NATE
It’s late, it’s raining, but Jack, Elliot and me are happy as can be, snuggled in our tent with blankets and hot chocolate. Having Jack back as a friend, and getting all that out in the open, it feels so good. It feels like I don’t even care so much about Tariq now, because I’ve gained something way better. I’ve got Jack back. The Dream Team: reunited.
While we were queuing for the dairy-free hot chocolates, I bit the bullet. “Elliot,” I said. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”
Elliot chuckled. “Ahh, man, you don’t have to apologize. I kissed you too!”
“Now it all comes out!” Jack declared.
“Jack, hush!” I said. “I know, but what I’m trying to say is—”
“Nate,” Elliot said. “Here’s the thing, OK? In that moment, you were happy, am I right? It was a nice moment. Nice atmosphere. And you felt what you felt, and what you felt was joy, and I think when you feel joy, I think you should always grab it with both hands and enjoy it. And that’s what you were doing.”
I mean, I was taken aback for a moment, because Elliot is not normally calm enough to make this much sense. “OK, sure, Elliot,” I said. “But I did kiss you, and maybe I should have hugged you instead?”
“Why?” said Elliot.
“Because a kiss is … a romantic thing?”
Elliot shrugged. “Meh. Sometimes it is. I don’t think it always has to mean you want to totally get with the person you’re kissing though. There are different types of love after all – it’s not all about HUH! AH! HUH! BONKING!” He said that bit way too loudly. People looked. And he was doing this weird thing where he was miming riding a horse, kind of thrusting his hips, with a lasso in his hand. I’m not sure if Elliot’s school did sex education.
“We’re not with him,” Jack tells some onlookers. “Sorry, who even are you? Can you stop following us, please?”
Elliot chuckles. “It’s OK, Nate. I’m really not looking for anything like that with anyone right now.” He smiles. “I’m just working stuff out really.”
“Huh. OK. Cool,” I said.
“Good kiss, though!” He winked at me. “Better than … THE TREE HOUSE KISS-A-THON! WAAAAHH!”
“Oh my god,” I mutter.
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Kiss-a-thon? Huh.”
Thankfully, by this time it was our turn to order, so we all got distracted with options for gelatine-free marshmallows and chocolate flakes.
I tip my cup up so the last of the rich, velvety goo slides down into my mouth.
“Boys,” Jack says, “I think today has been a great day, and I think this trip, although it started in a somewhat challenging fashion, has been excellent. And so, partly in the hope that things only get more fabulous and even better, we must give appropriate thanks.”
“Who to?” I ask.
“To our rainbow-sparkled, glitter-encrusted Gay Lord, of course,” Jack grins. “Legs together, eyes closed.”
So we all sit there, eyes closed, while Jack does his thing.
“Our Gaylord,
Who art in the nightclub known as Heaven,
Fabulous be thy name.
Give us this day
Our daily skincare regime,
And forgive us for belting show tunes,
As we forgive those who don’t appreciate the wonder of just browsing round Whole Foods for the fun of it.
Lead us not into a Toby Carvery,
And deliver us from DFS,
For we can’t abide an unlimited salad cart and we like our furniture bespoke.
In the name of Madonna, Britney and the Lady Gaga,
Beyoncé.”
“Beyoncé,” Elliot and I repeat.
Now, I am not a religious guy, in fact, none of us are, but at that very moment my phone pings through with a message, and it’s Leila confirming she’s got us on the guest list for the YouTubers party in London. I turn to Jack. “It seems your prayers have been answered!” I grin.
My mum doesn’t even blink when I ask her about going to the YouTubers party, let alone raise any kind of objection. But that’s not even the weirdest thing. She’s wearing a kaftan. A white, floaty kaftan, she’s barefoot and she’s drinking kombucha without making any sort of the comment about how it’s just “soda for Generation Snowflake”, which is literally what I heard her call it when Dad brought some home once.
I glance at Jack and Elliot to check I’ve understood correctly. I’ve asked if we can go and my mum has said, “Yeah, that’s cool.” I mean, let’s not even discuss her choice of words.
“So, just to confirm, Mum,” I say. “It’s a party, in London, with YouTubers.”
“And you enjoy it, Nate!” she replies, smiling.
“There … could be alcohol!” I say.
“Oh, I hope so! What sort of party would it be otherwise?” She laughs. We all sort of join in.
This feels all wrong and really weird. “OK,” I say. “Mum. I don’t get it.”
“Nate!” she says, as she packs up the last of the bags and piles them in the back of the camper van. “It’s time I treated you like an adult. You’re sixteen! You need some freedom.”
I nod. “Right. So I can—”
“Make your own choices!” she says. “Also, when we’re home, I’m taking the parental lock off the internet.”
“Huh,” Jack whispers. “Now you can finally wank yourself unconscious.”
“Shut up!” I hiss back.
Dad appears with Rose. “Ahh! Hello, lads!” he grins. “I see you’ve met Mum version two point one. Seems her trip to that yoga guru has caused her to have something of an epiphany, Jack!”
“Oh … good?” Jack says.
“Well, it is good, Jack, yes,” says Mum. “Because life is short, so we must enjoy it while we can. We must live. Breathe. Love. We must smell the roses and eat the chocolate. We should dance like no one is watching. Love without conditions. We must look at the world with a childlike wonder, seeking adventure!”
“And the yoga guru said all this, did he?” I ask.
Mum shrugs. “Well, I worked some of it out for myself. I had a moment of clarity… after the session when we smoked a ‘special cigarette’ together.”
My eyes widen and I nearly choke on my own tongue.
“Because, like you said, Jack,” Mum continues, “who wrote the rule book anyway? And who said we have to follow it?”
“Did you say that?” I ask him.
Jack shrugs. “I mean, yes? Maybe. It sounds quite eloquent, so there’s a high chance it was me.”
“It definitely wasn’t me,” Elliot adds.
Mum strides up to Elliot and grabs fistfuls of his cheeks in her hands. “You’re an adorable little bundle of joy and you have other qualities!” she says.
Elliot looks terrified.
“Mum, leave Elliot’s face alone,” I tell her. “I mean, fine. I guess this is all OK. You shouldn’t do drugs, that’s bad, but OK, I guess it’s done now. Just don’t… I have some pamphlets at home that school gave us…”
Mum guffaws and I frown. Then another horror occurs to me. I’m always seeing documentaries about people my parents’ age having “moments of clarity” and what it boils down to is jacking everything in and living in a rundown cottage on Dartmoor with ten chickens and no hot water. “You’re not quitting your job or anything, are you?”
Mum looks at Dad, who cocks his head and mouths something at her that I can’t quite make out. This is distressing. I’m all for more freedom, but I don’t want to live a life where we have even less money than we already do. Literally, I’m not even saying I need the latest trainers, I just need trainers. You know, I wouldn’t mind a new PlayStation. That’s not gonna happen if my parents embark on being hippies and start running around the hills wearing chiffon and celebrating weird pagan holidays.
“We can talk about this more once we get back home,” I say. “Nobody should make any rash decisions now.”
“Nate—” Dad begins.
“NOBODY SHOULD MAKE ANY RASH DECISIONS NOW!” I repeat. “OK? OK. Let’s … get on the road, shall we? Places to go, people to see!”
Mum rolls her eyes. “God. Chill out, will you, Nate? You’re totally killing my vibe.”