Page 53 of Here & There

As he sets out the cartons on the counter, I ask him about his work. He says he runs his own private investment and financial advising business.

I’m surprised by this. It’s what Richard did too, though he doesn’t own his own business. Cal seems more like he should run a surf shop.

“Doesn’t that require you to be in the city wearing a suit?” I eye his torn jeans and hoodie.

“I mostly just take care of a couple of high-value clients and reinvest my own money. It takes a surprisingly minimal amount of effort to be very comfortable.”

“If you love the stock market.”

“Or know how to play it.”

I still can’t get over how different he is from his best friend.

“Is that what you do for fun?” I ask as he sets the cartons on the kitchen island.

“Doing things you’re good at isn’t always fun,” he says.

I wonder what he means by that. But he continues before I can ask.

“Mostly I like to spend my time outside.” He lists off every ocean- and mountain-related recreational activity known to humankind. “Mac used to like doing that stuff too, you know. It was how he and Annie bonded, before she left and became a full-on city girl.”

I go to get plates, wanting to ask more about her and why she left, but Cal says he can’t stay. I also notice he gets a little less gregarious when he talks about Mac’s sister, and I remember Mac saying they were friends once, even though Cal has to be closer to Mac’s age than hers.

“It was above and beyond for you to bring this for us. You sure you can’t stay?”

“Sorry. I’ve got a hot date.” He winks.

“Well, in that case, it’s extra nice of you to think of us.”

But at the door, he hesitates and says, “For all the shit I talk about Mac, he’s the one who taught me how to take care of people. My parents weren’t really around, so I ate at his place a lot when I was younger. Food’s how you know he likes you.”

My cheeks heat. “He owns a food establishment. He likes feeding everyone.”

Cal gives a knowing smirk.

Doesn’t he? I don’t know why my stomach flutters at the thought of this being something special. I remember what Chris said about Mac, how he doesn’t make his club sandwich for just anyone.

As Cal leaves, he says, “Nate’s favorite is the cashew chicken.”

But I think about what he said, how Mac’s family looked after Cal when he was younger.

I head upstairs to see if Nate wants food. I raise my hand to knock but pause. Mac’s room is just down the hall, and the door is open. I can only see a sliver of his bedroom from here—the end of a wrought-iron bed covered in a dark duvet and the corner of a chair. But it’s exactly as I’d expect it to be—perfectly neat and tidy. Functional. He must not have special friends over much, though, given that bed probably sounds like a one-man band with even the slightest movement. Nate’s room is right next door.

My cheeks heat.

It’s really none of my business what goes on in Mac’s bedroom.

I knock on Nate’s door. I have to knock more than once for the sounds inside to stop—not video game noises this time, but rock music.

When Nate comes to the door, he’s a little sweaty. For a moment, I panic. The kid’s fourteen and had his door closed. But I catch a glimpse of a stage in neon lights on his giant computer screen and look down to see a plastic guitar leaned against his desk leg.

“Hi!” I say. “Do you play?”

Nate shifts to block my view. “It’s not a real guitar,” he says as if I’m dense.

“But that one is.” I point to the blue electric guitar on a stand in the corner.

Nate flushes red.

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