Page 27 of Forgotten
“Then we kiss,” I repeat.
“So we can see if you actually like boys,” Ford explains it as if it is the most brilliant idea ever.
I grip the glass with shaky fingers, “Darshi said that she liked kissing Sydney, but kissing me was weird. Because we are friends.”
Ford’s eyes are on me, but he says nothing. He brings the glass to his mouth and takes a sip of wine. His nose curls in disgust, then he waits for me to do the same. I’m not sure what I expected, but I find the wine quite tasty.
Sip after sip, we empty our drinks. Ford is done first, and when he slams his hand on the kitchen counter, I find myself flinching. “Sorry. That was disgusting.”
I nod in agreement. “It was. I need chocolate.” Although that is not exactly what I’m thinking. It was weird, bitter at the end, but somewhere in the middle, I quite enjoyed it. I like wine, I decide.
Ford comes back from the living-room with the bowl of sweets and hands it to me. In sync, we each pick our favourite Cadbury bars, we unwrap them and shove them into our mouths.
“Should I be feeling different?” I check.
“I dunno. More brave?”
I want to correct him. I want to say many things, but find the words for none. It is almost as if my thoughts are just out of my reach, swirling around in my empty mind. I try to grasp one but it slips away, and I have tolean on the kitchen counter for stability. “What if we stop being friends like you and Emma?”
“Emma and I were never friends. Also, you and Darshi are still friends after she kissed you, aren’t you?”
Ford is right. Kissing Darshi had been like kissing my little brother Erik on the cheek. One moment she was standing close, the next she was trying to move her lips on mine. I stood completely still, held my breath and counted to ten, waiting for it to be over.
Now, I’m feeling different. There is something weird knotting my stomach. My mouth is dry and the room is wobbly around me. Ford is standing in front of me with a curious smile and relaxed shoulders. His skin gets more golden in the summer, even in the gloomy British weather. It’s magic.
“Maybe I won’t like it, and then what if I don’t like neither girls nor boys?”
Ford giggles. “Then we can find a space alien with two heads that you can marry without kissing.”
And that is the reason why Ford is my best friend, I remember. This is the friend who gave up his nickname so it could be mine, the person who hugged me when I failed my English test and who picked me up when I fell from the skates. This is Ashford Hale, always ready to play UNO, never jealous of my other friends, always smiling, never angry.
“Okay,” I say, more to myself than to him. Taking a step closer, I’m surprised my feet are not stumbling.
Ford is waiting for me and when I’m right in front of him, he places one hand carefully on my waist. “Okay.”He breathes out a confirmation. He smells like chocolate and wine and suddenly, I need to taste that mixture onhis lips.
Kissing Ford is everything that kissing Darshi was not. He’s harder, and his hand feels bigger on my body. He smells like summer and sweat and his hair doesn’t tickle my face uncomfortably. Our chests brush together and his is firm against mine. It must be because of all the sports he’s constantly doing, but it catches me by surprise anyway. It ends as quickly as it started and it leaves me breathless.
I wait a full ten seconds before opening my eyes. Ford is smiling at me, a question hanging between us.
“Yep.” That’s all I need to say.
Ford punches the air in excitement. “Yes! Boys! I’m so happy for you, mate. First alcohol and first kiss.”
Our friendship doesn’t change after that. We go back to the living-room, sit on the couch with our feet on the coffee table. We share the bowl of sweets until it is empty, England has lost to Germany and our heads stop spinning from the wine. Ford takes his guitar and we go out on the porch, he strums Coldplay while we play UNO. That night I win two rounds.
It is June 2010. Nothing changes between us, but everything is changing inside of me.
Chapter 11
2024 - Ashford
My hands are shaking when I finally unlock the phone. Ash and Winnie left hours ago and I have just been sitting here, staring at the device. For a while, I study the colourful apps, searching my brain for any memory, anything. Then with a deep breath, I click on the scariest app of all.
There’s thousands of photos and for a second, I wish I was the person who used albums, who organised. Instead, the little squares stare back at me, little previews of moments that had to mean something.
I start scrolling, clicking randomly here and there. There’s hundreds of videos featuring Ash in all positions, places, moods. There’s photos of Ash relaxing on a sandy beach, one of him in crystal clear water. There are photos of Ashley in a messy kitchen surrounded by basil leaves and tomatoes and mozzarella, photos of Ashley looking proud in front of a weirdly-shaped pizza, photos of a pizza on the floor and a shocked Ash kneeling in front of it. One picture of Ashley leaning against a tree mid laugh and I can almost hear that familiar sound.
Inanother picture, he’s standing by a waterfall in what looks like a green forest, one hand at his hip and one in a victory sign.
