Free True Letters from a Fictional Life by Kenneth Logan Page B

beer in the fridge.”
    I looked over Derek’s shoulder as he pushed aside cartons of orange juice and milk. He found four beers. “Is this the fridge you were talking about?” he asked.
    â€œDude, you left your car unlocked, right?” I whispered.
    Three minutes later everyone was holding a glass of four-dollar red, but only Derek and I looked really happy about it. Kim’s smile was nervous. “C’mon, Theresa, cheer up! It’s a glass of wine!”
    â€œIt’s three bottles of wine.”
    Derek offered a toast, “To the Boy Scouts, who exhort us to always be prepared.” I laughed loud enough that Theresa winced, and I apologized, but she told us to get out of her way, to go hang out in the living room. When I came back into the kitchen twenty minutes later to uncork another bottle, she looked tense. “Can we save that one for dinner?” she asked.
    I pointed to the third bottle on the counter. “We got plenty. You seen the corkscrew?”
    She stepped in front of me, fixed my collar and tie, and kissed me. “Hi,” I responded. She was waiting for me to kissher back. So I did. “The corkscrew? Where does it live? This drawer?”
    She turned back to fixing a salad. “You know,” she said, “it’d be nice if you were somewhat sober at the end of the night.”
    â€œHey! This bottle’s a twist-off anyway—I don’t even need the corkscrew!” I started to leave and then stopped. “Do you want me to help?”
    She shook her head. Silently.
    Looking back on the night, I don’t think I even drank that much, but I hadn’t eaten anything all day. I remember coming back into the kitchen, taking over the job of sautéing Brussels sprouts, and feeling like I was doing an awesome job. While I cooked, I told Kim a long story about how Derek once rescued dozens of puppies from a burning skyscraper—“he’s that good of a guy.” Derek kept telling me to shut up, but he was laughing, and at one point Kim giggled with her forehead on his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. I remember shouting that I’d discovered my passion, that I was going to apply to culinary school, which made even Theresa crack up.
    I don’t remember everything I said at dinner but I do remember talking about the semiformal dance Theresa and I were going to the next weekend at Kim’s school. The dance was to raise money for a kid who got hurt in a snowmobile accident. I really didn’t want to go. “Are you sure kids fromother schools are allowed in?” I asked.
    â€œThey just want your money, James. Wear that tie, and you’re good.”
    â€œHey,” I yelled, pointing at Kim and Derek. Theresa hushed me. “You guys should go! Do you have a date, Kim?”
    She drank from her glass and shook her head at the same time.
    â€œThat would’ve been good, but I can’t go,” Derek said quietly. “I’m going to see my aunt in Boston with my parents. She’s not doing well.”
    â€œAh, crap,” I cried. “Well, next time then. Maybe Hawken should go.”
    Derek dropped his fork, and Theresa glared at me.
    â€œNot with Kim.” I laughed. “I just mean it’d be fun if he came along, too. You know. For the hell of it.” No one seemed to think it was a good idea. “I’m sure that messed up snowmobiler kid would appreciate Hawken coming along,” I muttered.
    Later, after telling a story about one of Hawken’s amazing goals in soccer, I remember closing my eyes and telling myself, Don’t bring him up anymore . And I remember Derek saying, “Liddell, put down your glass, take out your phone, and call home to say you’re staying at my place. Right now.” I remember Rex answering, shouting the news to my parents, and then shouting into the phone, “They said okay.”
    Not long after, Theresa whispered,