11. Charlie
Charlie
I t’s Friday night and I’m hanging out at my condo with Stratton, his son Trevor and my buddy from Stanford, Stuart Hunter. It’s poker night and I needed to blow off some steam after a particularly hard week of work.
A batch of my coffee beans showed up from Brazil and they were covered in mold—and I mean absolutely covered. I was already low on inventory, so I had to scramble big time to figure out my next steps. A coffee company that is out of beans is not a good thing.
I was surprised when Stratton texted back that he could make it tonight. He’s been so caught up with Ariel and the baby and, between that and work, rarely has time to join us for poker night.
“So good to see you, dude,” I say, clapping him on the back.
“Nice to be off-duty, man,” Stratton responds. “I forgot how much work it is to take care of a toddler. She’s walking now and if we can just keep her alive, it will be a huge accomplishment.”
“Ha! Well, thanks for keeping me alive then, Dad,” Trevor interjects, grabbing a beer out of the fridge. “I didn’t realize how lucky I am.”
“Just you wait, Trevor,” Stratton responds. “You’ll understand when you have one.”
“Well, that’s certainly not going to be any time soon,” Trevor declares.
“The last time I took care of Chloe while you all were out to dinner, she picked a fight with Frank which I was fairly certain she was not going to win. He bopped her on the head but luckily didn’t use his claws.
Then she pooped in the tub. Perfect night really. ”
Everyone erupts in laughter, shaking their heads.
The thought of Stratton’s oversized cat, Frank, popping Chloe in the head is funny and scary at the same time.
“That’s nothing. Last night before bed, she wanted me to read Goodnight Moon for the fifth time, and when I dared to refuse, she screamed nonstop for ten minutes before Ariel came in and said she’d read it to her again.
Of course, two pages into the book, Chloe drifted off.
I’m sure all the screaming knocked her out. Damn kid…she’s lucky she’s so cute.”
I wonder to myself why anyone agrees to have kids. It’s just too much damn work. I completely understand why my parents had live-in help even though my mom didn’t work outside the home.
We settle around my dining room table preparing to play. The satisfying clack of poker chips fills the air as we divvy them up.
"Alright, gentlemen," I announce, shuffling the deck with a flourish. "Texas Hold'em, $50 buy-in. Let's see who's feeling lucky tonight."
Stuart snorts, cracking open his second beer. "Lucky? Please, it’s nothing to do with luck. I'm about to school you amateurs in the fine art of poker."
"Big words from the guy who lost his shirt last time," Trevor quips, arranging his chips into neat stacks.
"That was a fluke and you know it, kid," Stuart retorts, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Besides, I've been practicing."
Stratton raises an eyebrow. "Practicing, huh? What, did you download one of those poker apps and play against bots all week?"
"Maybe," Stuart mumbles, suddenly very interested in organizing his chips.
I deal the first hand, the cards snapping crisply against the tabletop. The familiar rhythm of the game settles over us as we check our hole cards and toss chips into the pot.
"I'll raise," Trevor announces, pushing forward a stack of red chips with a cocky grin.
"Oh, here we go," I groan. "Mr. Bike Empire with his fancy money thinks he can bully us."
Stratton chuckles, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Don't let him psych you out, Charlie. Remember last time when he tried to bluff with a pair of twos?"
"That was one time," Trevor protests, his ears turning red. "I've upped my game since then."
As the night progresses, the banter flows as freely as the alcohol. Empty beer bottles accumulate on the side table, and the level in the bourbon decanter steadily drops.
"Full house, jacks over fives," Stuart declares triumphantly, splaying his cards on the table. "Read 'em and weep, boys."
Groans erupt around the table as Stuart rakes in a sizable pot, his grin wider than the Mississippi.
"Lucky bastard," Stratton mutters, tossing back the rest of his whiskey. "I swear you've got cards up your sleeve or something."
"Nah, I’m just a better player than the rest of you,” Stuart chides, a smug smile on his face.
