"What are you doing here?" I ask my mom, slumping into the chair across from her.
"Nice welcome," she says, pinning me with her eyes. "I wasn't expecting a parade, but at least a 'hi, Mom.'"
"No, wait, sorry," I say quickly, scratching the back of my neck. "You know I love you. You just caught me off guard. Dad always makes me haul ass to Silicon Valley to see him. He never comes to campus."
"I'm not your father, sweetheart," she says, her tone half-amused, half-sharp. "What's wrong with wanting to see my son? Or am I embarrassing you now?"
"Embarrassing?" I scoff, almost laughing. "No, Mom, never. It's just… this isn't our thing. You surprised me."
"There's a first time for everything," she says, adjusting her blazer that's got half the café sneaking glances. "And with the messes you've been getting into, I think I should visit more often. Don't you?"
I sigh, feeling the weight of my scholarship lie. "I already apologized for that, Mom. The issue's with Dad, not you."
"As always, I'm stuck in the middle," she says with a short sigh that sounds more tired than angry.
"You here to chew me out?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"No, I just wanted to see you," she says, her voice softening.
"Is something up?" I press, searching her face for clues.
"Does something have to be up for me to visit?" she counters with a smile that disarms me.
"No, but… this is weird," I admit, shrugging.
"Everything's fine, relax," she says, settling into her chair. "By the way, do you know what day it is?"
"Tuesday?" I say without thinking.
"You really don't know?" she asks, arching an eyebrow.
I pull out my phone, but the screen's black. I shake it like that'll bring it back to life. "Dead. Forgot to charge it last night," I mumble.
My mom places her hand over mine, warm and firm. "Happy birthday, son."
I freeze, processing. "Was that today? Shit…" I run a hand over my forehead, laughing. "It totally slipped my mind."
"You forgot your own birthday?" she says, laughing with a soft scolding edge.
"With everything going on, it just… whoosh," I say, grinning.
"Come here," she says, pulling me into a hug. She wraps me up tight, and I hug her back. It's been years since I felt her hug on my birthday. Between college and trips with friends, these moments got lost. But this hug is different—warm, solid, like the world stops for a second. It feels good, fucking good.
"Thanks, Mom," I say with a genuine smile.
"Now you can drink legally without begging someone to buy for you," I joke.
"Watch it, Whitman. I can still drag you by the ears," she says, and we both laugh.
She pulls a card from her bag and hands it to me. "What's this?" I ask, taking it.
"From your sister."
"Elizabeth? Why didn't she call?" I ask, frowning.
"She's as pissed as your dad about your lie," she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. "She doesn't care what you do as long as you're happy, but you fooled us all, Noah."
"I know, I know," I mumble, looking down.
"Anyway," she continues, her voice softening, "there's $12,500 in there. From Elizabeth."
"No way," I say, eyes wide.
"You know your sister wouldn't leave you high and dry. Your dad doesn't control her accounts, so he can't track that card. Enjoy it. Maybe it'll help with tuition."
I sigh, staring at the card. "Even with this and what I make here, tuition's a tough nut. It's like $35,000. I'm still short."
"Keep fighting for that scholarship," she says, her look a mix of pride and warning.
"Yeah… I will," I say, nodding.
"By the way," she adds, glancing around curiously, "how'd you end up working here?"
"Thanks to Ethan," I say without thinking. "You know, the guy who served you… the one with the pretty eyes."
"Ethan?" she asks, a mischievous glint in her eye. "The one with the pretty eyes?"
I laugh, heat creeping up my neck. "What? He's got nice eyes, doesn't he? It's just a figure of speech, Mom. Don't start."
"Just teasing, honey," she says, laughing. "I know your history with girlfriends, don't worry."
I grin, caught up in her laughter. "Thanks for the card, Mom."
We stand and hug again, a long one that smells of her perfume and the café's coffee. "Listen, Mom," I say, pulling back. "I don't want more money from you. With Elizabeth's cash and what I earn here, I'll manage. Don't worry."
"Noah, I'm sorry your dad plays games with your money," she says with a sigh.
"He won't forever," I say, shrugging. "Love you."
"Love you, sweetheart," she says, kissing my cheek.
Before she leaves, she turns to Ethan. "Oh, Ethan, I forgot to pay you."
