Page 21 of The Score

Chapter 8

Bear

The hug between Tío Sergio and Pen lasts a long time. I clear my throat. It's like I can feel Pen choking up as she holds her dad close. Pen's mom, Tía Antonia, gives me a hug that while not as long, holds nearly as much affection.

It used to hurt my heart that I could get this from Pen's parents and not really my own. More than a decade has passed since the last time I felt that way. With my parents back in Norway, the physical distance mirrored the lack of closeness with them and, somehow, made it easier. They'll probably want to be at the wedding, but I don't expect anything else to change.

"Come on in," Tía Antonia says. "Food's going to get cold."

I put a hand on Pen's back and we go into the home. The house is almost identical to the place I grew up in, but this one was renovated recently. Now the whole downstairs is open concept, with stairs to one side, and a living room opposite.

Pen sleeps in her childhood bedroom on the second floor, while I sleep on the sofa bed in the living room. Even so, I keep my things in a small dresser nextto hers. It's always been like that. I carry our bags in one hand and drop them at the bottom of the stairs to take up later.

We go through the living room to the dining space behind it, between the sitting area and the kitchen at the back. All of it is decorated in an eclectic mix of old and new pieces of furniture, modern decor, and bits and pieces they brought from Chile. From copper decorative plates to handcrafted clay and crinoline traditional pieces, little bits of their story hang around the place.

At first, it was hard to be here when my old home was just next door, owned by strangers. Now it doesn't matter. This house feels like going back home. It's a cozy feeling I adore.

We get to the table and I instinctively aim to help Pen take a chair, but I freeze midway. I go as far as to pull it back and wait for her to get comfortable, but I know better. From the funny little smirk tilting Pen's mouth, she knows better, too. Despite the hundred ways in which we're affectionate with each other, this kind of gallantry has never been part of what we do. But we're engaged, and it may have flicked a couple of extra switches in my brain.

I've always known that the key to protecting our friendship is to never let myself look at those feelings I had— could have had— may have had for her the moment I kissed her. When something like that takes over, friendships suffer. They become fragile.

That's especially the case with Pen. She would feel betrayed if I went from the best friend she feels safe with, to a fool suddenly seeking something different. To change my tune after all this time would hurt us beyond repair. Now I'll be treating Pen like my fiancée, and it will push me right to the edge of those lines I don't let myself look at. Moments like these have always excited me with a romantic partner, but I can't let them drag me to something couple-like with my best friend.

Good luck to my compartmentalization powers.

Pen acts like everything is normal, so I do too. We take our spots side by side, in front of her parents.

Tío Sergio pours coffee in our mugs. "You guys didn't have to come all the way."

"Yes, we did," I say. "We can go back to the camping grounds we found a hundred times. From the sounds of it, we need to prioritize getting you to Seattle for some specialist assessments."

He smirks the same way Pen does. "At least let me put something in my stomach before you argue with me on that. Help yourself, please."

The spread before us is impressive. Scrambled eggs with mushrooms, sliced tomatoes, three types of cheese, golden hashbrowns, sausages, Chilean churrascas bread I suspect Tía Antonia made herself, two types of jam, and a jar of dulce de leche they will insist I call manjar, like the rest of the country does.

"This is a lot of food, Mamá." Pen grins through the comment, while shoveling eggs onto her plate.

Knowing what comes next, I put one churrasca on Pen's plate and one on mine.

"I always want you guys to feel welcome here and a full stomach is part of that," Tía Antonia says. "Besides, I have a good memory. I remember how much a young man eats. Don't forget I fed Leon plenty through his teenage years."

Pen snorts.

I shake my head. "I'm nearly thirty years old, Tía."

"And a pro athlete." Tía raises both eyebrows like this is all very logical. "Isn't carb loading a thing?"

Pen takes a few pieces of cheese and adds them to her plate. "Do you want a couple slices, Bear?"

I nod and let her take care of it. Tía Antonia's eyes are on us, but I pretend I don't notice.

"Thank you," I tell Pen, before kissing her temple.

Yeah, I can't let this confuse my poor heart.

"Anyway." I sip from my coffee and gaze at Pen's dad. "I won't let you avoid the subject this time, Tío Sergio."

Tío Sergio fills his mouth with food to delay his response, but I wait him out. I maintain my insistent stare.