Page 22 of Six Years
Luan:I talked too much.
Some kind of chuckle slips from my throat, and I want to slap myself for it.
Grey:Probably.
Luan:Aw, well, sucks for your parents. I am awesome. Besides, I’d rather them hate me than you.
Grey:You suck, and I do hate you.
Luan:I mean, I could but why would we go to third base when we didn’t even have our first real date yet?
Luan:So, what are you doing right now, Grey Davis? Isn’t it like around midnight in New York?
Grey:I’m in Pittsburgh, actually.
The time’s the same though.
Luan starts to type but then the bubble disappears. A moment later it reappears but disappears again just as quickly. When he stops typing for about a minute, I start to get a little worried. There’s no way he would just ignore me no—
My phone starts to ring in my hands, Luan’s name pops up on the screen as well as my own reflection.
Do I pick up?
I rarely even call anyone on the phone, so why would I pick up a FaceTime call from a guy I barely know? But I haven’t seen him in so long, I do wonder if something has changed in that time. Probably not, it’s been two months, not two years.
Before I can overthink this I swipe right, accepting the call. A moment later, green eyes stare back at me, narrowed and not nearly as friendly looking as I remember. But then Luan starts to laugh, his eyes now crinkling, his features soften. Somehow, right at this moment, I no longer feel as though I’d stay awake the whole night with my head running marathons.
“I thought someone stole your phone when you replied, to be honest,” Luan admits. “Glad to see it’s actually you texting. Though, I should’ve known. Nobody but you would dare give me such short and vague answers as you do.”
I don’t doubt it.
“So, what are you doing in Pittsburgh?” Luan sets his phone down on a kitchen island, turning his phone for me to still see him even though I think he’s just about to do some dishes.
“Hockey,” I answer. I didn’t tell him I play for the pros, I just thought he knew, or at least could’ve made that connection. I said I play hockey for the NCAA, but also mentioned I graduated, so I don’t know.
“Right. You went pro then, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I could’ve gone pro, too. Not hockey, obviously. But I refused because I’d much rather coach than play. I’d like to keep my limbs where they are, thank you very much.” He looks at the camera, smiling at me. He’s got a clean smile. It’s awfully symmetrical, and his eyes spark every time he smiles. It’s a little unnerving because that smile could easily make it onto magazine covers, but it’s also calming at the same time because Luan just has that effect on people. Or maybe that’s just me. “What team do you play for?”
“New York Rangers.”
He nods. Three times. “Should’ve guessed that. I googled hockey teams in New York the other day. Turns out, there are three national ones, so I figured you’d play for one of them. I don’t know where they’re all based because, I’m sorry, Grey Davis, but ice hockey is really boring. However, I wanted to know the team names because, even though I wasn’t sure you’re actually playing for the pros, I still wanted to tune in on their games because maybe I’d find out, you know? So, thanks for sparing me from having to watch every single hockey game with either of the three NY teams just to find out which one you’re on.”
I cover my eyes with my hand, letting out a deep sigh that somehow turns into the faintest of chuckle. Just when I thought it was inaudible through the phone, I hear Luan gasp.
“Was that achuckle, Grey Davis?”
When I remove my hand from my eyes, I find him so close to the camera, I almost flinch. At this point, I might as well see every single pore on his nose if the camera would be able to pick them up.
“No, I sneezed, obviously.”
Luan takes a few steps back, enough for his backside to hit the island counter behind him. He leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest. He wears a bright yellow shirt paired with white shorts, I’m assuming. And somehow that’s exactly him. He’s the whole ass sun and I’m not quite convinced he really grasps that.
“I’m not sure what’s happening here, Grey Davis. First you laugh, now you’re being sarcastic. What’s next? Are you gonna crack a joke?”
I think about it for a second. Do I even know any good jokes? The only one I know is the stupidest dad joke to ever exist. Sun used to think that one was funny when she was six years old. “What did the police officer say to the belly button?”
