fundamentals of love ; james sirius potter

25. the lucky one

"Ellie's told me so much about you."

"Hopefully nothing bad."

"Well, she did tell me you were team Logan, so you lose some points with me," Fran says, as she's putting some asparagus on his plate. "I hope you aren't going to tell me that you're a Tory."

James grins, "No I love Bernie Sanders."

That makes me smile. On the car ride here, I'd given him a rundown on everything muggle in the world. I'd talked about Bernie for a solid hour because he's been my political crush since I was ten ( I know it's bad to have politicians as role models, but it's Bernie. Let me live.) My grandpa had let us borrow his prized red mustang and I'd played some Radiohead when we first left, he didn't understand the reference because he doesn't know the existence of Katy Perry.

Fran had invited us over to stay the night at her large house in the Lakes. It was in the middle of the week though and we wouldn't get to spend too much time here, James was extremely busy with his quidditch schedule and I was . . . well I was doing something but I don't know what I was doing. Avoiding my problems, most likely.

"Who's James most like from the show," Fran asks me.

I glance over at him, feeling my ears grow red. "Dave."

"Is that a compliment," James asks, with a frown.

My jaw drops. "Of course it is."

"He's so--"

"Sorry would you rather be Dean?"

He shakes his head. "You're mean."

"Then tell me who I am."

"You know that kid at Chilton? The boy who was in Into the Woods and was bullied by Par--"

I kick him under the table and he starts to laugh.

And, I remember listening to the Pride and Prejudice audiobook narrated by my celebrity crush, Kate Beckinsale, on the way here. I'd stared at the road as Kate narrated the second-best Jane Austen novel, pretending that I wasn't basically dying in the process of trying to keep it all cool because I want him to like me but I've never been good at doing that.

Whenever I like someone, I usually love to pretend I could care less about them because I feel it makes me more appealing.

So, we all sit around the table, the three of us talking about everything. I fill Fran in on how my dads doing and the fact our dog Bjork is getting old, I contemplate telling her about the fact Bjork is sick and end up deciding not to. While she gave us a tour of the modern midcentury farmhouse, I realised how it lingers with her husband, Derek's, touch. There are football memorabilia from France and a signed ball from some player I'm not familiar with. An overwhelming amount of the colour green just like his eyes. Pictures of them littered all around from the twenty years they had together. And, what made me pause when we entered was that she never moved his jacket or shoes.

She leaves them in the closet as if he's going to be coming from work later.

When we were driving in Papa's mustang, I noticed how the glove compartment still has his mother's reading glasses. He'd never moved them even after she passed away decades ago. Seeing the way people continue to love the dead has always fascinated me. 

My grandparents had another child who passed away during the war. They keep his toys scattered around his house. My Aunt Emma still wears the bracelet he made her. My Aunt Meg always disappears on his birthday. Dad, well, he talks to him. 

Sometimes when it's late at night and he's finishing up some paperwork for whatever case he's doing, my dad starts talking to a brother who passed away over twenty years ago. Cody, you should've seen Pucey, he'll say to the empty air, the kid had a hole in his chest. It was a bloody mess. Then he'll pause as if waiting for his words to sink in before continuing. He talks about me a lot too. You'd love her, Conrad, she's a bit too invested in Charles and Erik though. Every time they have the fight in Cuba in the movie, she acts like they're a couple breaking up.