Chapter 6 #2
I huff out a wet sound. “No way. I’m not raining on her parade with my problems, and you know she’ll ask.” I check the clock. Realizing we only have thirty minutes left before closing, I sigh. “Fine. Let’s do it. But you’re explaining if someone complains and Maryann asks questions.”
“That’s fine.” Bridget stares at me, mouth twitching. “Do you want to go fix”—she swirls a finger around my face—“that?”
I playfully glower at her. “I thought you were supposed to be making me feel better.”
She laughs, backing away quickly. “I never said that. I said we needed coffee.” She goes still, tilting her head. “You know what? Screw coffee. Let’s go get wine.”
“Make it tequila, and you have a deal.”
Her mouth drops open. “Oh, he has fucked up, hasn’t he?”
I’m not surprised she has guessed it’s about Braxton, especially when she noticed he’s been MIA. Still, I mime zipping my lips, telling her, “Not saying a word until I’ve had at least two shots.”
“Well, get a move on then. I’m ready for the drama.” She spins on her heel, heading out back to get her purse. “And tequila is the perfect drink to start plotting petty revenge!”
I shake my head, a soft sound of amusement escaping. “How do you know we need petty revenge?”
Her head pops back around the door. “Girl, if that crying jag doesn’t scream out for the pettiest of petty revenges, I don’t know what does.”
“Here you go, ladies.” Randi sets down two beers before scooping up the empty shot glasses. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“We’ll grab some food in a little bit,” Bridget tells her.
She side-eyes the empties on her tray before giving us a considering glance, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “Probably not a bad idea,” she smirks. “Kitchen is open until eleven.”
“Thanks, Randi.”
She smiles and saunters away, heading to where Benson is working behind the bar with an unfamiliar bartender, clearly showing him the ropes as they set drinks on a new tray for Randi.
When we arrived, we ordered a couple of beers as I started detailing the past weeks for Bridget, telling her everything that has happened from the moment we walked into Esther and Joseph’s home on Thanksgiving.
Her expression grew more somber with each word until she suddenly stopped me to order us three shots of tequila—each.
An hour has passed, and I’m not sure if I’m warm or numb, but my lips feel decidedly loose. Across the table from me, Bridget is swaying. Or at least, I think she is.
It’s either that or the bar has been relocated to a boat.
“So, what did he tell you about Paisley?” she asks, tugging her beer closer.
I shrug diffidently, eyes sliding away to scope out the different people littering the bar. It’s not crazy busy yet, but I know that will change as the night wears on.
At one end of the bar, Randi and another server, Sheryl, are gossiping, while the new bartender—Gavin? Bevin?—chats up a lady sitting on a stool in front of him. Benson disappeared out back almost thirty minutes ago because, for being a bar owner, he really doesn’t have much tolerance for people.
The front door opens, catching my attention as an older couple walks in. Their arms are looped around each other, wide smiles on their faces, and I feel an ache throb in my chest. I wonder if coming to Benson’s is a routine Saturday night for them, or if it’s a special occasion.
“Gracie?” Bridget taps the table with her fingers, and I pull my eyes back to her.
“Nothing,” I tell her. “I knew she was Nick’s sister, but Braxton never talked about her.” I shrug helplessly.
“You didn’t ask him about what you overheard?”
A bitter chuckle leaves me before I can stop it. “A normal person would have heard that and immediately confronted him.”
“Not everyone.” Bridget reaches across the table, taking my hand.
I duck my head, shame curling through my stomach, mingling uncomfortably with the alcohol. “I think I was…I don’t know. Scared, I guess.” I sip my drink, grimacing at the taste of the beer after tequila.
“Of what?”
“Of what Braxton might say. Or if he would lie.” A bead of condensation runs down my glass, and I follow its path with my finger.
“He hasn’t lied to me before…Although, now I’m wondering if that’s true.
I’m doubting everything now, and I hate it.
” I peek at Bridget through my lashes. “Do you think I’m a coward? ”
“I think you’re guarded,” she says. “I think you’ve got this hard, protective shell, and the moment you think you might be hurt, you duck back inside.” She scrunches her mouth to the side, eyes narrowing. “Maybe he was just shocked. Four years is a long time to go without seeing someone.”
I chew on my bottom lip, knowing she’s just trying to help me move past this, but I don’t begrudge Braxton his past. Our experiences make us who we are, and I also have a history, just like the next person. The difference is how I would’ve handled my past waltzing back in the door.