"No worries, it's on the house," he says with a smile that makes him blush a bit. I glance at him and chuckle to myself. It's fun seeing him like this.
"You sure?" she insists.
"All good," Ethan says with a wink. "Don't worry about it."
"It was delicious, sweetheart," my mom says to Ethan, then blows me a kiss before heading out.
"She's got your eyes," Ethan says, coming over while wiping down the counter.
"Right?" I say, smiling.
"So it's your birthday?" he asks, a curious glint in his eye.
"Yeah, even I forgot," I admit, laughing.
"Happy birthday," he says with a smile that catches me off guard.
"Thanks, hot stuff," I say, and I see him blush again. He tries to play it cool, but it's not working. I think he likes me, though I'm not sure. I tend to charm everyone I talk to—it's a natural talent.
Suddenly, Ethan pulls out a dessert from behind the counter. It's got "Happy Birthday" written in caramel on top. "When I heard your mom, I whipped this up," he says, shrugging.
I laugh, genuinely surprised. "Damn, Ethan Bennett, the thoughtful one. Thanks, man."
Before I can say more, Joe bursts into the café with his usual chaos. "What's the most expensive, pain-in-the-ass coffee you've got?" he asks Ethan, leaning on the counter.
"Kopi Luwak's the priciest. But the Panamanian Geisha's no slouch," Ethan says, all professional.
"Hear that, peasant?" Joe says, elbowing me. "I want that one. And it better be good, or no tip."
I give him a light punch in the shoulder. "You're lucky if I make you an americano," I joke.
The three of us crack up, and the vibe lightens, the hum of people filtering through the window.
"I gotta go," Ethan says, taking off his apron. "Stanford's playing USC tonight. Jackson's on the team, I'm gonna cheer him on."
"There's a game?" I say, surprised. "That explains why everyone's headed to the stadium."
"Hey," I say to Ethan, an idea sparking. "How about a birthday gift? Invite me to the game."
"Can I tag along?" Joe chimes in with a cheeky grin.
We both look at Ethan, waiting. "Fine, let's go," he says with a resigned but amused sigh.
****
We roll up to Stanford Stadium, and the place is a fucking madhouse. The new quarter's about to kick off, and campus is buzzing with life again. The air's thick with the smell of fresh-cut grass, burnt popcorn, and the sweat of the crowd packed into the stands. Red and white Stanford flags wave like flames under the afternoon sun, and the speakers blast chants that make the concrete vibrate under our feet. Scoring decent seats was a miracle, thanks to Jackson, who seems to know half the damn campus. The palm-lined paths and sandstone buildings led us here, weaving through the chaos of students slipping back into the college grind.
We settle into the metal bleachers, crammed in with the crowd, the seats creaking under everyone's weight. We're talking, throwing jabs, and laughing our asses off while the teams warm up below. Helmets gleam under the floodlights, and every clash of shoulder pads echoes like a war drum. Ethan and Joe are next to me, and we're cracking up, with Joe tossing out ridiculous comments about the players that have us laughing until our stomachs hurt.
Then a voice snaps me out of it. "Hey, birthday boy," it says, sending my pulse into overdrive.
I turn, and there's Amber, with a smile that could light up the whole damn stadium. I can't help grinning like an idiot. "Hey. When'd you get back?" I ask, trying to sound chill even though my heart's racing.
"Last night," she says, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. "Got stuff to sort out at the sorority, gotta be ready for the quarter's chaos. So, what? No hug?"
"Hell yeah, come here," I say, opening my arms. Her hug is warm, her floral perfume hitting me like a memory. She kisses my cheek, and I kiss hers back, feeling a spark that reminds me why I've been crazy about her for years. Amber's my Achilles' heel, the one girl who's had me spinning in circles without ever getting anywhere.
She gives Joe a quick, friendly hug, then turns to Ethan with a mischievous grin. "Hey, handsome," she says, grabbing his neck and planting a kiss on his lips.
I freeze, like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over me. Joe and I lock eyes, jaws practically on the floor, like we just saw a UFO. My head's a mess. Amber kissing Ethan? Are you fucking kidding me? I've been chasing her since freshman year, and now this. I don't know what to say, so I stammer, "What the hell's going on?"
