Chapter 10 Christopher
Sunday
Nothing says “Sunday tradition” in the UK quite like stuffing your face with a Sunday roast in a pub and instantly regretting it.
The succulent chicken. The roast potatoes cooked in duck fat.
The Yorkshire puddings, smothered in dollops of gravy.
And of course, a side of vegetables, which I always assume are placed there for decorative purposes.
Kelly lets out a burp as she finishes her last bite and places her cutlery on the plate.
I’ve become so familiar with her burps over the years that I can infer what each one means. This one is satisfaction. Not to be confused with the one of regret, which Daniel lets out as he rubs his belly.
Both of us wish that we had also opted for the kids-sized meal Kelly had ordered, but then we don’t have the digestive issues that have plagued her since childhood to justify ordering it.
I shove the last of my roast potatoes to the side, having already pushed my stomach to its limits, and down the last of my beer, hoping it will help the food move through my system as quickly as possible.
I guess this means another thirty minutes on the treadmill tomorrow morning.
Across from me, Kelly and Daniel look like the picture-postcard of love.
Daniel gently wipes away a drop of gravy that lingers on the corner of Kelly’s mouth with his napkin, pulling at my heartstrings.
Her green eyes dance at his kind gesture and she leans in to kiss him.
Nothing too PDA, just a tender kiss. A token of appreciation for always looking after her.
How she’s even functioning is beyond me. But then she barely drunk last night, and love is the perfect hangover cure. Me, on the other hand—I somehow passed out on their sofa at whatever o’clock and woke up with a neck stiffer than a preacher’s dick at a whorehouse.
It doesn’t help that I’m wearing one of my future brother-in-law’s tight-fitted Abercrombie T-shirts. I pull at the collar, which is slowly cutting off the circulation to my throat.
“Fancy another one?” Daniel asks, nodding at the empty pint in front of me.
I really shouldn’t. Ideally I’d have something stronger. But this quaint old man’s pub frowns upon the vodka skinnies I’d usually be having right now.
“Go on then,” I say, reluctantly pushing the glass across the table.
I barely manage to cover my mouth as a burp tries to escape from it.
Kelly nods yes to another coke and Daniel makes his way to the bar, leaving us both at the round wooden table, tucked away by the window. Thankfully the afternoon sun is no longer shining directly on us.
“What are we going to do about you?” Kelly asks. She adjusts her chair and moves closer to me, placing her hand on top of mine.
“Probably write a tragic novel featuring my sad story and sell it for a profit,” I retort, pulling my hand away and laughing off the discomfort rising in my chest.
“Can you be serious for a moment?” Kelly shoots back, grabbing my hand. “I see the way you look at me and Daniel. I see the pain in your eyes. But you’ve got to stop living in the shadow of Dad. He’s gone now. And you’ve got to stop punishing yourself. You deserve love just like anyone else.”
Her eyes give me the look I hate more than any other: pity. A lump forms in my throat and my eyes go misty.
“But you weren’t the one that killed him.” I reach for the napkin, dabbing my eyes with it.
“The alcohol killed him. Not you. The alcohol.” Her nostrils flare, her eyes swirling with anger, not at me, but our father. Kelly has never held me responsible for his death in the way that I do, or that our mum does.
I force down a wave of guilt. If only Ryan hadn’t given me an ultimatum about our relationship, forcing me to come out to my parents.
If only I hadn’t told my dad mid-match, when Arsenal was losing the game.
If it hadn’t been for those things, he’d still be here.
He wouldn’t have gotten stinking drunk at the pub and knocked himself unconscious falling down the stairs.
I close my eyes, reliving how we’d made it to the hospital and found that they’d already switched off the machine, pronouncing him dead, and how my mum had beat her fists against my chest.
You did this to him. You did this.
She left me there in the hospital hallway as the nurse escorted her away.
And then I withdrew.
From Ryan.
From love.
From the world.
I opted to get as far away from everyone and everything as possible. An internal company transfer to Los Angeles made it possible to create a new life for myself. But it isn’t one that includes or allows intimacy.
“You deserve to be happy, Chris,” Kelly says, reaching for my hand once more, squeezing it tightly. “Have you reached out to Ryan since you’ve been back?”
The sheer mention of his name sends a shiver down my spine, like nails down a chalkboard.
