13. Nyree
Nyree
T he rhythmic click of my fingers against the keyboard fills the room, each keystroke echoing my relief.
And… send.
I lean back, exhaling deeply. For weeks, I’d been stuck, frozen in place by the memories the holidays always stir, memories of my late father. They lock my creativity away, leaving me staring at a blank screen and drowning in thoughts I can’t control. The deadline loomed closer, and I grew more anxious with each passing day.
I came close to calling for an extension. But something shifted these past few days. It’s as if the dam finally broke, and the ideas and words, all came rushing back. Now, I’ve finished half of what I needed to, and the relief I feel is immense. Being here has helped more than I could have imagined.
I know exactly what would’ve happened if I had stayed home for the holidays. The memories of my father would consume me. The same numb, heavy ache that settles in my chest this time every year would paralyze me. Last year, it pushed me to the edge, so close that I almost didn’t make it. If it weren’t for Coco, I might not be here now. She saved me then, and in some ways, she’s saving me again by bringing me here. I’m not sure she even realizes it.
But more than the change of scenery, it’s been Marcus. His presence, the way he makes me feel, alive and excited, almost desperate for more of him. I can’t stop thinking about him, about everything we’ve done. He’s ignited something in me, something raw and powerful that has spilled over into my writing. He’s been the spark I was missing.
The soft creak of the door interrupts my thoughts, and I look over my shoulder. Coco pokes her head into the room.
“Hey, how’s the writing going?” she asks, her voice warm.
“So much better,” I say, unable to hide the excitement in my tone.
She steps fully inside, closing the door behind her. “Really?”
“Yeah, I just sent in half of it,” I say, feeling a surge of pride.
Her face lights up. “That’s amazing! You’ve been struggling with it for a while now.”
“I know… but now it feels like I can’t stop,” I laugh, her smile comforting in response. After a moment, I add, “Thank you, Coco. For inviting me here. It’s really helped me get back on track. Helped me... clear my head.”
She nods, her eyes softening with understanding. She knows how hard this time of year is for me, how easily I sink into that darkness. A pang of guilt twists inside me. I’m grateful for her friendship, for her support. But the secret I’m keeping from her gnaws at me. The guilt of what I’m doing with her father, and the guilt of keeping it hidden from her.
Her voice cuts through the silence. “We should celebrate,” she says, smiling.
“Celebrate?” I ask, caught off guard.
“Yeah! Getting your creativity back is a big deal. We should do something fun, even if it’s just a small celebration.”
I pause, considering it. The idea of loosening up, even just for a little while, sounds good. “Okay,” I say, my excitement growing. “What do you have in mind?”
She shrugs, but there’s a spark in her eyes. “We could have a few drinks. Relax a bit. I think we all need it, with everything going on between Ethan and Dad and me…”
Her voice trails off, and for a moment, her smile falters. I see the tension in her eyes, the weight of everything between her father and her boyfriend. It’s wearing her down.
“I just think... if they could sit down, have a drink, and actually talk, maybe they’d realize they’re not so different,” she says, her voice filled with hope. She wants so badly for them to get along.
I nod, though a part of me is anxious. Maybe she’s right. Maybe if they just talked, things would settle down. But there’s a fear in me, a small, persistent worry about what might come out of that conversation.
We move to the living room, where Ethan is already on the couch. Coco disappears into the kitchen, re-emerging with a bottle of champagne in one hand and red wine in the other. She sets them down on the table with a casual clink, her mind seemingly elsewhere.
"Hey, Nyree," she says, her tone light, almost offhand. "Could you get my dad?"
I freeze and nearly obey. But then I catch myself. The way my body instinctively responds to his presence, like I’m drawn to him, it’s like it’s the most natural thing in the world. My pulse quickens, and my thoughts spiral. Does she know? Could she possibly suspect something? Or is this just an innocent request, one I’m twisting into something else entirely?
My eyes dart towards his room, and I teeter on the edge of getting up when Coco turns fully to me, her voice cutting through the tangle of my thoughts.
“Oh, Nyree. He doesn’t bite,” she says, her tone light, reassuring, far too normal for someone who might know the truth. I exhale, tension unraveling just slightly. She doesn’t know. “Don’t worry,” she adds with a soft smile. “I’ll go.”
Relief washes over me as she moves past, heading toward Marcus’s room.
Moments later, Coco returns, and Marcus follows close behind. My eyes are magnetically drawn to him. Even now, with the strain between him and Ethan hanging thick in the air, he looks effortlessly handsome. His presence fills the room, commanding attention without even trying. I swallow hard, the memories of him still fresh in my mind, an undeniable pull even when I know I should look away.
