Making Out With Stella

He sits on the floor, crossing his legs. I sit across from him. “Did you get all the presents you needed?” I ask. “You get something for your parents?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he says, moving so our knees are touching. He laughs softly. “You know, I wanted to tell you, I’m having such a good time. I’m glad everything fell through.”

“What happened?”

“My parents,” he says, looking down. “They decided to go away on a cruise for Christmas, and they forgot to tell me until they had already left for the port. They said they’d feel more comfortable if I didn’t stay in the house alone.”

“It’s good that they didn’t want you to be alone.”

“More like they don’t trust me in the house.”

I reach out, put my hand on his knee. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is,” he says simply. “If they didn’t want me to be or feel alone, they would have called me on my birthday. They didn’t. I don’t know if they remembered.”

There’s a pang in my chest and I want to hug the sadness out of him, but I haven’t known him sad.