Page 41 of Even After Sunset

I turn the tap on and start filling the sink. Maybe the noise will deter him; he’ll get the hint that he’s distracting me.

“Oh.” He lets out an annoyed laugh, raising his voice above the sound of the running water. “So we’re allowed to talk aboutmyissues every five minutes, but we’re not allowed to talk about yours?”

I start scrubbing one of the cookie sheets. “Wanting to make Meryl and Richard proud is not anissue.”

“It is if that’s the main reason you did this whole thing,” he says.

I shut the tap off with a firm push. “I did this because I wanted to! Why do you have such a hard time accepting that?”

It’s not entirely a lie. It’s also not entirely the truth.

He doesn’t believe me, anyway. He presses on: “You know you don’t have to be perfect at everything, right? You don’t owe them anything.”

I turn. “Actually, I owe themeverything.”

The cookie sheet hangs in my hand, suds sliding along its length toward the floor.

“Why?” he asks, annoyed. “Because they took you in seven years ago because they felt bad for you? Now you think everything you do for the rest of yourlifeyou owe to them?”

“Can you please just drop it?” I ask again, placing the pan into the drying rack. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“No,” he shoots back. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

And then I immediately feel bad. I just let my own issues make me totally insensitive to his. I’m a terrible friend.

I look back at him.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean that.”

But he’s on his phone again, closed-off expression back in place. I wait another minute.

“Silas? I mean it: I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says, still scrolling. Still not looking at me.

I sigh and eventually resume washing the dishes and wiping everything down. I don’t know what else to say.

Once the kitchen is cleaned up and all the cookies are on racks or in tupperware containers, I remove the extra counter-shelf and bring it outside toplace in the exterior storage compartment. It’s dark out now and there’s a cosy glow streaming through Trudy’s windows. With the concert in full swing, it’s crowded and buzzing outside, and stepping back into the camper feels like entering a cocoon.

Silas is still on his phone and he looks like he’s settled in for the night, which makes me relieved. When I open the overhead cupboard to get out my computer, I grab a couple of guidebooks and hold them out to him. “You want to look through these?”

He eyes them for a second and then shrugs. “Sure.”

After he takes them, I slide into the seat across from him. He puts his phone aside and flips through The Road Tripper’s Guide To New England while I dive into a new book cover design on my computer. After about fifteen minutes, Silas places the book on the table and leans down to unzip his backpack on the floor. He reaches in and pulls out a bottle of some kind of alcohol, and I watch as he unscrews the cap, then brings the bottle up to his lips. He takes a long swig as if it’s Gatorade he’s chugging after a ten-mile run.

His eyes meet mine as he lifts the bottle for another sip. I don’t say anything, even though I can tell he expects me to. He holds it out toward me. “You want some?”

“Um, yeah. Sure,” I say softly, because it’s not really booze he’s offering: it’s an olive branch. I lean forward and take the bottle, then lift it slowly to my lips. I take a tentative sip, and even though I mentally prepare myself, it still shocks me how strong it tastes, and I can’t help coughing.

“God, that’s horrible!” I squint at him, flapping my hand in front of my mouth as if that will somehow help lessen the burning aftertaste.

Silas laughs. “I guess it’s an acquired taste,” he says, and I take another even smaller sip. It isn’t any better though, and my faces scrunches up instinctively.

“Ugh! No kidding.” I say through puckered lips.

Silas reclaims the bottle and takes another two long pulls. He swallows, still watching me. No squinting. No face scrunching. Because clearly hehasacquired a taste for it.

He extends the bottle toward me again, eyebrows raised, but I shake my head this time. He grins and takes another couple of swigs. Then four more. Then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and screws the cap back on. He places the bottle back in his bag and takes the guidebook over to his bed, where he stretches out with a muscled arm cradling his head.

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