Stuart's winning streak continues for another hour, his pile of chips growing to comical proportions. As the night wears on, the conversation drifts from work woes to sports predictions, punctuated by the occasional outburst of triumph or despair as fortunes rise and fall with each hand.
Finally, as midnight approaches, Stuart lays down his cards with a flourish. "Royal flush, gentlemen."
A collective groan rises from the table. Trevor slumps back in his chair, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "I'm out," he announces, tossing his last chip towards Stuart. "Any more and I'll have to start selling body parts."
Stuart chuckles, gathering his winnings with a satisfied grin. "Don't worry, I'll put it to good use.”
I tell him to get the hell out of my house as he and Trevor both push off from the table.
“Share an Uber?” Stuart proposes. “I’ll pay I guess…it’s the least I can do.”
Trevor nods, grinning. “I’ll get you next time. Just you wait.”
They leave to wait for the Uber while Stratton pours himself a big glass of water. “Mind if I hang here for a bit to sober up before I drive?”
“Absolutely. It’s been too long since we hung out, just the two of us.”
We settle into a couple of leather bar stools and I stretch my arms up over my head. Damn, what a week…
After catching up on life in general, Stratton says, “Damn, I’ve been meaning to ask you what was up with you and Tess at the wedding? I didn’t realize you two were seeing each other.”
I let out a long sigh, running my fingers through my hair. "It's...complicated," I start, before deciding to just lay it all out. "It was supposed to be a fake date, you know? Just to get my parents off my back about settling down. But..."
I trail off, staring into the amber depths of my whiskey glass. Stratton looks confused but waits patiently for the rest of the story.
"The thing is," I continue, "I've always had a bit of a thing for Tess. But she's Jane's best friend, you know? She’s off-limits."
Stratton nods, understanding dawning in his eyes. "And at the wedding?"
"God, Strat, it was like...wild. When we kissed, I just had no idea…”
“Yea, sometimes it just hits you over the head, you know? That’s definitely how it was with Ariel.”
I pause, taking a long swig of whiskey, feeling the burn as it slides down my throat. "And then...well, we ended up back at the hotel. I swear, Strat, it was mind-blowing.”
Stratton raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Sounds intense."
"Intense doesn't even begin to describe it,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck.
I lean back in my chair, the weight of the past week settling on my shoulders. "It was supposed to be simple, you know? A fake date to appease my parents, nothing more. But Tess...she's always been different. And now I’m not sure what the hell to think about all of it.”
“Have you talked this week?”
“Not a peep. I’ve got to text her soon about next week’s wedding. I don’t know why I’m being so weird about this.”
“Perhaps you’ve gotten more than you bargained for?” Stratton asks, taking a big slug of water.
“I abso-fucking-lutely did. And now I’m not sure what I’m going to do about it.”
Stratton stretches his arms over his head and stands up to leave. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Astor. At least she’s not your son’s ex.”
We both laugh. “Yea, I know you have me beat as far as “complicated” goes. Nothing could be more complicated than that. I love that it worked out so well for you and Ariel. And Trevor seems to be good with it too. Total win-win.”
Stratton slaps me on the back. “Everything happens for a reason. Just trust, you know?”
“Yeah, man. I’ll work on that.”
Stratton leaves and I settle on the couch to watch some news before heading to bed.
Hans curls up next to me, sniffing at something on the couch.
“Hey, buddy, where you been? You missed the poker game.”
He glances up at me with those big, brown eyes and licks his lips. He knows poker night means salty snacks.
“Need a little bedtime snack, bud?”
His ears perk up while I get up to give him a little extra kibble. I put it down and he glances up at me expectantly.
“Yea, yea, I know. Not interesting enough.” I grab a few pretzels out of the bag on the counter and throw them on top of the dog food.
He tears into it and I smile watching him. Sometimes I wish I was a dog, just laying on the couch and waiting for some yummy food and a tummy rub …