第 80 页

“Oooh, who’s hooking up?”

“I can’t tell; I’d put money on it being Nelyo and Findekáno but I think Findekáno’s still out playing Stump…” Caranthir reached the bottom step and looked up to meet Finrod’s eyes. “Hunh.” He paused, one foot still on the stairs, then curled his lip and raised a hand in a sardonic wave. He ignored Curufin completely.

Finrod swallowed and quickly looked away as he continued to push through the crowd. The living room had been transformed into a dance floor, and he could see his sister being swung around exuberantly by Celeborn, who appeared to be in a suit two sizes too big for him. Next to them, another couple was dancing, heads close together, hips tight. The girl was tall and blonde, the boy even taller and with dark curly hair.

It was Turgon and Amarië.

* * *

Glorfindel came to a halt in front of the hammock and put his hands in his pockets, nodding to the occupants. “Hey, Maglor, long time no see.”

“Glorfindel!” Maglor half sat up in the hammock, causing Maedhros to shift and roll against him. “Oof, shove off, Nelyo.”

“Stop moving,” grumbled Maedhros, but pulled himself upright.

Maglor scooted over. “Yeah, come visit with us! I mean, I know you were playing, but – ”

“I actually just got out,” said Glorfindel ruefully, sitting down between them. “My nail is what those two are fighting about.”

“Ahh, so it’s your fault.”

“Don’t worry,” said Maedhros, seeing Glorfindel’s mouth drop open apologetically, “they were bound to get into it sometime tonight. Who thought it was a good idea to invite both?”

“Tyelko probably invited Aiko, and Irissë probably invited Andreth, but I mean, it’s been a year…”

“Some people are going to have tension no matter how long it’s been,” said Maedhros wisely, and Maglor dragged his heels grudgingly along the ground.

“So,” said Maglor, after a pause. “Have you heard anything from Ecthelion recently?”

“A little.” Glorfindel’s eyes lit up. “I mean, he doesn’t have much free time, but he’s written me a couple times. Obviously nothing in depth, because, you know, he’s Ecthelion, and he keeps things to the point…” He trailed off. “But yes. It seems like he’s surviving basic.” He smiled. “Of course he is, though. I remember him getting mocked by the jocks for being a band geek, and then watching him casually kick their asses in every sport there was. And this one time, when some asshole tried to steal his flute, he literally threw him across the hallway and into the lockers. It was great.”

Maglor swung his legs idly. “You’ve been friends since high school, then?”

“Well, not friends really.” Glorfindel colored slightly. “He was a senior, and I was a sophomore, and…well, he was hard to miss, right? You notice someone like that, but they don’t necessarily notice you back. We didn’t become friends until we ended up at college together.”

“You seem to miss him a lot.”

“Yeah.” Glorfindel stared at the tiki torches wafting their citronella smoke over the backyard. “I wish he… But I’m glad he’s doing what he’s been planning on for all these years.” He shook himself, as if shrugging off something tickling the back of his neck, and turned a bright smile on Maglor. “Are you still in touch with Ríanellë?”

“Oops,” said Maedhros. Across the yard, the stump game had picked up again, though Aegnor and Andreth seemed to have disappeared to take their argument elsewhere.

“What, did I say something wrong?” Glorfindel looked between them.

“No, no problem,” said Maglor, giving Maedhros the stink eye. “Um. Yes, I’ve seen her some. Mae has seen her more, though. They worked together this spring.”

“Oh, neat! Were you DJ-ing with her?”

“What?” Both Maedhros and Maglor frowned at Glorfindel.

“Uhh. Her job? At the club? Is that not what you’re…talking about…?”

“She DJs?” Maedhros was looking at Maglor.

“Not that she told me!” Maglor dug his toes into the grass. “Lots of things she doesn’t tell me.”

A silence fell then, and Glorfindel twiddled his thumbs. Crickets chirped, and the torches flared as a light breeze swept across the yard.

“Sooo,” Glorfindel said at last. “Where were you working with her, then?”

No one answered.

“Maedhros?”

“Eh?” said Maedhros vaguely. He was watching the figures gathered around the stump. Fingon had pulled off his beer-sodden shirt and was in the process of flipping the hammer.

“I asked if – ”

“He’s not paying attention,” said Maglor with fond resignation. “He’s watching Findekáno’s arms.”

“Am not.”

“Oh, right, it’s his back you have a thing for, isn’t it?”

“Hum,” said Maedhros, still not focusing.

“Pathetic.”

Just then, a yell from the house disrupted them and cause everyone to look around.

“Hey, Celegorm! Someone’s saying the cops are here?”