“Not interrupting anything, am I?” Daniel cuts in. He pointedly glances at Kelly’s hand on mine as he places the drinks down on the table, while I wipe a tear from my eye.
“I was just asking Chris about Ryan,” Kelly says, lifting her eyebrows at Daniel.
“Ah yes, Ryan.” He takes a sip of beer and wipes the foam from his mouth. “Whatever happened to him? You two made the perfect couple.”
I almost choke.
We were far from the perfect couple. It was more like I was agreeable to his coercive ways. He was my first boyfriend and I was a newbie in the world of relationships. I was his third after two prior long-term relationships.
Kelly cuts me a look, checking to see if I’m okay talking about it or if she should change the subject. She’s looking out for me, the way we always have for each other, in the absence of parents who rarely if ever did.
“Last I saw, he’s deeply in love with some Spanish guy,” I say with a tinge of envy, not at Ryan’s situation, but at the fact that everyone around me seems to be in loving relationships.
Yet here I am, living in LA, chasing after unavailable men, and reliving a pattern that my therapist tells me is a symptom of the unavailability my father showed me.
Great. What am I meant to do with that?
“His loss, buddy,” Daniel says, hitting me on the shoulder. “There’s plenty more fish in the sea, or sausages in the frying pan. If you get what I mean,” he says, with a wink and a nudge, laughing at his own joke.
I glare. Really, Daniel.
Daniel is many things, but emotionally aware isn’t one of them.
He means well, but he isn’t the guy you go to for a heart-to-heart. It’s probably the lawyer in him. It is a complete 180 from Kelly’s compassionate demeanor, which she employs daily in her job as an art schoolteacher.
“Who was that Alexander guy your friend kept on banging on about last night? I vaguely remember something about him being at your hotel? He invited you to a show?” Kelly pulls a hairband from her wrist and ties her hair back.
A wave of fear hits me.
Shit, I’d texted him last night. Did he reply? I go to grab my phone, but stop. Kelly and Daniel both stare at my hand hovering above the pile of devices. Whoever gives in to temptation first has to pay for dinner. It’s a way to keep us all present.
Fuck it.
I cave. I grab the phone and turn it over. My heart skips a beat when I see an American number show up in my notifications.
“Looks like dinner’s on Chris,” Kelly says, smiling and nudging Daniel as he rubs her back.
I ignore them both, reading the message Alexander sent.
Alexander
How’s your head? You around later…
He sent it just under an hour ago.
I twirl my thumbs over the screen, wondering how to respond, when Kelly snatches the phone out of my hands.
“Give it back!” My voice is loud enough to have the table next to us turn and cut us a disapproving stare. I reach toward Kelly to retrieve my phone. But she leans back just enough so I can’t reach, and then passes it across to Daniel so he can read the message.
“Sounds like someone’s got a booty call,” Daniel says, his eyebrows waggling up and down like a Mexican wave.
I can feel myself going red from embarrassment as I slide down into my chair. But maybe he’s right. Maybe tonight is finally the night something happens.
My attention snaps back to reality when I see Daniel’s thumbs rapidly tapping away.
“What are you doing?” My voice is even louder this time.
The woman at the other table turns around again, tutting this time. I snarl at her. My eyes tell her in no uncertain terms to Fuck off and mind your own business. My glare quickly makes her turn her neck back to her own table partners.
“You’re welcome,” Daniel says, and hands my phone back to me. He leans back and places his hands behind his head.
I look at the message, feeling mortified.
Not had any complaints. Yeah, I’m around. Your place or mine?
What is Alexander going to think? I mean sure, I’ve been dropping not-so-subtle hints. But this? This is taking it to the next level. The anger at Daniel causes a burning in my chest. Or maybe it’s just heartburn.
“Why would you write that?” I ask, lowering my tone so the woman won’t turn around again, and placing my phone back on the table.
“Oh, come on. Rodrigo at the office shows me his Grindr messages all the time. You gays don’t beat around the bush. You get straight to the point.” Daniel lowers his hands from behind his head and reaches for his pint to take another sip.
“Right, ’cause all us gays are the same, aren’t we.” I shake my head disapprovingly.
Daniel decides to double down. “Well, you do all use Grindr like Drag Race, get a little over-dramatic at times, and worship at the altar of various divas—do you not?” There’s not a hint of sarcasm lining his face or in his words.