The beginnings of a winter breeze clung to the late afternoon air as the sun started to dip behind the houses. A myriad of yellows and oranges glowed around the suburb as I made my trek towards the shops to grab a couple of things dad had forgotten for dinner.

It was as I approached the park that I saw him. Sitting on a swing by himself, his head was drooped, and his shoulders shook as tears rolled down his splotchy cheeks. 

Frazer Young had lived next door for as long as I could remember. But we were never the type of neighbours who acknowledged each other. Any normal day, I would have ignored him and kept walking. Further, given that I had caught him at such a vulnerable moment, now didn’t seem like the best time to introduce myself.

Yet stopping me from taking another step was the niggling thought, Nobody cries in such a public space unless they are begging for someone to notice them, right?

Which was why I veered off the path, hesitantly approaching his figure. 

Clearly hearing the sound of my footsteps, the sobs ceased, and he tensed. 

I watched his fingers grip onto the swing as he tilted his head even further down as if trying to hide himself.

Considering he had noticed me, I quickly put us both out of this awkwardness—as much as one could in the current predicament—by finally asking, “Are you okay?”

“Never better,” he muttered while trying his best to not make eye contact.

“Really? Because I swear I have seen you smile once or twice before, so I’d say that you have been better.”

He wiped at his cheeks before finally meeting my stare, his green gaze still glum. “Can’t you just keep walking and pretend I don’t exist like we normally do?”

Shaking my head, I took a seat on the swing beside him. “I’m afraid I can’t do that this time.”

“Why?”

“Because Are You Okay Day is tomorrow, so I figured I’d get a head start on it given that you’re a prime candidate. Besides, I really want to swing, so you’re stuck with me now.” Making my point, I slipped off my shoes, toes weaving into the sand before I kicked off, swaying myself so that I’d move back and forth.

We were silent for a while as I swung on the swing. It was long enough for him to take a few breaths, for the tears to run dry, and for his head to turn and watch me.

When he finally seemed ready, I dug my feet into the ground and brought myself to a stop, turning to glance at him.

“It’s my dad’s death anniversary,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “How long—” I kicked myself a little for not realising his dad had stopped coming home. But, then again, we never spoke. He probably didn’t notice my mum had been gone for almost ten years.

“A year.”

“You must miss him.”

His breath hitched as he went to reply, but he seemed to think otherwise of his immediate response. After taking a moment, he finally gave, “Yes and no. He wasn’t really present for the past few years, always ‘staying late’ or ‘on a work trip’.” His air quotes didn’t go unnoticed. “But I still miss seeing him, you know,” his voice choked.

“I get that,” I breathed. 

He shook his head. “When I found out he was gone, it didn’t really hit me. Like, I remember crying at the funeral, but then life went on. Mum especially did her best to pretend he never was part of the family. His photos were taken down, clothes thrown out…”

“Why would she—” I started to ask.

But then he explained, “When he crashed the car, he was with another woman. Someone he met on some dating app, we later found out as we looked through his things. It had been going on for a few years. So mum’s way of dealing with the fact that her husband cheated on her and died is to just… shut it all out.”

“I can imagine that hasn’t helped you, though. Even if he wasn’t a faithful husband or a present father, you should be able to let him go at your own pace as well.”

Frazer gave a small shrug, but his lip quivered, which told me I had said the words he was hoping someone would say. “And today, when I got home, I was looking for my spare guitar strings in the garage. I opened this one box and… turns out mum hadn’t thrown away everything. All my childhood photos with him were stuffed into the box, like she couldn’t bring herself to erase that part completely. And then I came across his funeral pamphlet in that box, which reminded me what the date was and I could feel all those emotions I had repressed coming up… But then she came home, and I didn’t want…” He trailed off.

So I finished his sentence for him. “Her to see you like that or see pictures of him?”

He shrugged. “Basically. So I snuck out to the park before she could see me.”

“Have you tried telling her this?”

Frazer took in a shaky breath. “I don’t want to hurt her by bringing him up.”

I shook my head. “That’s not on you.”

“Of course it would be if I start—”

“No. A parent’s job is to protect their child from hurting, not the other way around. Are you and your mum close or—”

“We used to be. I mean, I’ve never shied away from talking to her about anything before.”

“Then why is this different?”

“Because… her husband cheated on her.”

“And your father passed away. As the adult, she should be helping guide you through it, not you stepping on eggshells around her to avoid upsetting her.” I shrugged. “But you do what you need to. I just think if you two have been open about things before, don’t let this be the reason you close yourself off from each other.”

A silence fell between us, all the while the trees rustled in the wind, and the streetlights started to flicker on. Dad’s going to send out a search party soon if I don’t hurry, I thought to myself before checking the time.