“What?” Celegorm spun around. “Jesus fuck. Seriously? Did the fucking neighbors call them? It’s barely past midnight…”

“I dunno, but someone was saying there were two narcs in the front yard.”

“What?” Celegorm dashed around the corner of the house. Everyone waited. Then a loud laugh came, and Celegorm’s delighted voice.

“Hah! Figures.”

* * *

Amarië hadn’t had a thing to drink, but her head was swimming in a not altogether unpleasant way as she tightened her arms around Turgon’s neck. He was close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek, and she knew if she just tipped her head back, their eyes would meet. And she’d be close enough to…to…

Nerves and exhilaration rose up in her, and she tried to gear herself up to do it, to raise her head and meet Turgon’s eyes and see his sweet, sideways smile and maybe, maybe, to press her lips against it. Do it, a voice chanted in her head, the voice she sometimes thought of as her inner Andreth, who was afraid of nothing. Take a risk, for once!

Amarië could feel Turgon’s hand shift on her low back, his thumb rubbing a small circle against the skin bared by her top. She took a deep breath, raised her head…

…and saw Finrod.

Over Turgon’s shoulder their eyes met, his wide and surprised, and all the air went out of Amarië’s lungs.

Then he was gone, tugged along and up the stairs by Curufin, who had reached back and seized his wrist, apparently noticing neither Finrod’s shocked stare nor the reason for it.

Amarië realized she was trembling. It was like a veil had been lifted from the room, and everything that had seemed transported and heady suddenly felt bleak and seedy. The music drummed into her temples, lighting a pain behind her eyes, and she was hyper-conscious of the sweat of everyone around her, the stink of too many bodies, the way her own skin was clammy and damp. She released Turgon without realizing it, and it wasn’t until she heard him say, “Hey, what’s wrong?” that she even remembered he was there.

“Nothing,” she said faintly. “I…I need some fresh air. I don’t feel well.”

“D’you need some water? The bathroom? Can I take you to – ” She could feel Turgon laying a gentle hand to her face, which she could tell was going splotchy like it did when she was having a panic attack, her rosacea flaring up when triggered by stress or anxiety or embarrassment.

“No.” She ducked his hand and tried to fight her way through the crowd, desperate to get out of the house, a hard knot settling deep in the pit of her stomach. “No, I just need to…need to get out…”

She vanished through the crowd, leaving Turgon standing there, bewildered and concerned. “What just happened?” he asked no one in particular.

There was a snort from a long figure propped against the wall. “I’m not a betting man,” said Caranthir dryly, “but I’d say it was because Finrod just came through here.”

* * *

Oromë stood on the sidewalk and regarded the house. Lights blazed from downstairs windows, while in the back yard several figures did something involving what looked like a hammer and a stump. Oromë decided he didn’t want to know. Heavy bass thudded from the house, along with whoops, laughter, and shouted conversation.

“ ‘Come over tonight’,” he muttered to himself. “ ‘We’re having a few friends over but it’ll be totally chill.’ Good lord, Tyelko.” There was a thump from the backyard, and several cheers. Oromë gazed at the sky and wondered how far he had fallen that when he’d been invited to his twenty-something boyfriend’s house ‘to hang with friends’ on a Saturday night, he had not considered this was what he would be getting. “So far gone,” he muttered. “So far gone.”

“Yikes,” said a voice at his elbow. “How much would you need to be paid to go in there? I’m wavering at several grand, myself.”

Oromë looked down and saw a lean, spiky haired woman standing next to him, her arms also crossed, examining the house with equal skepticism.

“Consider whatever they would pay me a donation to your own fund,” said Oromë. “There may not be enough money in the world to make me attempt that house.”

“Wise.” The woman stuck out a hand, still studying the scene. “I’m Lalwen.”

“Oromë.”

“I know.” Lalwen winked at him. “I think you’re dating my nephew.”

“You – You’re Tyelko’s aunt?”

“Yes, I know, I’m terribly youthful for my maiden aunt status. But yep, I have the dubious honor of having been your young hooligan’s first babysitter.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Oromë cautiously, not sure if this was in fact the case.

“Don’t worry, I don’t share my brother’s ambivalence about you. Big fan, actually, I dated half the women’s rugby team in college and I remember reading about you while hiding in the locker-room one time. I watched you in the ’02 final against Chile – Can you still do a backflip?”

“You are definitely Tyelko’s aunt,” said Oromë, and she laughed.

“Is that a no?”

“That’s a ‘I don’t drink enough anymore to try it’.”

“What a shame, there’s probably enough booze at this party to get my mother doing backflips.”

Oromë shook his head and sank down on the grass. “I’m going to stay out here.”

“Want any company?”

“It would be most welcome.”

