Page 102 of Goldilocks
“No.”
“He didn’t seem happy with you.”
“I could tell,” Sam said. Austin never seemed to be happy with anyone. Sam turned back to the pub and found Ivan standing there with two drinks.
“Want to sit out here?” Ivan asked. He indicated an empty table tucked against the half-wall enclosing the seating section.
“Sure. But we have to open the umbrella,” Sam said. That wisp of cloud had moved on, and he didn’t want to bake his skin red.
“You’re as bad as Eric,” Ivan said. They walked to the table, and Ivan set down the drinks, then opened the large umbrella in the middle of the table in one smooth movement. “I swear he gets sunburned through the windows, even if he stays indoors.”
“I’m the same. Mom was too.” Sam sat in the chair and pulled the MiWadi to himself to take a sip. “Once, she had me in her lap reading a schoolbook to me. The sun was shining in the window on our sides. I fell asleep, and she didn’t want to wake me, so we stayed there for hours. When I finally woke up the both of us had burned red on the side of our face that had been in the sun.”
Ivan listened, a focused expression at odds with his otherwise relaxed posture. “What book was it?” Ivan asked. “I only remember ‘Under the Hawthorn Tree’ from primary school.”
There was a particular air to Ivan. Sam got the sense he was fishing for something, but he couldn’t tell what that could possibly be. “That was the one,” Sam said.
“Hmm.”
“What?” Sam asked flatly. It was one of thosehmms.Judgemental and irksome.
“She burned in the sun? Through the window?”
“How are you finding issue with this?”
“Your mom sat reading with you on the couch. And she got sunburned through the window. And you were reading ‘Under the Hawthorn Tree’,” Ivan recounted. There was a blaze in his eyes, like a bulb that was getting too much wattage. “You and Eric both got your complexion from your dad. Your mom had fair hair, but her skin was olive-toned, a bit like mine. I’ve seen photos of her.”
Sam frowned.
“That was Eric,” Ivan said. “Who read to you on the couch. He’s told me about it before. Said he felt so guilty for letting you get burned that he went straight out and bought you ice cream to cheer you up.”
A bundle of nerves behind his eyes squeezed. Sam rested his elbow on the table and leaned over, rubbing his temple. He remembered the ice cream. He remembered helping apply aloe onto pale skin burned red. And Ivan was right, his mom didn’t have pale skin.
Before he could speak again, Laurence appeared at the table holding two plates. “Here you go. Sorry that it took so long. We’re busy with the lunch rush.”
“I put in the order before I came out, hope that’s okay,” Ivan said to Sam. “You like mussels, right?”
Two plates of mussel starters were set before them and a basket of brown bread. Laurence asked them if they wanted anything else before bounding off.
“I like them,” Sam said.
“You—”
“Ivan,” Sam interrupted. “I’d like to eat first before my headache gets worse and spoils my appetite.”
Ivan caught himself. He inclined his head, and when Sam ate the first mussel, Ivan launched into a story about his tattoo parlour. Talking about how grumpy Eric did this, soft-hearted Eric did that, lonely Eric did this. Love and appreciation laced every story, every word, every laugh and every snort. Sam found Ivan’s entertaining storytelling hard to stonewall. And even though the stories all revolved around Eric, it took Sam’s mind off the fact that Eric had gone off to meet his dad.
The evening rush had died, and their food had been cleared for at least an hour before Ivan tilted his head a certain way and Sam knew the next thing out of his mouth would be a statement that made his head hurt.
“Primary schools don’t start that book until you’re in third class,” Ivan said. “You would have to have been eight at the youngest. And your mom passed away when you were four. It was Eric.”
“I believe you,” Sam allowed. And he did. Because, as Ivan had pointed out, his mom’s complexion was dark, and the more Sam dug into that particular memory, the more the figure turned male. His mom had long, fair hair, dead-straight blonde that reached to her waist. The figure reading to Sam had short curls that bunched around his ears that only an absurd amount of clips could tame.
Ivan’s too-bright gaze didn’t waver from Sam’s face. “Usually nobody has one fig what I’m thinking,” he said. “Most of the time, I’m sure people think there’s nothing really going on up here at all, and I’m perfectly happy with that. But you? You’re sensitive. You can read a room, and I can see that usually you don’t pick fights, but with me, you didn’t let me get away with one single thing.” Ivan inclined his head. “I suppose you could tell, couldn’t you? That I’m an asshole because when you didn’t recognise Eric, part of me—” His voice was rough with emotion. “Part of me washappy.My most important person in the world, and there I was, happy thathismost important person didn’t even remember his name because I thought, for one second, that meant nothing would change.”
That birthday party felt like it had happened a lifetime ago. Ivan hadn’t seemed upset. He hadn’t seemed much of anything, actually, his emotions light and shallow, nothing hiding in deep waters.
“I can’t lose Eric. He matters to me more than anything. I love him more thananything,” Ivan continued. This time, his smile faded. “You have so much power over him, Sam, and you don’t even realise it. You don’t have to do anything more than breathe, and you get to be the centre of his universe. And the thing is, I can see that you don’t want to hurt him, but I can also see that you’re holding back. I get it,” Ivan said, softer now. “You don’t trust easy. You’ve got your walls up so high you probably forgot how to let anyone over them. But Eric? He’s not trying to climb over. He’s just standing at the gate like an idiot, hoping you’ll let him in. Forget about me. Hate me. But please, give Eric a real chance.”