Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Cole
"Nyx, hold up!" I call, catching the closing door with my toe and nudging it back open.
The fat, slow flakes of snow have gathered into a real snow squall, and Nyx is standing just on the other side of the handicapped parking pylon right in front of the door. Snow is already dusting his messy black hair in a thick white layer.
He grins at me. "What up…CoCo?"
"Don't." I hand him the beer. "That's private. You weren't supposed to hear it.”
He makes a face and then nods. "Alright, fine. You can have that one." He lifts the beer, then sips. "Why chase me out here with this?"
I tip my head toward the door. "Can we go back in?"
He shrugs. "I'm tired, man."
"Bullshit."
"No, legit. I'm restoring a '68 Chevelle, and it's kicking my ass. Fuckin' a billion tiny pockets of rust, shit load of stuck bolts, had to redo all the goddamn wiring, and I fuckin' hate wiring. I'm bushed, brother."
"Fine." I step closer to him. "Lace thinks you're feelin' some kind of way about being the only one not with someone."
Nyx's eyes flick upward, and he sighs. "Damned observant woman you got there, bruh."
"I know that," I say. "So?"
He shrugs. "I'm good."
"Nyx."
"I am!"
"Nyx!"
He takes a long slug of beer. "Fuck, bro. Fine. It sucks. But it is what it is, right? Weird ass motherfuckers like me aren’t exactly babe magnets.
Never have been. Felix had Amy, Riley had pretty much the entire tit-having half of the school, and you had Lacey.
I was always just the goofy, perpetually single tagalong. "
"You're one of us, Nyxie, you've never been a fucking tagalong."
He rolls a shoulder. “No, I know—not like that. I just mean…" he sighs, shakes his head. "I dunno how to explain it, man." He scrapes his hand through his snowy hair, then shakes his head. "You really wanna have this talk now?"
“Yes." I grab his arm. "You're a damn good friend to all of us, Nyxie. You're always there. Fucking always. Let me be there for you."
He sighs. "Okay, fine. let's go back in, but let's find a spot away from the group. This ain't a group project conversation."
We slip back inside and find a quieter corner away from the bustle and hubbub; we sit on stools with our backs to the wall and our knees brushing, bent toward each other, pint glasses resting on our knees.
I wait, knowing Nyx will talk when he's ready.
"Barb and I called it quits for good." His tone is abrupt and rather unexpectedly morose.
"I…how do you feel about it?" I ask.
"Not great," he answers. "I…I'm not, like, in love with her, I don't think, but—"
I bark a laugh. "Buddy, if you don't think, you ain't.
I've spent fifteen goddamn years trying to convince myself that I wasn't still in love with Lacey.
I also spent a good portion of those years trying to make myself…
if not fall in love with, then at least form strong enough feelings to be enough like love to… " I shrug, shake my head.
"Pretend you're not pining?" He finishes for me.
I roll my eyes. "Pining. Asshole. I never pined, whatever the fuck that actually means.
" I stab my finger at him, and he playfully pretends to snap at my finger, coming dangerously close to actually biting me.
"My point is not to make this about me, but to point out that when it's love, you won't be able to mistake it.
It's kind of like a virus, to be honest."
"Makes you all snotty, and sometimes you shit your pants?"
I let out a cackling burst of laughter. "If a virus makes you shit your pants, you need to see a medical professional. Good news is, we know one." I let the humor fade. "What happened? With you and Barbie, I mean. You guys were pretty solidly in each other’s lives for…god, a while."
"Try a long-ass-fuckin' time, Cole. I've known Barb—as in known who she is and been friends with her, I mean—for ten years. We've been sleeping together…Irregularly, I admit…for at least half that, if not more.” he looks up and to the left, blinking. "Yeah, six years? Seven?"
"Damn, man. That is a long time. You guys never…made it official?"
He shrugs one shoulder. "Nope, not really.”
"You like her. She likes you. Clearly, you have physical chemistry. You know each other."
He swallows hard. "She's got major commitment issues, bro.
Her story ain't mine to tell, though. She just…
" he pauses, frowning, thinking. "I've known since the first time she stuck her hands down my pants that this day was coming.
Every time we…not break up, but… whatever.
I think 'this is it. Now it's over.' And it never is.
She always changes her mind. Calls me. Texts me. Or I do."
"So what happened, though?"
He let out a long, tight-lipped sigh. "I did."