“If it were just a shock, he wouldn’t have been acting so distant since it happened.”
Bridget pulls in a long breath through her nose. “Everything he’s doing is very out of character for Braxton. The house thing? I don’t get it. You guys have been talking about buying a place together for months.”
I huff in aggravation. “He was the one who organized the viewing for the house, and now…” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat, hating that I’m letting it all get to me again.
I feel like I’ve spent most of the week gaslighting myself into believing that I’m overthinking everything and reading more into his behavior than I should.
He didn’t want her that close to him.
He didn’t hesitate before he said he loves me.
He doesn’t realize that lying by omission is still lying.
It’s just all in my head.
My eyes are burning when I look up, meeting Bridget’s sympathetic ones.
“That house is everything I’ve dreamed of since leaving my parents’, wishing for a place of my own.
A home. And now it’s slipping through my fingers.
He’s slipping through my fingers. And I don’t understand why. We were good, Bridget, and now…”
She leans across the table, saying fiercely, “So go alone. You don’t need him to go see that house, and maybe that’s what will open his eyes—realizing just how much you don’t need him.”
I purse my lips, shaking my head. “I can’t afford it on my own. And going to see it without him, knowing that? It’d be like torturing myself with things I can’t have.”
Bridget watches me for the longest time, her expression tight.
“You need to talk to him,” she finally says.
“You can’t keep living in this state of not knowing.
You and Brax have always had such a good relationship, and this is the first really big bump.
Right?” She waits for my nod. “You’ll get past it, but you can’t bury your head in the sand.
” She reaches out to grab my hands, her grip tight.
“Don’t throw away a good year because of a bad couple of weeks. ”
My vision goes watery, no matter how much I try to blink the tears away. “What if it’s not just a couple of weeks?”
“What if it is?” Bridget counters. “Sitting here, in this space of not knowing…You are just torturing yourself. Maybe all Braxton needs is a conversation. A way to process everything and a reminder of what he has with you. He might have history with this girl, but it doesn’t sound like it was truly meaningful, and it’s not as deep as what the two of you have. ”
I rub my free hand over my eyes. “You’re right,” I whisper. “I know you’re right.”
She gives me one last squeeze before pulling her hand away. “I know I am. Now, we need more drinks. And another shot.” I look down, realizing she’s finished her beer while mine is still half full. With only a slight grimace of distaste, I finish mine in one go.
“I’m glad the shop is shut tomorrow.” I chuckle weakly, setting the empty glass back on the table. “Neither of us is gonna be capable of working.”
“You’re not wrong.” Bridget’s brows dip, like she just thought of something. “Where is Braxton tonight? Is he working?” I open my mouth but then snap it shut, looking away from her. “Gracie?”
I roll my lips inward. “Okay, so you mentioned being petty earlier, right?”
“Riiight,” she draws the word out slowly.
“Well, after his attitude yesterday, I just decided not to talk to him today.” She lets out a surprised laugh as I finish, “He would’ve been sleeping this morning, but this afternoon? I was busy.”
“You know what? I’m here for it.” Bridget looks up, searching for a server, but they’re both busy at other tables. “I’m gonna order more drinks for us, and we can keep talking petty plans.”
“Get us some food as well,” I demand. “Maybe a burger. Or fries. Or nachos. Do they have nachos here?”
Bridget’s eyes are wide as she stares at me. “Is this you eating your feelings? I feel like I might need to intervene.”
“This is tequila making me hungry,” I retort.
“Okay, fair. I’ll accept it.” She walks over to the bar, and I watch as she flirts with the bartender, who has to be younger than her by at least five years.
“Gracie?” Something oily sneaks down my spine at that sweet voice.
I’m frozen, only my eyes moving as they lift to lock with Paisley’s.
She’s smiling like we’re friends, and I don’t blink, wondering how she managed to sneak into the bar without me noticing.
The next thought that creeps through my mind is if she waited until I was alone to approach.
As the silence drags out, her smile falters. I shake off my uncharitable thoughts, hiding them behind a polite expression.
“Paisley, hi.”
Benson’s is casual, jeans and boots acceptable, but Paisley has turned up in a tight red dress with a flouncy hemline, strappy sandals on her feet. In a comfortable sweatshirt and work pants, I feel frumpy next to her. I fight the urge to curl my shoulders inward and hide.