Amber laughs, mocking. "Jealous, Whitman? Relax, it's just how we say hi. It's nothing."
"It's nothing, Whitman," Ethan adds, shrugging. "You know I don't feel anything."
"Yeah… sure," I mumble, but my brain's a wreck. I know Ethan's gay, but something's burning inside me. I'm not sure if I'm pissed because he kissed Amber… or because Amber kissed him. It's a fucking mess, and it bugs me that I can't figure it out.
The next few minutes, I'm tense, stealing glances at Ethan without meaning to. I watch him laugh with Amber, moving with that calm that drives me nuts and intrigues me at the same time. I don't know why I'm so fixated on him, but my eyes keep catching the way he talks, the way he gestures. Maybe it's because he's too close to Amber. Or that's what I tell myself.
We keep chatting, asking Amber about the sorority. Every time it comes up, she gets cagey, giving short answers with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. Ethan and I exchange a quick look, like we both sense something's off, but we don't push. There's a spark in that glance, a silent understanding that makes me feel closer to him, though I don't know why.
The game kicks off, and Stanford Stadium loses its mind. The crowd stomps the bleachers, waves flags, and every hit on the field lands like a cannon shot. The grass is pristine, striped with white lines glowing under the floodlights, and the speakers' roar makes the air hum. Jackson, our quarterback, stands tall behind the line, the ball flying to his hands after the snap. USC's defense charges like a stampede, and the hits are brutal, leaving players sprawled on the grass like pieces of a broken puzzle.
Joe's in another dimension, screaming, jumping, clapping like his life depends on every play. Ethan and I lock eyes and crack up at his intensity. He's like a cartoon fan, eyes bugging out, hands flailing.
In the third quarter, Jackson takes a tackle that sends him crashing to the ground with a thud. Joe clutches the back of his head, all soap-opera drama. "Get up, man!" he yells, leaning forward like he's about to sprint onto the field. When Jackson stands, shaking off the dirt and jogging back to the huddle, Joe lets out an exaggerated sigh that has Ethan and me doubled over, our laughter blending into the stadium's chaos.
The fourth quarter's a heart attack. Stanford's down by one, and the clock's merciless. Jackson drops back, dodges a botched block, and launches a long pass that cuts through the air like a comet. The receiver snags it in the end zone. Touchdown. The stadium erupts, thousands of voices screaming as one. Joe leaps from his seat, flailing like a lunatic, and Ethan and I laugh, swept up in the euphoria.
But USC's got one last play. A long pass sails down the field, and the crowd holds its breath. Then a Stanford defender picks it off. The final whistle blows, and the stadium turns into a sea of flags, jumps, and hugs. Victory, by a hair. Joe's yelling so loud I swear they hear him in LA.
For a moment, everything else fades. The game was so intense I forgot my irritation over the kiss. We head down to the field, swept along by the tide of hyped-up students, the grass still damp under our feet and the echo of chants ringing out. When Jackson appears, sweaty and holding his helmet, we tackle him with hugs like he's family.
"You were unreal," Ethan says, giving him a bear hug that nearly lifts him off the ground.
"Thanks," Jackson says, panting. "It was rough, but we pulled it off."
"Not bad," Amber adds with a wink. "Looks like the team's in good hands."
"We gotta celebrate," I say, grinning. "Let's grab some beers. I'm legal now."
Everyone laughs, and Amber nods. "I'm in."
Ethan, Amber, and I start walking, the stadium's noise fading behind us. I turn to Jackson. "You coming?"
"I'll catch up later," he says with a tired smile.
"What about you, Joe?" I ask.
"Uh… got something to do," he says, scratching his neck. "I'll find you guys later."
Ethan and I exchange a look, a grin that says everything without words. It's like we're reading each other's minds, and that connection pulls an unexpected laugh out of me.
"Whatever," I say, shrugging.
We keep walking, the stadium lights glowing in the distance and the cool night air brushing our skin. Amber pulls ahead, her silhouette sharp against the campus streetlights. "What's up with those two?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
"No fucking clue," Ethan and I say at the same time. Our voices overlap, and we burst out laughing, the sound echoing into the night, making me feel, for a second, like everything's right where it should be.