“Phil, is everything alright, dear?”
“Yeah,” he answered in a monotone voice he didn’t recognise. He gathered his stuff from the table where he’d left it, not really bothering to check if something was missing, shoved everything into the backpack and pulled his parka over his wet pullover. He wascold.
Picking up his phone last, he hesitated before putting it away.
Ian had had the final word, Phil could arrogate to himself the right to the final text.
You
I’m glad I got to see you in a kilt
He waited for the checkmarks to turn blue, to no avail. He took it as his cue to get going.
Heading outside, he slapped a twenty on the counter and made a very half-hearted attempt to smile. “Thank you, Sandy. Keep the change.”
Sandra said something he didn’t catch. He grabbed the bike from its usual corner and absently thanked the lady who kept the door open for him as he exited. The helmet dangled from the handlebar. He slipped it off and held it between his hands, studying the scratches in the black paint for a second before slipping it into place, but then he remembered.
‘You want to go out there with damp hair? At your age?’
His hand rose to the lump in the pocket of the parka. He pulled the beanie out and smoothed it out on his palm, his sight fogging as he sniffled. In a way, he was glad Ian had made this decision for him. He’d done what Phil would have never been strong enough to do: step back and draw a line. The honourable thing.
This was for the best, for all of them.
If Ian was delusional for believing Phil would get over him, Phil was equally delusional for thinking they could have kept seeing each other without any further damage. The remedy for sunburn couldn’t be more sun exposure.
He put on the beanie, the soft wool soaking up the raindrops in his hair, then secured the helmet on top of it, mounted the bike, and sped away.
He got home on autopilot, with no memory whatsoever of the journey. He left the bike at the entrance, discarded his helmet,beanie, and parka on the floor, shivering pathetically. He just wanted to go to bed and rot there in peace.
“Phil?” Abby poked her head into the entrance while he was pulling the hoodie and the t-shirt underneath over his head. He dropped those to the ground as well.
“Next purchase: raincoat,” he said, leaning against the wall to rip the socks off his frozen feet.
Abby came forward, watching him intently. She wasn’t buying any of it.
“Where’s your bracelet?”
Phil unfastened the belt, his hesitation imperceptible. “Gone.” The sound of the metal buckle hitting the floor was unbearable. Barefoot and shirtless, he collected his pile of wet clothes and tried to push past Abby, but a hand gently touched his arm.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
The sweet cautiousness in her voice hurt.
“I’m fine. Just fucking cold.”
“You don’t look fine.”
Phil yanked his arm away, but before he could sidle off Abby blocked him again, this time firmly.
“I need you to talk to me, Phil.”
“Not now, please.”
He writhed, but Abby snatched the wet clothes from his arms and tossed them in a corner, her dark eyes ablaze with determination.
“Yes, Phil,now. I’m done being accommodating. I’m worriedsickabout you, and you refuse to let me in! I’m sorry if expectingbasic communicationis asking too much, but you’re going to sit down andtalkto me!Now!”
Phil had no choice but to nod submissively. She was right, after all. “Okay.” He was tired to the bone, but he couldn’t run from this confrontation forever. “Guess there’s no point in putting this off any longer.”
