For the most part, I was able to avoid meeting up with Sam. We saw each other around, waved or nodded, but didn’t get close enough to talk. It certainly felt like he was keeping his distance as much as I was.
And I had plenty to keep me busy. Between work and wedding stuff, not to mention looking after Ethan, it felt as though every moment of my time was accounted for.
What I needed, after a hectic couple of weeks, was a night all to myself. Charlotte was baking with her mom, Pat was out with work colleagues, and Netflix had a brand new series of Umbrella Academy with my name on it.
My glass of wine was still nearly full when my doorbell gave an unexpected trill. Putting the show on pause, I walked to the door, pulling it open to find the one and only Sam Levesque himself.
It had been so long since Sam had stood at my door, I almost didn’t know what to say. My ‘oh’ was not exactly the greatest of starts.
“Were we supposed to be doing something for the wedding?” I asked. I could hardly imagine that Sam had come over socially. We didn’t do that. Anymore. Did we?
“No.” Sam shook his head. “I need a favor.” And then he just stood there, both of us staring at each other until I realized he was waiting for me to invite him in. I stumbled, stepping aside and muttering a ‘come in’ that sounded surprised even to me.
Sam gave me a smile, shrugging one shoulder somewhat sheepishly. “I’m sorry for intruding. Are you busy?” he asked, glancing into the living room where all that looked back was my glass of wine, the paused Netflix show, and a few plants that I liked to think looked curious at having an NHL star visit.
But rather than presuming that these things meant I wasn’t busy, Sam just waited patiently - if perhaps a little nervously? - for my answer.
“No, no.” I waved one hand at my living room - wishing that it was a little tidier! Usually, if company was expected, there would be fewer boring letters on the coffee table and no open bottle of wine sitting on the sideboard.
But Sam had definitely seen worse. Even though we’d never lived together, he’d seen my tiny student rooms where my books were piled on top of the wardrobe because there was nowhere else for them to go!
“What kind of favor do you need on a Friday night?” I teased.
The look of sheepishness returned as Sam shuffled like he didn’t quite know what to say. It struck me how much Sam looked like he had when we were teenagers. The first time he’d needed help tutoring, that same nervous shuffle had been there. It was... interesting. Something I hadn’t thought of for so long. I’d stopped tutoring Sam when we graduated, years before we actually broke up.
“I need to write my speech,” Sam finally told me. “For the wedding?” he clarified. I almost laughed. Managing not to, I nodded, encouraging him to continue. “I thought I’d start early. You know how I struggle with writing things, right?” I nodded again. Sam had never officially been diagnosed as dyslexic when we were at school but he definitely had shown symptoms
“Starting early sounds sensible,” I agreed. Sam had always responded well to praise. The more confidence I’d shown in him, the more he’d been able to feel about himself. Thinking on my feet, I picked up the wine and led Sam through to the kitchen.
There was a small island in the middle, just big enough for two of us to sit. “Help yourself to a glass,” I suggested, setting the bottle down with my glass next to it. “Or there’s soda in the fridge if you prefer. Sorry, I don’t tend to buy beer.”
Sam and I had always drunk beer together with our pizza. I hadn’t started to like wine until after our breakup.
Returning with two pads of paper and two pens, I handed one of each to Sam. “Do you want to talk and I’ll make notes?” I suggested.
“I... guess?” Sam frowned. He did help himself to a glass and pour some wine out, almost like he needed the courage. It was strange to see Sam nervous like this. Not because I’d never seen him nervous before but because the way he carried himself was so different. The nervousness didn’t make him scared the way it might have done once upon a time.
This response struck me as so much more mature. But of course, it would be, right? We were actual grown adults now. I waited, sure that Sam would explain what his difficulty was. Watching him take a sip of the wine, I tapped my pen against the notepad lightly. Not to rush him, but just to have something to do with my hands.
“Where do I start?” Sam asked me. “It’s about my relationship with Pat, right? So... do I talk about our childhood? How Pat was always the more obedient kid?” That last question was said with a small grin, though we both knew it was also true.
With a hum, I pursed my lips slightly. “It’s a little about your relationship with Pat,” I agreed. Most best man’s speeches, in my experience, did cover how the best man had come to be the best man, whether he was a brother or a best friend or whatever else. “So yeah, you could talk about your childhood. The kinds of things you did for him, the kind of things he did for you.”
Thinking