“Heard we’re celebrating,” Marcus says, his deep voice calm. Though, his eyes flicker to mine for the briefest moment before moving on, as though he’s careful not to let them linger too long. “What’s the occasion?”
“Nyree beating her writer’s block,” Coco chimes in, pouring champagne into glasses, the bubbles rising like little bursts of energy. “Plus,” she adds with a sigh, “I think we all need a drink.”
Marcus turns his gaze back to me, this time with more focus and warmth. A smile curves his lips, and the intensity of his attention sends a jolt through me. “That’s great news, Nyree,” he says, his voice low and intimate, meant only for me.
“Bravo, Nyree,” Ethan chimes in. There’s a genuineness in his voice, and I give him a warm, thankful smile. I nod, but I immediately note the change in Marcus's expression.
I look between them, the tension so palpable it feels like another presence in the room, hovering over us all. Marcus's face is impassive but strained beneath the surface. And me? I’m caught between it all; between the guilt, desire, and growing fear of what might unravel if any of these fragile threads snap.
The drinks begin to circulate. They are slow at first, cautious, like everyone’s too aware of the undercurrent threading through the room. It’s in the silences and in the way eyes glance and quickly turn away. There’s the weight of secrets; mine, Coco’s, Marcus's. Coco’s pregnancy lingers between her and me, unspoken, just as the affair between Marcus and me stays buried beneath layers of guilt. And then there’s the situation with Ethan and Marcus, volatile, like a lit fuse waiting for the wrong word to set it ablaze.
The tension is thick. Words are carefully chosen, conversations measured. But liquor has its way to slowly and steadily, peel back the edges of our restraint. I feel it first, warmth creeping through my veins, loosening my spine, and making me sink deeper into the chair. Laughter flows more easily now, slipping out of me like a quiet release, and it spreads. One by one, we relax.
Marcus is the first to dive into old stories, his deep voice filling the room with tales of Coco as a child. He talks about how she adored Christmas, how he kept the myth of Santa Claus alive for years longer than most children believed. He even managed to convince her until she was fifteen. The story sends us all into fits of laughter, even Ethan, who teases her mercilessly.
For a brief, shimmering moment, we are just a group of people enjoying each others company. The tension recedes, drowned in wine and champagne, swallowed by the warmth of shared memories. Marcus laughs, deep and hearty, and I can’t stop myself from staring at him. The alcohol strips away my earlier restraint, making me bold and reckless. He’s captivating, every movement, every smile. And then, he looks at me too, and our gazes lock.
It’s a moment suspended in time, stretching out as if the world has fallen away, leaving only him and me; two people in a room full of buried truths. His eyes don’t waver, and mine don’t either. It’s intoxicating, even dangerous, and I know it. I know we can’t let this happen, not here, not now, but I can’t pull away. My heart hammers in my chest, and just as the moment threatens to snap, I force myself to look away.
But in averting one danger, I step straight into another.
My attention falls on Coco’s drink; just water. She hasn’t touched the wine or champagne all night. I know why, of course. It’s not safe for her to drink, not now with the baby. But Marcus doesn’t know that. Not yet. His gaze follows mine, and when he sees her glass, I see the slight shift in his expression, the curiosity that flits across his face.
“I thought we were celebrating,” Marcus says, his voice tinged with amusement, but there’s an undercurrent of confusion. “Just water, Kiddo?”
My stomach drops. I can feel the room shift, the air tightening with expectation. My pulse quickens, and I force myself to stay calm, though my throat feels like it’s closing. I look at Coco, praying she handles this carefully. This moment could unravel everything.
The silence that follows is unbearable. Coco stares down at her glass, and the pause stretches on, too long and too heavy. I’m holding my breath, my mind racing. My heart is pounding in my ears. Ethan, too, is watching her. His usual calmness is replaced by something that looks almost like concern.
Finally, Coco speaks, her voice casual and steady. “Oh, it’s a diet, Dad. I’ve been trying it out, and I can’t do alcohol right now. It’ll ruin it.”
The unease holds, suspended, as Marcus processes her words. He studies her for a beat longer than feels comfortable, his focus lingering on the glass. I can see his mind working. But then, after what feels like an eternity, he laughs, a small, calm chuckle.
“You and your diets,” he says, shaking his head with a smile. The edginess eases and the danger passes. I exhale slowly, my body finally unclenching.
That was close. Too close.
