Page 45 of Forgotten
“Your family is from Norway?” Preston asked the first day as he sat on my bed.
“Do you speak Norwegian?” Morgan added before I could even reply.
“I wish. My parents stopped speaking to me in Norwegian when we first came to England. Apparently I was too stubborn to speak both. So of course I ended up never learning the language nor getting rid of the accent,” I explained.
“Don’t know what accent you’re talking about, man.”
“It’s hot. I would be an unstoppable whore with your accent.”
“You already are an unstoppable whore, Morgan,” Preston noted, peeling off his socks and hiding his feet under my blanket as if it belonged to him. They never left after that.
The three of us spent hours in my tiny room together, chatting, studying, napping. Morgan made sure to appear with her laptop every night, determined to have us learn the names of every drag queen to ever appear on her favourite TV show. Preston always brought wine along, because “it is classy as fuck and I gotta pass as a real Brit.”
And I was happy to simply exist in their shadow. “I really need to sleep, you guys. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.” I come back to the present, hoping they will get a hint this time.
“Not a guy. And fat chance, we gotta watch this. I mean, look at that gown.” Morgan slams a manicured finger to the laptop, making the image ripple, and Preston hums in agreement.
“Besides, fuckboy has a girl over. I shall not be listening to the straight shagging.”
Preston shares a wall with our fourth flat-mate, who is very straight, very sexually active, and very into grunting and moaning. Barf.
“Not again,” I lament.
“I actually introduced them. Thought he needed a win this week.”
Preston glares at Morgan as I resign myself to sleeping later, or tomorrow on the train to Sheffield. Or never. I kick off my shoes and sit on my usual spot on the carpet, watching the drag queens prance down the runway.
“He already had three wins this week, Morgan. How about you hook me up with one of your sexy boyfriends?”
“Shut your mouth, Pres. So are we buzzing about tomorrow?” Morgan asks me, eyes fixed on the laptop.
“Yep. I can’t believe Ford is actually done with university. He used to be so bad at school. And now he’s all done, I’m so proud of him.”
“Well I can’t believe you still call him your best friend, instead of me,” Preston points out, and I never know if he’s joking or not.
“Let the man be,” Morgan defends me. “You can’t be everyone’s best friend.”
Widening his eyes, Preston shoots her a scandalised look. “Excuse you. Everyone loves me.”
“Dude, nobody loves you. You came all the way to England to study English, and you still refer to us asy’all.”
“Hey, at least it’s gender neutral.”
“It’s also Midwestern as fuck.”
They keep bickering as Drag Race keeps playing in the background. With Morgan and Preston, my tiny university room feels complete.
It must be late when I fall asleep, squished between the wall and Preston’s bony body. When I wake up the sun is just rising and both he and Morgan are still asleep. Not for the first time, I wonder why the hell we pay for three rooms when we always end up sleeping in one. I get ready quickly in our shared bathroom and only tiptoe back to the room to pick up my bag, happy I’m already all packed.
Morgan blinks her drowsy eyes open from the chair and looks at me confused.
“Sorry. Go back to sleep, it’s early,” I whisper.
“Ash.” Cracking her neck, Morgan stretches her long arms out, requesting a hug that I provide immediately.
“Come on.” I help her up the chair and guide her towards my bed, carefully pushing Preston to the side so that Morgan can lay next to him.
“Safe trip, babes,” she wishes, snuggling closer to Preston and that reminds me why I let them crash in my room almost every night. They’re my family. They’re the siblings I wish I had: caring and affectionate and present.
