A Lifetime Supply of Cookies and Lemonade
Back at the hotel, I’m changing into my sweats when Henry texts me: Come to my room? #2205
I’m so happy I squeal, but I don’t immediately respond. I’m gonna make him wait. But after about five minutes of doing everything from brushing my teeth to playing with the in-room coffee maker, I lose patience and text him back: On my way.
I knock on the door to his room. A few seconds later, Henry, wearing a T-shirt and mesh shorts, opens the door.
“What’s good, Woods?” I walk in to find a window providing a view of the university, and a pitcher of lemonade and a bunch of chocolate-chip cookies sit waiting on the table.
His hair is as unruly as ever, hanging down to his shoulders. He wipes a few curls off his face. “So, it’s real y good to spend time with you,” he says.
“Yeah…total y.” We just stare at each other for a long moment, a moment that seems to last longer than an overtime. Then I rush forward and hug him.
He releases me a few seconds later, rubs my back, then takes a seat on the couch. He leans back and crosses his legs. After that hug, I don’t want to push it, so instead of joining him, I sit down on the bed and pul a pil ow to my chest. I prop my chin on the pil ow and rake a hand through my hair and peer up at Henry. He coughs. “So, I, uh, know I should’ve cal ed to apologize after Ty and I got into the fight,” he says. Leaning over onto his knees, he focuses on the carpet.
“I shouldn’t have hit him. I’m sorry I was so stupid.”
Tears rush to my eyes. “We were best friends for ten years—it’s pretty unforgivable that you didn’t cal . That you haven’t cal ed.”
The tears fal freely, and I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to stanch the flow, but it won’t stop. Suddenly I feel him sitting down on the bed. When I can open my eyes without a flood gushing out of them, I turn and see that he’s got both hands out as if he wants to play the hand-slap game. A grin starts to spread across my face as first, I slap him upside the head, then I shove his chest so hard he flies back onto the bed. Getting up onto my one good knee, I stretch my other leg out to the side and punch him in the gut.
“Fuck, Woods!” Before I can slap his face, Henry rol s over and fal s off the bed. When he pokes his head up above the mattress, I see he’s cracking up.
“Man, you deserved every bit of that, and more!” I say.
“Are we even?” He crawls up next to me.
“Not yet.” I punch him in the jaw and I hear a crack.
“Ow!”
I cringe. Shit, what’s his jaw made of? Titanium? I shake out my hand. “I’m so sorry, Henry! I didn’t mean to hit you so hard.”
Eyes watering, he rubs his chin. “Finished?” He smiles.
I laugh softly. “For now,” I reply, popping my knuckles. He goes over to the table, where he pours two glasses of lemonade, hands one to me, and uses the other to ice his jaw. I hold my glass of lemonade up to my knuckles. He sees me icing my hand and we laugh so hard—just like before.
Still holding the glass to his jaw, he shuffles his socked feet across the room and digs around in his bag, final y pul ing out a deck of cards. He sits back down on the bed, puts the glass on the nightstand, and starts dealing the cards into two stacks. “Let’s play some war.”
I grab the plate of cookies from the table and set it on top of a pil ow. He picks a cookie, puts it in his mouth, and uses both hands to keep dealing. When al mouth, and uses both hands to keep dealing. When al the cards are dealt, he takes a bite of the cookie and wipes his mouth, then looks down at the plate.
“Woods, where did al the cookies go?”
I’ve already eaten four. “You snooze, you lose, man. Cal room service and order some more.” He throws down a queen, I throw down an eight. He sweeps the cards away and up into his pile.
“No way—I’m not made of money.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize you were paying for al this,” I say, gesturing to the lavish room. “Charge it to my dad.” I throw down a five, he throws down a three. I sweep the cards away.
He grins. “Fine.” Grabbing up the phone, he orders more cookies and lemonade, and even asks for some champagne too. He opens his wal et and pul s out a fake ID, showing it off for me.
“What’s the occasion?” I ask.
He glances up at me and takes a deep breath.
“You’re the occasion, Woods. I’ve missed you so, so much.”
Lowering my chin, I bite my lip. A tear drops down my cheek. I throw down an ace, he throws down an ace. I deal three cards facedown, and he mimics me. At the same time, we each drop a fourth card. He has a queen; I, a king.
He looks up at me again and grabs my hands, pul ing me up against his chest in one motion. He leans back against the pil ow.
“Am I hurting your knee?” he whispers as I drop my chin onto his chest and gaze up at him.
“No.”
He closes his eyes. “You know what I regret more than anything?”