“You guys need any help?” I ask, signing h-e-l-p as best I can. Fallon’s Deaf and though I don’t know a ton of sign language, most of us have picked up enough words from Booker to get by.
“We’re good,” Mel says, signing like a pro. “But Van went in search of knives, so maybe you should check on him?”
“Jesus,” I mutter. “If we end the night without a trip to the ER, it’ll be a miracle.”
I enter the kitchen through the back door and spot Van right away. He’s staring into a drawer as though knives might appear if he looks hard enough.
“You good?” I ask.
“Nope. This place is a shithole. Seriously. We should just burn the damn thing to the ground and start over.”
I’m not saying he’s wrong, but Van is usually much more laid back. He’s more likely to chill on the couch playing video games than to threaten arson. “Um…you sure you’re good?”
“Yeah, sorry. I’m just in a pissy mood. I can’t find knives anywhere, not even the silverware drawer. Or the dishwasher—and don’t open it—I tried that, and it smells like something died in there.”
I begin digging around in various drawers and cabinets as Van keeps talking.
“I just checked my grades and the test I thought I aced? Fucking failed it. Fuuuuuck,” he swears, slamming the drawer shut.
“One test probably won’t—”
“It’s not just one test,” he tells me. “It’s damn near every test. And don’t give me that right brain/left brain bullshit, like ‘some people are good at math and some people are better at reading and blah, blah, blah,’ because it turns out some people are just fucking dumb. It’s me. I’m some people.”
I feel a little out of my depth here, but I try my best anyway. “You’re not dumb,” I say, while he flips me the bird and opens the fridge. “But alright, let’s problem-solve. How can we help?”
“You can’t—that’s the thing. I need a tutor, but my guy, Kev, graduated last spring. I really thought I could make it one year—one fucking year—without the threat of riding the bench dogging my every step. But it looks like that’s not happening.”
I wish there was something I could do or say, but I’ve got nothing.
Van grabs a six-pack out of the fridge and sets it on the counter before ducking back in and grabbing the vegetable crisper and setting that on the counter, too. “Found the knives,” he tells me, and sure as shit, they’re sitting in a pile in the clear plastic container. What the actual hell? I swear my roommates are feral.
Van takes the six-pack and heads for the stairs. “Sorry, man,” he says to me. “Just not feeling social anymore, so I’m gonna head upstairs. You kids have fun, ok?”
“Dude, if you need to talk—”
“What I need,” he tells me, “is to get drunk. And what you need, is to hang out with your girl. She worked her ass off today and she should get to relax with you by her side, surrounded by friends. Trust me, there’s nothing better.”
“Yeah, ok,” I say, reaching for the veggie crisper full of knives. But Van’s not done.
“What you two have? It’s the real fucking deal. So hang the hell on to it, alright?” I look at him, and he looks back knowingly, then shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter how it started, man. Only matters how it ends.”
He heads up the stairs, and I walk out onto the back porch, thinking about what he said. He might be having a rough time in his classes right now, but he’s a smart man. Of that, I have no doubt. And yeah, Mel and I started out as two people who were doing each other a favor, but all our texts and calls, our late night chats and makeout sessions tell me that we mean a lot more to each other than either of us intended. And if Mel feels the same way I do? Then I’m all in.
I set the knives down on the table, grab a beer, and take a seat next to Mel. Conversation is in full swing and everybody’s busy mapping out their designs. Santos has fucking graph paper out, while Ollie just grabs a giant knife and goes in freehand. I twine my fingers into Mel’s and lean in close. She smiles and gives me a kiss.
“Um…should we be worried that Ollie’s gonna cut his hand off?” she asks.
“I should probably stay sober,” I acknowledge, setting my unopened beer back in the cooler. “You know, in case we need to go to urgent care.”
“Not a bad idea,” she agrees. “I’m not drinking, either. I have big plans for later tonight.”
“Really? What might those be?”
“Well… I’m dating this guy, right? And we’ve messed around plenty. And it’s good. So good. But I think the time has come to take things to the next level,” she says before adding, “if you know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” I say back. “And I’m pretty sure this party’s over.” But before I can scoot my chair back, scoop her into my arms, and run for the stairs, Mel puts a hand on my arm.
“Slow down, tiger,” she tells me. “Everybody’s having fun. Let’s just relax for a while and hang out. After an hour or two, or when somebody causes themselves bodily harm, we’ll call it a night and head up to your room. Sound good?”
