Holding Hands Won't Be Enough

Bam wouldn’t usually just let himself into a relatively new friend’s house by force, but he really had no choice. One beer turned into too many beers and he found himself being politely asked to leave the bar as they were closing; time just got away with him sometimes. He liked just going to a bar and drinking alone; he wrote; he thought; he made a few phone calls; time truly on his own was a rarity. He pushed himself through an ajar window just enough to reach the latch and open it fully to clamber through, once inside he closed it silently only to find that lights were still on about the house. He really loved everything about the way that Milly had put her home together – it was the perfect mix of renaissance gothic and contemporary Mediterranean – he felt very much at home here. As he sauntered toward the stairs that would take him to his guest room, he heard the murmur of cartoons from the living room and followed with intrigue as to who would still be up at 3am. He hadn’t at all expected what he came to find and took to the camera on his phone straight away with a smile, “First family portrait.” he chuckled.



She awoke initially from a dead arm, only then to take in the feel of her surroundings and surmise that she was on the sofa, then the head ache kicked her in the face with a force that screamed, “You’re not 17 years old anymore, sunshine! You’re 29 and hangovers are here to say fuck you!”

After a series of heavy, squeezing, blinks, she realised she was not alone on the sofa. She looked at her son, hugging the leg of Ville, who slept with one hand bent under his cheek and the other softly placed on Oscar’s back. She remembered the sobering conversations that they had before they had fallen asleep and wouldn’t take back a word; though she would never totally forgive and certainly never forget, she was an entirely different person since becoming a mother and it became as clear as day to her that there are only a few people in your life who you will truly ever love and to let them slip by would be the biggest waste. She sat up and composed herself, tactfully moving Ville’s hand from Oscar’s back and standing to pick up the toddler. She stopped however, upon thinking that waking him now would be dangerous, a grumpy three year old is a nightmare on any day, let alone one started on minimal sleep with a thumping headache. She put Ville’s hand back and snuck off to shower.

She had done so well. She had expertly snuck about the house, not waking a soul. Seth had already left, though to where, she had no idea. She expected him to be angry about last night and if he had left very early he would have surely seen the three of them asleep on the sofa, only further angering him, so didn’t worry with messaging him at all. She set a small bag with a change of clothes for Oscar and a few toys by the front door with her own and snuck back into the living room. Still as she left them, she again moved Ville’s hand and reached for her boy, only for him to open his beautiful eyes wide and beam, “Mummy!” up into the silence.

“Shh, shh, shh, baby.” She smiled, putting her hands under his arms.

“Mummy…” Ville croaked with a smile as she lifted Oscar off of him. She winced and shrugged, the international body language for, ‘oops, sorry!’, with a small laugh at his words.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” She cringed. Little did she know that despite the first hangover he had had in years, this was the best way he had woken up since before she had left him. He shook his head.

“The pleasure is all mine, I can assure you.” He stretched his back, the audible fluid popping was somewhat muffled by the sofa cushions.

“I turned the coffee machine on, if that helps? It’s not one of those awful filter jug things though, there’s a grinder next to it, you just.. Oh, I’m sure you know.” She rambled, Ville just listened, enamored with her croaking waking voice that he had always found so irresistible. “I really am late though,” she fretted, repositioning a wriggling Oscar on her hip, “I’ll see you later?”

“I do hope so.” He replied truthfully. The air was awkward, like a one night stand with a best friend, having finally seen them naked after years of wondering, that kind of atmosphere – not bad, but not entirely comprehensible. Their eyes looked through each others for a second too long and they both averted their gazes promptly; Ville by scratching the back of his neck and sitting up and Milly’s by touching her nose that she noticed hurting.

“Okay then.” She laughed, “Bye.” She scurried out the room, blowing raspberries into Oscar’s neck as she did.

Ville felt more alive and happy than he had in a very long time, stepping up from the sofa, his alcohol festering stomach didn’t bother him in the slightest as he moved toward the kitchen, a warm glow of rightness swarming around him. “Mitä olet niin onnellinen perse reikä?” Gas jested.
(What are you so happy about ass-hole?)

“En ole saa olla hyvällä tuulella näin aikaisin aamulla?” he happily replied, picking a cigarette from his packed and walking toward the door.
(Am I not allowed to be in a good mood this early in the morning?)

“Sinulla postitse seksiä itsetyytyväisyyteen sinulle.” Gas laughed, following his friend outside for a cigarette. Ville laughed heartily.
(You have a post sex smugness to you.)

“Not post sex, Gas man. Post-this...” Bam announced, taking a seat at the table and handing his phone over to him. Ville’s brow furrowed as he craned his neck to look at the phone. Gas cooed and handed the phone back, ignoring Ville’s reach for it.

“What is it?” he said, taking the devise from Bam. He studied the screen before shaking his head, “It’s blank.” Bam snatched it back and tapped it a few times.

“I know you hate cell phones, but it’s a fucking iPhone: Monkeys know how to use iPhones!”

“I’m not a monkey, Bammio.” He replied seriously, taking the phone. He studied the photo for a second and smiled. “Cute.”

“How exactly did it go from her not being able to be in the same room as you for five minutes to you being cuddle bunnies with her and the sprog?” Gas asked, amused, but happy for his friend.

“21 questions.”

“You drank!?” he exclaimed with awe. Ville nodded.

“You drank? Really?” he nodded again.

“I’ve steered clear from anything that could possibly lead to that damned game for years, she is the only exception. To any rule, really..” Bam sighed.

“Dude, just be careful. She lives here with Seth, her partner… Don’t go getting in balls deep. I don’t want to see you like before.”

“I know. I respect that her and Seth are an item, I do. It’s just she’s a whole new person now, as am I, and it’s a whole new process of getting to know each other, rediscover our friendship. It makes me happy that she wants that after what I did, okay? I’m not here to be a home wrecker, on any account.”

“So how did you end up all cuddled on the sofa.”

“We weren’t cuddled! We simply fell asleep at opposite ends and Oscar in the middle.”

“Who fell asleep first?” Gas asked sternly, already knowing the answer.

“She did.” Ville responded guiltily. Both his friends gave him a stern look, “I just… I lay there watching her asleep, holding her son, recounting the conversation we had just had and a profound sense of melancholy and love and understanding washed over me. Everything just seemed okay again. Everything felt right. I haven’t felt that for many years.”

“What do you mean?” Bam asked, unsure.

“Just having her around makes me complete; it doesn’t matter in what context, so long as she’s there. I thought for so long that she needed to be my something in order for my life to have meaning, but she doesn’t, she just needs to be… Of course I care that she loves someone else, but the very fact that she wants me to be her friend, is more than I ever could have imagined. Last month I could only dream of ever seeing her again and last night we played with her son together…”

“You’re something else, do you know that?” Gas smiled.

“Yeah, a dad.” Bam uttered quietly into his coffee cup.