Let It Be

Chapter 17

Sam and I often talked about the immortal thing in the evenings, hanging out at his place where we could converse about it without Birdie or the boys overhearing. My responsibility to the boys was to pick them up from daycare after my volleyball practice, bring them home and entertain them. I also made dinner, which Birdie shared when she came home around seven. After that, I usually went to Sam's. Sometimes Emile was there, sometimes he wasn't. Sometimes he'd hang out with us, sometimes he wouldn't.

I didn't understand Emile much; he was quiet and introspective, but he seemed so genuinely kind. I continued to work on him. I wanted to be his friend. He was also very good at giving insight into the immortal world that Sam sometimes skipped over.

"Things are starting to make more sense now, Sam," I told him one afternoon, one when Emile was at work at the hospital.

He gave me a confused look in response. "What does that mean?"

"Little things, I just keep realizing things. Why you have so much stuff, why you had so many antique things out in the shed. Why your handwriting is so formal. Why you're so smart, like why you know weird things that no one else our age knows like what an A-track is and how to tie a thousand knots and how you can spurt out all the important dates of the Cold War. Why you're so proper sometimes. You're old."

He nodded slowly. "Mentally, I am only nineteen. But yes, I have existed a long time. Why I am so rich, too," he added.

"That too."

True. Sam had the best of everything. The best car, the highest tech electronics, motorcycles and a boat. The fastest Wi-fi and a brand new laptop, surround-sound stereo systems rigged in every room, the biggest TV I had ever seen that wasn't in a movie theatre. And they were always updating everything.

I guess after you've put up with living for a long time, you deserved some cool stuff. Okay, Sam could be big-headed every once in a while, but he mostly kept it to himself.

"How old, Sam?" I whispered, not sure if I really wanted to know the answer.

He shook his head casually. "Old," he shrugged.

"Please tell me."

He just smiled. "Sometime, maybe."

---------------------------

"Hey, beautiful."

I ignored Tristan, just continued to buy my caffeine-free soda from the vending machine. Caffeine made me even more jittery than normal, but I was addicted to soda.

"My parents are loaning me our cabin for Thanksgiving." He leaned smugly against the machine, right in my way. "Picture it: you, me, a long weekend, king-size bed."

I continued to fumble with the machine, refusing to look at his face. "Looks like you're sleeping on your own, Tristan. You couldn't pay me to go with you."

"That can be arranged."

Ugh. I stared at him in disgust. "I don't use whore money."

"Don't speak so condescendingly of yourself. I prefer Diamond Dogs."

"Get away from me, Tristan."

"Why spend yours when you can spend mine?" he taunted.

"Because I have morals. Oh, and that's right, I hate you. Now leave me alone or I'll report you for sexual harassment."

He caressed my cheek. "So pretty when you're pissed." I jerked away. He just laughed and I pushed past him so I could be with Sam for lunch. The nerve...