I want. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Bien sûr.”

  “Do you ever miss Marie? It’s okay if you do.”

  Pepe turns his head sharply, his expression startled. “Noh? I don’t think about her much.”

  “But you were together for such a long time.”

  He shrugs. “Yes, and letting go was hard. But now that I have, it’s better. We outgrow each other, Marie and I. She called me last week and…”

  “Last week?” I blurt out.

  “Oui. She wants to see me over spring break.”

  My heart staggers around in my chest.

  “I tell her no. And it was so easy! I don’t want to play games. You never do that. You say you’re not so good at talking, but I don’t know if it’s true. Some people say too much, no? Marie always wanted me to know how unhappy she was when I went away. Like coming to Harkness was something I was doing to her intentionally. Like a punishment.”

  “That’s not fair,” I say, even though it isn’t really my place to weigh in.

  He shrugs. “I am happier now. You and I have fun, and we’re kind to each other.” His dark eyes find mine, and they’re shiny in the lamplight. “It’s not so complicated, I think. To be with you.”

  We’ve arrived at the gate to Fresh Court. “You’re coming home with me, right?” I say. The words just tumble right out, with no hesitation.

  “Of course, chaton. For as long as you’ll have me.”

  He squeezes my hand, and we cross the slate path toward Parker. I lead him up the steps and put my key in the lock.

  Pepe leans in to kiss my neck, and my fingers pause on the key. “I like that so much,” I whisper.

  “Yes? And do you also like this?” He leans in and kisses my ear, then draws my earlobe into his mouth.

  Goosebumps break out all over my body. “Yes. Very much.”

  “Open that door, chaton. There are many other questions I have for you in this matter.”

  I open the door and hurry through the hallway, opening my room, too.

  Once inside, I don’t turn on the light.

  Pepe takes the hint. He takes the gift bag from my hand and tosses both our bags onto my desk. Then he eases my jacket off my shoulders and kisses me. “Happy Birthday, chaton. I’m going to make it even happier.”

  I know he will, and I can’t wait.

  T H E

  E N D

  Yesterday

  It’s been almost seven years since John Rikker left Michigan.

  That ought to be long enough to scar over all the wounds the place left on him. Shouldn’t it?

  When Rikker returns to the scene of the crime, he finds surviving a week with his parents to be harder than he’d guessed.

  And Graham can’t stand by and let him handle it alone…

  Chapter 1

  Rikker

  Your reservation number is 87XTY442.

  I close my laptop and grab my phone. Then I jog down the stairs of my grandmother’s house and out the front door, because it’s a beautiful day for December, and the cell phone reception is always better outside.

  Gran is sitting in a rocker on the porch with a down comforter over her lap, reading glasses perched on her nose, and a paperback mystery novel in her good hand. She glances up as I
fly past. “Where’s the fire?”

  “Sorry.” I chuckle, skidding to a halt. “Just made my travel arrangements for the day after Christmas, and I’m going to call Graham and tell him.”

  She gives me a nod. “You tell that hunk hello for me.”

  “I will.”

  “And when you’re off the phone, it will be time for cookies and hot chocolate.”

  “It’s always time for cookies and hot chocolate. Back in five, and I’ll grab it for us.”

  Smiling, she goes back to her book.

  These days, the cookies we eat come from the bakery in town. Gran’s dexterity isn’t what it used to be, and she doesn’t bake very often anymore. The stroke she suffered eight months ago has slowed her down some.

  Still, after months of therapy, she’s recovered much of her independence. Last summer I hadn’t wanted to leave her alone for any amount of time, but now she’s doing much better.

  I walk a few paces down the driveway and touch Graham’s number on my phone. “Hey, babe,” I say when he picks up.

  “Hey.”

  That’s his standard greeting when we speak on the phone. But his voice is husky, and I don’t need more than that one word to know how badly he misses me. His “hey” is weighty, conveying the gravity of the situation: we haven’t seen each other since winter break started a week ago.