“Good, we can talk about all the shit we’re too old for, and how many hours ago I would have called the police if I were these ruffians’ neighbors. Also we can talk about how you’re dating my nephew, and why. I have many questions. For example, are you crazy? Have you met Tyelko?”

“You know, you’re not the first person to ask me about my sanity. I don’t know if I should be more offended on my behalf or Tyelko’s.”

Two straggling party guests shuffled up the walk way, casting wary glances at the two figures laughing on the lawn.

“Shit, man, that guy is huge.”

“And she looks intense as shit.”

“Undercover cops?”

“Almost definitely.”

“Do you think they can tell I’m high from here?”

“We’ve got a fifty-four eighty on the lambo in Zagreb,” muttered Lalwen, pretending to use her phone as a radio, and the two guests sprinted up the walkway to vanish into the house while Oromë laughed.

* * *

“Hah! Figures.”

Celegorm dashed out into the front yard where two figures were reclining on the grass. It was dark, and their features were cast in shadow, but the larger of the two was unmistakable. Laughing, he threw himself at Oromë and hung over his shoulder.

“Hey, asshole, what are you doing out here? Scaring my guests?”

Oromë looked over his shoulder and reached back to slide an arm around Celegorm’s waist and pull him around. “Ah, so only now does the host greet me.”

“Sorry about that.” Celegorm proceeded to show the depth of his remorse by kissing Oromë enthusiastically until a sharp whistle made him pull back.

“Watch it,” said Lalwen, who was sitting cross-legged on the grass. “There’s only so much of the hanky-panky I can take before the spirit of your father possesses me and does something drastic.”

“My apologies,” said Oromë, carefully disentangling himself from Celegorm. “Inappropriate.”

“Quite clearly not your fault, but the blond brat’s,” said Lalwen, throwing some grass at her nephew. “Control yourself, will you?”

“Auntie,” said Celegorm brightly. “You came!”

“Is there a place a thirty-something would rather be than a fratty twenty-something house party?” asked Lalwen, rhetorically.

“Possibly in a decommissioned nuclear submarine,” said Oromë.

“Or an abandoned mental hospital.”

“Or a Donald Trump rally.”

“Or getting vaginal rejuvenation.”

“Or – ”

“Okay, wiseasses,” said Celegorm. “I get it. You’re too good for my party. You both showed up, didn’t you?”

“Motivated by baser instincts, most like,” said Lalwen, winking at Oromë.

“No,” said Oromë, looking distressed. “It was not simply – I was just being – ”

“I was talking about my own baser instincts, slow your roll,” said Lalwen, and flailed as another figure dashed out of the night and bowled her over. “Oof. Hey, honey.”

“See?” said Celegorm, settling himself in Oromë’s lap as Haleth pushed Lalwen to the grass and kissed her. “You’re not alone in debasing the young.”

“Ooh, I am mightily reassured.”

“Glorfindel’s here, you should say hi.”

Oromë groaned. “This is why I haven’t gone in. My god, Tyelko, does the word ‘awkward’ mean nothing to you?”

“Babe, you’ve known me for five years.” Celegorm kissed Oromë’s cheek. “You know I don’t fuck with ‘awkward’. Doesn’t exist for me.”

“So far gone,” said Oromë, to the heavens.

“What is?”

“I am.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You, me, Haleth, Lalwen, doubles beer pong?”

“So far gone,” said Oromë, and dropped back down on the grass.

“Typical narc,” said Celegorm, and followed him.

-

The party wrapped up not long after, Lalwen steering Haleth down the walk to the car, and teasing her about how she smelled of Purple Kush.

“I think I’ll stay here,” said Caranthir carelessly, who had gone outside to sit on the lawn and share a cigarette with Maglor and was now sitting on the stairs in front of his brother while Maglor rested his elbows on Caranthir’s shoulders. “You know, if you haven’t rented out my room yet or anything. Give Haleth and Lalwen the house to themselves for once.” The front door was propped open, and a cool breeze blew pleasantly into the house, alleviating some of the heat and heaviness left by the party.

“Of course,” said Maglor, scrubbing up Caranthir’s hair and pocketing the half smoked joint he found tucked behind Caranthir’s ear. “You can stay as long as you want, you know that.”

“We’re staying too,” said Fingon, propping up a listing Maedhros who was wrapped around him and nuzzling into his neck.

“You know his room is occupied, right?” said Aredhel, who was now wearing both Fingon’s trucker hat and her own. She had shed her shirt around the same time as Celegorm and was just in her sports bra.

Maedhros giggled faintly and whispered something into Fingon’s ear.

Fingon shook his head, grinning. “We can take the couch,” he said, dropping Maedhros onto it. “But I would like to remind you of how many nights I spent in the same bed you are currently occupying, Ireth.”