Over Goldengrove unleaving

He’d done something when Rupert showed up, something she couldn’t quite name, that kept it from feeling awkward. She’d been able to enjoy the wriggling puppy and Bas’s broad shoulders glimpsed from behind when he was dumping the pasta into a colander. He’d made her want to talk and he’d been interested in everything she said. She knew he’d slept with a vast number of women, most of them gorgeous and confident with great hair and long legs, but she didn’t feel uncomfortable. She hadn’t until now.

“It’s too much basil,” she said.

“Too much? I don’t think bringing you dinner and dessert and promising to do the washing up is too much for your 21st, Taggie. You deserve all of this, more, I should have brought champagne, a case of it—”

“No,” Taggie said, feeling clumsy and embarrassed, but more embarrassed for him than for herself, which was a novel experience. The puppy, still nameless, was dozing in a crate she’d draped with an old tablecloth and was making little snuffling noises in his sleep.

“No?”

“The chicken. It’s got too much basil in it. The balance is off, with the pesto. Maybe if there were more pine nuts or we’d used dark meat instead of breast,” she explained, hoping he understood now.

“I’ve mucked it up, yeah?” he said, leaning back in his chair, looking only mildly concerned that she couldn’t stomach the dish, not sly and salacious because she’d said breast.

“Basil’s a strong flavor, it can take over,” she said.

“And you don’t love it,” he replied. He must have seen something in her face, the way she pursed her lips before she smiled.

“It’s not my favorite,” she admitted. “But I’m sure plenty of people would like this quite a lot.”

“How would you fix it?” he asked. His curiosity was unexpected, charming her when she didn’t really believe in charm, having seen what it did to Mummy and Daddy, how Rupert had made a bloody mess of everything with it, so convinced it was his ticket out of any muddle, a mixed-up series of words she knew she’d gotten wrong but that Bas would be unlikely to point out or correct if she’d spoken aloud.

“With this much already in the sauce? Heavy cream, I think. That would be easiest,” she said.

“But not best,” he said. 

“I’d toast another batch of pine nuts, add some mascarpone,” she said.

“You’re terribly clever, aren’t you, Taggie,” Bas said.

“I don’t think so, no,” she said.

“You don’t think so, but you are. I won’t say you’re adorable, though you are, because this isn’t humility, false or otherwise,” Bas said.

“No?”

“No. You’ve listened to them all far too much, you’ve believed they were right about things you knew were wrong,” Bas said.

“Who do you mean?” Taggie asked.

“Everyone,” Bas replied, reaching over to take her plate, to stack it on his. Dinner was over, it seemed.

“Everyone,” Taggie repeated. Some people might take it as a challenge, a dare. Her da did, he fancied being underestimated, shoved aside, for all the power it gave him when he proved them wrong. She felt glum and lonely and young, as if instead of turning twenty-one, she’d turned the clock back to twelve, when she’d come out in spots and shot up but out nowhere, when her best friend Colleen had dropped her and started going round with a boy who had feathered hair and a denim jacket.

“Everyone but me,” Bas said.

He’d done something when Rupert showed up, something she couldn’t quite name, that kept it from feeling awkward. She’d been able to enjoy the wriggling puppy and Bas’s broad shoulders glimpsed from behind when he was dumping the pasta into a colander. He’d made her want to talk and he’d been interested in everything she said. She knew he’d slept with a vast number of women, most of them gorgeous and confident with great hair and long legs, but she didn’t feel uncomfortable. She hadn’t until now.

“It’s too much basil,” she said.

“Too much? I don’t think bringing you dinner and dessert and promising to do the washing up is too much for your 21st, Taggie. You deserve all of this, more, I should have brought champagne, a case of it—”

“No,” Taggie said, feeling clumsy and embarrassed, but more embarrassed for him than for herself, which was a novel experience. The puppy, still nameless, was dozing in a crate she’d draped with an old tablecloth and was making little snuffling noises in his sleep.

“No?”

“The chicken. It’s got too much basil in it. The balance is off, with the pesto. Maybe if there were more pine nuts or we’d used dark meat instead of breast,” she explained, hoping he understood now.

“I’ve mucked it up, yeah?” he said, leaning back in his chair, looking only mildly concerned that she couldn’t stomach the dish, not sly and salacious because she’d said breast.

“Basil’s a strong flavor, it can take over,” she said.

“And you don’t love it,” he replied. He must have seen something in her face, the way she pursed her lips before she smiled.

“It’s not my favorite,” she admitted. “But I’m sure plenty of people would like this quite a lot.”

“How would you fix it?” he asked. His curiosity was unexpected, charming her when she didn’t really believe in charm, having seen what it did to Mummy and Daddy, how Rupert had made a bloody mess of everything with it, so convinced it was his ticket out of any muddle, a mixed-up series of words she knew she’d gotten wrong but that Bas would be unlikely to point out or correct if she’d spoken aloud.

“With this much already in the sauce? Heavy cream, I think. That would be easiest,” she said.

“But not best,” he said. 

“I’d toast another batch of pine nuts, add some mascarpone,” she said.

“You’re terribly clever, aren’t you, Taggie,” Bas said.

“I don’t think so, no,” she said.

“You don’t think so, but you are. I won’t say you’re adorable, though you are, because this isn’t humility, false or otherwise,” Bas said.

“No?”

“No. You’ve listened to them all far too much, you’ve believed they were right about things you knew were wrong,” Bas said.

“Who do you mean?” Taggie asked.

“Everyone,” Bas replied, reaching over to take her plate, to stack it on his. Dinner was over, it seemed.