  But relief is on the horizon. “I just bought a plane ticket,” I tell him.

  “Yeah?” That’s Grahamspeak for hot damn. My boyfriend is understated, but I love him anyway.

  “Sure did. I’m flying into Grand Rapids on Sunday. Flying out of Chicago the following Sunday.”

  “How much of that time do I get?”

  “That all depends on whether you’re coming to Chicago with me. I can bring a plus-one to this wedding. You won’t have to wear a suit, either. Just a jacket.” Please come with me, I privately beg.

  There’s a beat of silence on his end. “You sure I won’t be in the way?”

  “Not a chance. Does that mean you’ll come?”

  “Of course I will.”

  “Yeah?” I grin like an idiot. “Full disclosure—Skippy’s wedding will probably feature sequins and glitter and cheesy music.”

  “Whatever, I don’t care,” he says firmly. “There’ll be a hotel room in Chicago, right?”

  “Hell yes.”

  “That’s plenty of incentive.”

  “Good point,” I say lightly. If Graham is willing to accompany me to my ex-boyfriend’s wedding, this whole trip just became a lot more fun.

  “Can I pick you up at the airport on Sunday?” Graham asks.

  “I was hoping you would. My flight arrives a few minutes before noon.”

  “Your parents will still be at church, anyway.”

  “Yeah, I did that on purpose.” My visit to Michigan has been scheduled to conveniently sidestep Sunday morning. “I just couldn’t see myself walking in that church with them, pretending I’m not still pissed off at the pastor for counseling my mother all these years. I can’t shake that man’s hand and make nice.”

  Graham makes a low noise of disgust. “You don’t have to visit your parents at all, you know. Come to Michigan and stay with us the whole time.”

  “I wish. But my dad’s been campaigning for this visit since April. I blew him off over the summer. And it’s just a few days, right? I can grit my teeth for that long.”

  “Shouldn’t have to grit ’em at all,” Graham points out. “But when it’s over, I’ll give you a reward for your patience.”

  “Yeah? Tell me more.”

  “Can’t right now,” he mutters. I hear voices in the background. “Call me tonight.”

  “You can bet on it. Miss you.”

  “Back atcha, hottie.”

  I hang up smiling. Graham will be my reward for suffering through a few days with my parents. He’s my happy thought.

  Chapter 2

  Rikker

  As the jet descends over snowy Western Michigan corn fields, I’m not smiling anymore. This is the first time I’ve been here in almost seven years, and I don’t feel ready to face this place again.

  Too bad I didn’t figure that out before I got on this plane.

  I hadn’t left Michigan on my own accord. But I thought by now I might be finished feeling angry about it. As the jet touches down at the airport, I realize I’m not over it. Not by a long shot.

  It’s going to be a long couple of days.

  The familiar ding alerts passengers that the Fasten Seatbelt sign has been turned off. People stir in their seats and open the overhead bins.

  This is it. I’m back in the town that once spat me out, and it’s hard to care about seeing it again.

  “Excuse me,” whispers the middle-aged woman beside me. Until I get up, she’s trapped on the plane.

  That gets me moving. I heave my carcass out of the seat and pull my carryon suitcase out of the overhead compartment. A line of people begins shuffling off the plane ahead of me.

  Six years ago I’d left Michigan with cracked ribs and my arm in a sling. I’d been attacked by a few rednecks in an alley, because they’d seen Graham and I kissing in a car. The injuries sent me to the hospital, where I’d been foolish enough to tell my parents the truth about what happened to me.

  But my worst scars are the kind you can’t see. After I was released from the hospital, my parents drove me to my grandmother’s place in Vermont so I could “heal from my injuries.” The trouble is they never came back. I spent the rest of high school living with Gran, because my parents couldn’t stomach having a gay son.

  Vermont is my home now, and I love it there. Michigan is just a sore spot, and always will be.