But as the moment fades, I can’t help but feel that the web we’ve woven is tightening, and I wonder just how much longer it can hold before it snaps.
“I have an idea… let’s play a game,” Coco says, seizing the moment to redirect the conversation.
“What kind of game?” Ethan asks, his brows lifting in surprise, as if the very notion of a game is out of place in this tangled web of strained relations.
“Truth or dare,” she replies, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips, playful and mischievous.
Ethan lets out a burst of laughter, the sound sharp in the uneasy quiet of the room. “Truth or dare?!” he repeats, his disbelief evident. “Maybe you are still fifteen after all,” he teases, squeezing her hand. His words carry a warmth, and she responds with a smile that mirrors his affection. For a moment, I can see how much she loves him, how happy she is in his presence. There’s a swell of joy that rises in me at the sight of how happy she is.
We start the game, and with every round, my anxiety tightens its grip. Truth or dare is a dangerous game for people like us, people who carry too many secrets. But as the turns come and go, it stays light, almost carefree. It’s as if we’ve all silently agreed to avoid the landmines buried in our lives. Coco orchestrates the flow with careful precision, steering us away from anything too perilous. Slowly, I realize her plan: she’s trying to bridge the chasm between Marcus and Ethan, to force them into a moment of connection.
It comes back to Marcus’s turn. “Truth or dare?” Coco asks.
“Truth,” Marcus says without hesitation, his third time opting for the safer choice.
“No, Dad,” Coco shakes her head, her tone teasing but firm. “You’re out of truths. You’ve got to do a dare this time.”
Marcus sighs, nodding. “Alright, dare it is.”
A flicker of mischief lights up Coco’s eyes. She pauses just long enough for the suspense to build before she delivers her challenge, her voice brimming with excitement. “I dare you and Ethan to go into a room and have a nice conversation for ten minutes.”
The room stills. The very air seems to hold its breath. I feel a knot tighten in my throat, my fingers reflexively scratching at my neck. Ethan and Marcus lock eyes, a silent battle waging between them, the weight of Coco’s request hanging like a sword over their heads. The anxiety is suffocating, thick enough to press down on my chest, making my heart race.
Ethan is the first to break the silence. “Can I forfeit? Please,” he says, half-joking, half-pleading, his voice tinged with discomfort.
Coco shakes her head, undeterred. “You’re out of truths too. Consider this your dare when your turn comes.”
A synchronized sigh escapes both men, their reluctance palpable.
“Oh, come on,” Coco coaxes, her voice light but insistent. “It’s just ten minutes. I’ll even help you out. Tell each other five things you like about each other. It’s not that hard.”
But it is hard. It’s painfully hard. The two of them remain silent, their focuses fixed on one another like two beasts sizing each other up before a fight. I feel the strain ripple through the room, winding tighter with every passing second.
Coco turns to me for support. “Nyree… back me up here.”
I freeze under the weight of their gazes, my mouth dry. Marcus’s eyes search mine, as if waiting for some kind of verdict. I glance from him to Coco. Her expression pleading with me to join her effort.
“I think it’s a good idea,” I say slowly, forcing the words out. “I mean… it’s only ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes is a long time,” Ethan mutters, his voice low. It’s his final attempt at escape. “And I think we’ve had enough fun for one night. Maybe it’s time to call it quits…”
But Marcus cuts him off, his voice a challenge wrapped in a veneer of calm. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
Ethan’s eyes widen, shock flickering across his face. It’s the last thing he expected.
Marcus stands. His movements are deliberate, as if daring Ethan to refuse. “Unless, of course, you’re too scared,” he adds, the taunt barely veiled, his tone daring Ethan to step up.
Ethan’s face hardens, the challenge settling in. Slowly, he rises from his chair. “Ten minutes, fine,” he concedes, his voice tight with reluctant determination.
“Great!” Coco beams, rising from her seat as if this is the most normal thing in the world.
She leads them to a nearby room. The two men trail behind her like prisoners being marched to an uncertain fate. Marcus steps through the door first, his shoulders squared and his posture tense. Ethan’s heavy steps follow. Coco closes the door behind them with a quiet click.
She turns to me, her face glowing with hope. Her optimism is almost childlike in its purity. I manage to return her smile, but the unease twisting in my gut doesn’t let up. This could work. They could talk, find some common ground, even bond. But I know Marcus, and I’ve seen the way he looks at Ethan, barely concealing disdain. I know how this could end, one wrong word, one misstep, and it could all explode.
I sit there, staring at the closed door, feeling like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff.
***