"Dude, fuckin'…" I cover my face with one hand, scrub partway down, and then pinch the bridge of my nose. "Cody, just talk to me. It's me, man. You know I won't talk outta class."
"Goddamn Cody. Hate the goddamn name," he mutters. "Fuckin' Cody. Sounds like a surfer." He spits the word like an epithet. "Fine, man. Fine. I'll…fuck." A sigh. “Okay. I proposed."
I double over, choking on beer as I try not to spew it everywhere. "The fuck? You just said you don't think you're in love with her," I rasp, once I can breathe again.
"I was confused, okay!" he yells, then looks around in embarrassment, dropping his voice.
"It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I'm just…
I'm sick of the back-and-forth with her.
I like her. A lot. She's a great girl. I know that all everyone sees when they look at her is her giant boobs.
Which, I admit, are pretty goddamn spectacular.
Or they see the skimpy outfits she wears at work.
But you know what you don't see? The fact that she's self-conscious about her chest. The fact that at home or just running errands, she covers up from head to toe and hates attention.
Barb is…she's a thoughtful person, Cole.
She's a damn good bartender, but she's stuck.
She can't afford to quit her job because she's barely making ends meet.
One bad night of tips can mean the difference between paying rent on time or not.
She had dreams, like everyone. Bein' a career bartender wasn't the dream.
She wanted to be on Broadway, actually. She's got a hell of a voice.
She can dance. She can act—she's been in some community plays and musicals over in Dremmel City.
" That being a town of a few thousand people, fifteen minutes east of The Borderline, which is on the eastern county line, a good thirty minutes from Three Rivers.
I let Nyx take his time. A waitress swings by and we each order a fresh beer, and I pay for both; she comes by a few minutes later with a tray densely packed with various drinks for patrons around the bar floor.
She gives us our drinks with a flirty grin for Nyx, and flounces away in irritation when he doesn't even notice.
I clap him on the knee. "That server was hitting on you."
He glances at her—she’s not far away, tray held up over her head on one hand as she weaves through the crowd. She's a hot one, alright. Late twenties, maybe, with a tight body and a small but well-shaped ass, long blond hair in ringlets, and big brown eyes.
He checks her out thoroughly and then makes a 'meh' face. "Nope. No sparks. Nothin'. Yeah, she's a fine little piece, but…I dunno, man." His gaze goes unfocused.
"So…can we get to the part where you fucking proposed?"
He shakes his head while tilting it to the side. "Nah, not, like…on one knee with a ring. I suppose it was more of a proposition than a proposal, if I'm honest. We'd just…you know. Pillow talk. Afterglow conversation."
"The best kind," I say.
He nods. "Your lips to God's ears.” He sips then sighs. "She…she told me she thought we needed a little break."
"Why?"
A shrug. “She does that whenever we spend too much time together for too long.
She likes to keep an emotional distance.
Which I don't want. Never have. Maybe it's not love-love, but I really fuckin' care about her.
I could be with her and be happy enough.
I told her as much when she suggested another break.
I hate the breaks, man. It's like, we spend months together, gettin' cozy. It’s not just sex.
She comes to the shop for lunch before work.
I hit the B-L after work and wait for her to close up, and we go to her place and watch anime and smoke a bowl.
We go for long Sunday morning drives out in the sticks north of D-C. "
B-L being his slang for The Borderline, and D-C being Dremmel City.
The area north of Dremmel City is the real-deal country, nothing but hundreds of acres of corn and wheat and hay and whatever, and stands of forest and county roads crisscrossing the patchwork landscape.
Lots of blink-and-you-miss-it one-stoplight towns.
"Sounds pretty great," I say.
"Right? I like it. I told her, I said, B, baby-girl, why don’t we just get hitched?
Get off the rollercoaster? I know you ain't ever gonna love me, not like that, and that's okay.
I don't think I'm built to be loved like that anyway, I said.
But when we're together, we're good. We don't fight.
We're good together. I don’t need to be all…
sparkly hearts in love to be happy with her. "
"What'd she say?"
He winces. "She started crying."
I frown. "Barb doesn't seem like the crying type, to be honest. I admit I don't know her pretty much at all, but—"
“No, she's really not the crying type. She’s tough as fuckin’ nails, usually. It freaked me the fuck out, to be honest." He lets out a breath. "She…" he pauses, looks at me intently, and then starts over. "This has to stay between us. She told me this in confidence."
"You know I won't talk, Nyx."