  I never should have agreed to this.

  For the past few years, my parents and I have had a polite relationship based on greeting cards and the occasional short phone call. Right after Gran’s stroke was the first time I’d seen them in years. That had only been for a couple of minutes. And it didn’t go that well.

  But my dad had begged me to come home for a little family visit. So here I am. Following all the other passengers, I get off the plane and walk through the terminal for the first time since I was sixteen.

  Weirdly, everything looks exactly the same, down to the blue carpet and the sparse count of gates. Beyond security, I see the same old Starbucks on the left-hand side. And all around me I hear the flattened-vowel sounds of the Midwest.

  It’s trippy. Like I’ve time-traveled.

  “Rik!”

  The universe snaps back into focus when I hear my boyfriend call my name. And there’s Graham, jogging toward me, a big smile on his face.

  Damn. That smile makes me so fucking happy. And so does the rest of the picture—wide shoulders, long legs. He’s wearing a V-neck sweater over a dress shirt, and a pair of khakis. He probably left church early to pick me up. The shirt is open at the collar, and my hungry gaze gets stuck on the V of smooth, golden skin on his chest. I wanted to put my mouth right there. And then unbutton the shirt a little farther…

  But as he closes in, it occurs to me to wonder what the next two seconds will bring. More smiles and a slap on the back?

  A kiss? No—not that. My Graham does not do PDA.

  The mystery is solved when Graham steps in close and pulls me into a tight hug. Seriously, my ribs are compromised by two very strong arms squeezing me. It doesn’t last long, but the hug is accompanied by a happy sigh. “Missed you,” he whispers before releasing me.

  I just stand there like a dope for a moment, taking him in. Graham’s skin is a warm color even in the winter. Those cool blue eyes study me, and I start to grin. “If I have to come to fucking Michigan, at least I get to look at you.”

  His smile fades. “You get to look at me some. But I have some bad news.”

  “Yeah?” My stomach drops.

  He sighs. “Today my mom called your house and asked if your family could come over for dinner tomorrow or the next night. But your mother
, uh, declined. She said she was keeping you busy with family things, because they haven’t seen you in so long.”

  “Wait. Is that the bad news?”

  He frowns. “Yeah.”

  I laugh out loud. “Shit, G. I thought you were going to cancel our trip to Chicago.”

  He puts a hand on my back, steering me down the ramp toward the baggage claim. “Hell no. But the weekend is days from now. I thought you’d be over for dinner tomorrow, or at least out with me somewhere. And now it sounds like she’s going to hold you hostage. You have luggage?”

  “Just the carryon. I travel light in case I have to make a quick getaway.”

  I’d meant it as a joke, but Graham winces. “You know that you can call me any time, right? If this visit isn’t working for you, just send me a text and I’ll pick you up.”

  “Thanks.” He will, too. And what’s more, his parents would be happy to see me. When Graham finally came out to his mother in the spring, she hugged him while he cried.

  My parents? They cried, and then began reading literature about conversion camps.

  But my grandmother told them, “Just bring him to me. He’s going to love Vermont.”

  Thank God for Gran. She’s my real family now. She’s the one I’d brought my high school boyfriend home to meet. She helped me pick out my tux before prom. She and I watch Game of Thrones together, rating the men on a scale of one to ten. (Gran has a thing for Jorah.)

  And the so-called parents I’m a half hour away from seeing? I have no idea how this awkward little adventure will go. Anything could happen. My stomach does a dip and roll as I follow Graham down the familiar corridor, past the baggage claim, and toward the glass doors to the outside. But then I halt in surprise. “Where did that come from?”

  “What?” Graham turns around.

  I point at the structure looming in front of us. “There didn’t used to be a parking garage here. It was just a lot before.”

  “Sure…” My boyfriend’s forehead crinkles as he studies me. “They built this because it snows so much. Everyone’s car was buried when they flew back after that Florida vacation.”