Free Precise by Rebecca Berto, Lauren McKellar Page B

cooler. It isn’t more than five meters away but she seems somewhere worlds farther. Then that whirlwind of guilt hits Brent in the chest and he’s burst and spilling more than he should. He can’t help it. “Sometimes, I don’t believe Paul could just pass and Kates not appear to miss him. I loved the guy, but shejust goes on so . . . so, unemotionally, that she makes people feel like everything is fine. That maybe Paul is just hung up at work. Not in the sky.”
    The three men could be mistaken for kindergarten children, scooted forward in their flimsy fold up chairs, back legs lifted off the ground.
    “My brother was best mates with him. We were all in a dazed state for a while. It took me days to be able to think straight. It hit us all hard—not just her. I haven’t seen her in a while, to be honest.” Brent takes a moment before he says, “I wasn’t sure till I saw her tonight, but now I’m not sure if reality ever hit her.”
    “I couldn’t even imagine dealing with that. You know?” Marco says, his voice shaky.
    “She didn’t cry at the memorial. Or the funeral. No sign of red eyes.”
    Katie gulps down a bottle with bright red liquid, her fingers clamped tight to its sides. It’s probably a pre-mixed vodka, and it looks as if she feels the death-like grip will prevent anyone from prying it off her. Brent knows he should take it off her but he can’t risk annoying her or making her leave to somewhere he can’t keep an eye out. He needs to be able to look out for her.
    Katie swaggers to the bowls of chips and candy. She picks up a set of gummy teeth, examines it like a dentist would, then throws it back in the bowl.
    “She hits the bottle hard . . . ” Cooper says. He tilts his head, winking at Brent. “Would it be insensitive to see if she’s interested in me?”
    “Fuck you,” Brent and Marco say at the same time.
    Cooper claps his hand on his knee as if to say “damn”.
    Brent kicks his chair out from under him and stomps over to Katie. He points to the kitchen, asking if she wants a drink of water, and some space. She cackles loud enough for the others to hear, then trots back to a chair next to Cooper.

C ooper begins to tell one-on-one jokes to Katie and doesn’t leave his seat, even when his other mates get up and down for drinks, food, or a bathroom run. Katie tells some old jokes she remembers, all slurred, so they laugh more so at her than with her. Cooper takes to slapping Katie’s knee with jolly delight, then wrapping an arm around her to share the amusement, finally deciding it’s easiest to have her propped up on his knee.
    Brent taps Cooper’s shoulder. “So how’s Tiffany going?”
    “Tiff?” Coop seems to consider the question as Katie chats to Tim. “Oh, her. She’s good.”
    “You’re not seeing her anymore?”
    “Course I am.”
    Brent knots his hands together, unconsciously shifting further off the edge of his chair, closer to Cooper and Katie.
    “And . . . ” Brent says, then flicks his gaze to the back of Katie’s head.
    “Yeah, don’t worry, Brenny.”
    Brent’s shoulders are rigid as he half-hangs off the chair, still knotting his hands in a bundle. He laughs randomly, and it takes him a moment to see that Cooper’s chatting to the rest of the group already.
    “Have a fight with Tiff, did ya?” Brent says, nudging Cooper.
    Still facing Tim and Marco, Cooper says, “What? Oh, yeah.” He points at Tim, as if he was never speaking to Brent at all. “But her dress was still tucked in her G!”
    “Oh, crap,” Marco mumbles randomly, ending their joke.
    “Huh?” Tim says.
    Marco shuffles his feet and hangs his head down. Talking into his shoulder, he says, “Twelve o’clock,” then takes a gulp of his bottle discreetly.
    Two rowdy men stumble toward the group. The first has a thick mane hugging his jawline, and it matches his equally scruffy mop of hair. He lets out a roar of a laugh, and his beer belly slips over his pants. He doesn’t