“Everyone,” Taggie repeated. Some people might take it as a challenge, a dare. Her da did, he fancied being underestimated, shoved aside, for all the power it gave him when he proved them wrong. She felt glum and lonely and young, as if instead of turning twenty-one, she’d turned the clock back to twelve, when she’d come out in spots and shot up but out nowhere, when her best friend Colleen had dropped her and started going round with a boy who had feathered hair and a denim jacket.

“Everyone but me,” Bas said.

“She’s upstairs,” Garrett said. In his room, in his bed, wearing his freshman year Briar U sweatshirt. Thinking about her that way felt like how Tucker talked about saying the rosary with his grandma, though Garrett did not have any grandma-ish feelings about Hannah.

“Yeah, I know,” Logan said. He lined up boxes of cereal on the island like the first level of Jenga. There were Rice Krispies because Hannah had said she wanted to make Rice Krispie treats and no one was upset about that. Logan had said he and Jules would make Lucky Charms treats to prove they were better but there was no red Lucky Charms box on the counter-top, no winking leprechaun catching anyone’s eye like one of those freaky old portraits that followed you wherever you went in the room.

“She asked you to get stuff?” Garrett said. He’d hit you too hard but Logan only rolled his eyes.

“No, dumbass. I’m helping you be a good boyfriend.”

“What the fuck?” Garrett said, starting to go through the bag. Three different king-size chocolate bars, two dark, one milk, an enormous bag of salt and vinegar chips, Doritos, the fancy ibuprofen gel caps that looked like blue raspberry candy, some boxes of herbal tea, a multipack of tampons, a big squishy pink plastic brick of maxi pads and a heating pad covered in mint-green silky fake velvet.

“She got her period yesterday and she feels like shit, but she doesn’t want to say anything to you and you’re clueless,” Logan said.

“There’s heating pads at Stop and Shop?” Garrett said, which was obviously the stupidest question he could have asked that had anything to do with what Logan had just said.

“I went to Costco,” Logan replied.

“That’s like thirty minutes out of the way,” Garrett said, frowning. Gas prices were up and Logan was careful about that kind of thing.

“I didn’t—she’s, well, I figured there’d be better choices for the meat,” Logan said, sounding a little flustered. Garrett had heard Logan rant about how you didn’t save that much going to Costco over Stop and Shop if you weren’t a moron and sometimes there had been a weird moment when Hannah was laughing or gesturing at the dinner table, her eyes bright, when Garrett caught Logan looking at her, fucking gazing at her before he shook his head and took a big swig from his water bottle.

“Okay. Whatever. How do you know she wants this stuff?” Garrett said.

“She needs it, man. And I know because I don’t like under a fucking rock,” Logan retorted.

“Jules, dude. Logan grew up with someone who went through this,” Tucker offered. He turned towards Logan. “You get any Midol?”

“She won’t want that,” Dean called from the couch.

“No? My mom and my aunties swear by it,” Tucker said.

“No one on TikTok’s using Midol. The heating pad’s a good idea though and she’ll probably like it better than those stick-on heat patch things,” Dean said.

“I didn’t think she was a hot water bottle kind of girl, but if she is, you could probably get a cute music themed cover for her on Etsy,” Logan said.

Garrett was confused. Or something. His closest friends, guys he thought he knew inside and out, had all this secret knowledge and he was a fucking ignorant moron.

“Don’t start spinning, G,” Logan said. “You were an only child, you weren’t that old when your mom died. There’s like no way you would have learned this stuff. They don’t teach it in health classes—”

“That’s true,” Dean said, which was the first exchange with Logan that was close to civil. It wasn’t much but it was a start. 

“How is this going to make me seem like a good boyfriend, you buying all this stuff for her when it didn’t even occur to me to ask any of you for advice. Or check with Allie,” Garrett said.

“You don’t have to tell her that part. You don’t have to say you went out and bought it, but you can kind of imply you asked me to pick the shit up for her while I was out. That’ll make her happy,” Logan said. His voice definitely softened when he said make her happy but what was Garrett going to do, call him out for liking Hannah? She was likable, lovable, goddamn adorable and if Logan wanted Garrett to act like Logan liked Hannah as a good friend or a sister, who was Garrett to grill his best friend to make him confess something none of them wanted to be aware of? 

“You can say the Ghirardelli bar was my idea,” Dean said.

“But it was my idea,” Logan said.

“Yeah, she’s not going to know that and she’ll like, never believe it was Garrett’s,” Dean said, shrugging and then wincing. He had to be in real pain to let them see anything.

“You’re not wrong,” Logan said.

“I can put the kettle on. For tea. Or we have some hot chocolate mix with mini marshmallows,” Tucker said.

“We have a kettle?” Garrett said.

Dean laughed. 

Logan smiled.

Tucker shook his head, his curls bouncing. 

“Yeah, Garrett, we have a kettle. Go bring your girl the goody bag and offer to rub her back or her feet. And don’t be weird about her period, don’t dance around it or use some weird slang,” Tucker said. “Hannah’s a sweetheart, but she might fucking kill you if you annoy her.”

“Anything else?”

“Sometimes orgasms help with cramps,” Dean said. He could have sounded sly, but he mostly sounded practical.

“I should offer to fuck her?”

“You say that and I wonder about you, man,” Tucker said.

“She might be into it. Or you could just make her come,” Dean said.

“Or she might only want to cuddle,” Logan said.

“Okay, enough. This is officially crossing the line into weird,” Garrett said.

“I’d take some hot chocolate with mini marshmallows,” Dean said. You could count on him, on the ice, in the group, to keep things moving. It was one of the reasons why the Davenport thing was so hard to deal with.

“Me too,” Logan said.