Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
The hardest part was going to be putting up the exterior of the ghost ship around his house—it was both a large job and something that had to be done last minute, since a Wyoming autumn could turn into winter faster than you could say global climate change.
Now, then, Zachary focused on the skeleton creatures while Bram repainted the dragon to look like a sea monster.
Several neighbors happened by. They didn’t ask Zachary about his concept, knowing from past experience that he wouldn’t answer.
Bram, however, was more than happy to chat about it with them all day long.
To be fair, Zachary hadn’t told him that he never divulged the plan. Plus, of course, Bram was the friendliest, nicest person ever.
“This is such a great way to build community,” Bram said, grinning, as he flung his arm over Zachary’s shoulders after the last neighbor left. “Wanna come in?”
Zachary nodded and they went inside, Hemlock at their heels.
Bram moved around the kitchen, giving Hemlock her dinner, washing up, making them tea. They sat at the kitchen table to drink it.
“You’re thinking hard about something,” Bram said. “How to waterproof the ship hull?”
Zachary shook his head. Well, he had been thinking about that, but.
“This is fun,” he said.
Bram nodded and grinned.
“But. Fun. I...”
“Did you not think it was gonna be fun?”
“No, it’s always fun. It’s always fun to plan and do the decorations. But this is...”
“Funner?” Bram teased.
“Well, yeah.”
But it wasn’t quite what he meant. They’d already established that it could be more fun to do something with someone else. He’d accepted it, even if he didn’t like to acknowledge it. But...
“It’s usually more fun to work toward a goal with someone than try to beat them at it,” Bram said gently.
But historically that had not been true for Zachary. He’d always enjoyed competition. He loved being the best—loved the rush that came from realizing you were on top of the game. From knowing definitively that you won.
But, looking at Bram—generous mouth soft and tender, blue eyes always lit with some mysterious inner light, strong hand on Zachary’s knee—Zachary had no desire to beat him. No desire to compete. Because competition was separation, and he wanted to be connected to Bram.
He’d never thought of it that way before, and it settled over him like a shroud.
When had it begun? When had he started to nourish the isolating separation of competition?
Had he been the one to do it?
He remembered being six, seven, eight, and disagreeing with kids on the playground. They agreed with each other and in his separateness he wanted to be right. Being right, being best, was the consolation for being alone.
Maybe it didn’t matter why or how he learned it.
By high school it was no longer consolation, but vocation. His classmates tormented him—why on earth would he want to be connected to them? All he wanted was to grind them to dust and maintain some semblance of self.
Plus...he liked being right. He liked being smart. He’d never been attractive or funny, never been likable or popular. There were only so many things you could be.
Right?
Bram was watching him closely. Zachary felt like one of those deep-sea creatures that lived only in the dark—the kind so translucent you could see their organs through their bodies. He felt like Bram was looking all the way inside him and watching his thoughts as they happened.
It was unnerving and made him squirmy. He thought maybe this superpower was what people called empathy.
He closed his eyes to escape it.
Bram kissed his cheek, then poured them more tea.
“Hey, my family is going to play Pictionary. Wanna play?”
Somehow Zachary found himself nodding and then they were video calling into a room full of people who all erupted into an enthusiastic welcome when Bram appeared on their screen.
Had Bram always had this? This entire group of people happy simply to be in his presence?
“Hi, Zachary!” some of them were saying.
“Oh. Hey. Hello. Hi.” He waved.
The game was familiar, but the Larkspurs played by their own rules and had so many previous games in their collective family knowledge that half of the guesses seemed to be references to previous things they had drawn.
When Moon drew an umbrella and Trent guessed “a baby,” they all dissolved into laughter.
“Be back,” Zachary murmured, and went to the bathroom.
In the mirror, his eyes looked wild and his expression suspicious. He didn’t know how to be with these people. They were so close that even their competition was actually togetherness. They just wanted to have fun together.
Zachary remembered when he was thirteen and Sarah was sixteen and she would call him into her room. He would read while she stared out the window, listening to music on her headphones. When he asked her why she wanted them to do two separate things in the same room, she’d said, “I like coexisting with you.”