“Anyway,” I interrupted his moment of rumination, “I have to keep going if I want dinner any time soon. My family is waiting for me.” Though as I got to my feet and slipped my shoes back on, suddenly he was up beside me.

My head craned to look at him as he towered at least a head above me. Has he always been this tall or have I just been that oblivious to him?

“Mind if I join you?” he asked after taking in my quizzical expression.

“On a grocery run?” 

“Sure.”

“Um… I mean, I guess you’re welcome to.” Our pace was slower than I was used to as the awkwardness of walking with someone stunted my steps.

“I’m not ready to head home yet. I think I should be… a little calmer before I talk to her,” he eventually explained.

I casted him a brief smile, as I realised he had taken my advice. But as our eyes locked for a little too long, I was quick to look away first, feeling suddenly shy about speaking to him now. The whole people thing wasn’t my strong suit.

“I’m Frazer, by the way,” he said.

“Yeah. I know your name. We’ve gone to the same school since, like, the dawn of time. Though I assume that’s your way of saying you don’t know my name. I’m—”

“Emilia McClure,” he finished for me.  As I glanced at him, he shot me an impish grin. “You’re… known.”

“That’s concerning. What even for?”

“Being, er… unapproachable?”

My gaze narrowed. “How am I—”

He raised his hands. “I wouldn’t say I’ve had that experience myself, but people have said you’re terrifying to work with in class because you come off as very… snappy.”

“How am I snappy?” I barked back.

He chuckled, as if to say ‘point made’, though all I could focus on was how melodic his laugh sounded… which I was mad at myself for even noticing. “Don’t shoot the messenger,” he said.

I grumbled back, “I’m not good with people.”

“I wouldn’t say that. It was very easy to talk to you just before.”

A cacophony of butterflies started fluttering in my stomach at his words, all the while I thought, Oh for fuck’s sake… seriously? 

I snuck a glance at him, wondering if I was just reacting like this because it was the longest I had spoken to someone outside of family or if it had anything to do with him. 

He was a bit of an unruly guy—though aren’t most teenagers? His hair was a little frizzy, a little long, just hitting his chin. He was most certainly on the lanky side. His jaw was graced with a few blemishes. And his nose had a small hump in the bridge. But as he tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear and his green eyes flickered my way, I felt the flames licking my cheeks. 

Shit, I think he’s cute.

“So what are we getting?” he filled the awkward silence that I had clearly created with my ridiculous school-girl crush that was growing like ivy, weeding its way into every crevice of my conscience and poisoning my ability to act like a normal human.

“Cheese,” I replied, no longer knowing how to form full sentences apparently. “Toilet paper. And, er, um…” 

What was the other thing? There were three things. Why did I have to stop at the park? Why did he have to join me? And most importantly, are my arms swinging too much with each step? 

“Tomato paste,” I finally remembered.

“The toilet paper is a curveball in this recipe,” he tried to joke.

Though I was too focussed on worrying whether my profuse sweating was starting to show on my shirt. “Huh?” I replied, looking at him like he had just explained a complex maths equation.

“Never mind,” he mumbled before looking away.

Great. Now he’s regretting joining me. And this is why I’m unable to maintain a friendship. If only I could listen to people when they talk and not over-analyse every word that comes out of their mouth as I try to think of a response to something they said thirty seconds ago.

We continued to shuffle in silence towards the shops, not sharing any conversation thereafter. I expected him to head back once we had made it, yet he followed me inside, acting as my shadow as I grabbed the things I needed.

And, after scanning everything through the checkout, he asked me on the way out, “Can I carry something for you?”

“I’m capable of carrying everything.”

“No doubt you are. But I’d like to be of help somehow… especially after you helped me today.”

“Oh… um… you can carry the cheese?”

As I handed the yellow block over to him, he stared at it for a moment. Then, as he grabbed it from my grips, he glanced at me once more with an incredulous smile plastered to his face. “Is it because I’m too cheesy?”

I deadpanned before I yanked the cheese back. Then, because I couldn’t help myself, I shoved the toilet paper at him and said, “Here. For your shit puns.” 

Spinning on my heel, I started marching home, not wanting to see how he reacted to my returned joke. Yet music to my ears was his laugh echoing behind me, my heart pounding in delight. 

Next I knew, his footsteps hurried behind me, slowing only when he caught up. “I’m going to have to try harder with my puns to keep up with your paste,” he said before snatching the tomato paste from my hand.

“That one doesn’t even work.”

He snorted in response.

We went on like that, back and forth with puns and bickers, until we reached our homes. All tension and awkwardness I felt around him evaporated with the jokes and the laughter until I almost felt at ease around him. Then he handed me back my groceries—which he somehow had all of by the end—before he thanked me again and bid me goodbye.