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Nathan's been over at Steve's house everyday for the last six months. Steve's mom didn't mind the first month, but after a while she began to grow annoyed with the added expense of having another mouth to feed. She kicked them out about two weeks ago, telling her son to come back around dinner time with a full belly.
So they've been hanging out at Fred's diner instead.
Fred's been nice enough to feed the boys, so long as they helped out a bit in the kitchen whenever he needed the extra staff—which unfortunately turned out to be pretty much always.
"You never told me how cool your step-dad was," Steve mentions one day. They're in the kitchen scrubbing dirty dishes.
"He's okay," Nathan deflects.
"Seriously!" he exclaims. "He offered me a part time job here as a busboy, and you know how much I could use the cash," Steve's dad is a freelance photographer that hardly makes any good money and frequently isn't home. His mom is a high school teacher at a school nearby, but one that Steve had the forethought never to enrol in.
"That's pretty cool of him," Nathan admits.
"You're so lucky you've got such a cool dad," Steve sighs, almost jealously.
Nathan drops a dish before turning to his friend. "He's not my dad," he reminds him.
There's a look of pity and slight wonder in Steve's eyes, but he knows better than to say anything. "Sure, of course," he amends. There's a dish in his hands so grimy that the colour looked almost permanently stained brown. "So..." he trails off, eyes trained in concentration at the stained dish. "How've you been, man?" he asks, not so slyly changing subject. "Any nightmares?"
Nathan tenses for a moment before he remembers that he doesn't mean any harm. Steve's pretty much the only person in the world that Nathan trusts wholeheartedly—he would never share anything he told him in confidence. "They're not nightmares, Steve. They're—it's like I'm being haunted."
A wrinkle of confusion nestles between his blonde brows. "I don't get it," he answers.
And truthfully, neither did Nathan.
"I can't explain it. I'm never upset when I see her, but I feel sorta..." He trails off, unable to find that distinct longing and regret that hits him every time he's visited by the memory of his mother in his slumber. "I don't know."
"Oh. Well, I understand," but of course he didn't, which is why he immediately smiled sheepishly as he rinsed the last dish. "Okay, sue me, I don't understand, but I'm here for you anyway."
Nathan knows the words he's meant to say, thank you or perhaps even give his best friend a hug, but instead he merely nods at him and turns back to the dishes.
