CHAPTER 2
Jesse
“‘Freaking out.’ I did not freak out. I was just… processing. First, my brother. Then, my best friend. Neither one of them told me. Doesn’t anyone trust me? I don’t get it. I mean, you think you’re close to someone. You think your entire history of conversations with them was accurate. You think you have this unbreakable bond, and then pkhoo! Everything you thought you knew is blown to smithereens like your memory was wiped. Why didn’t they ever say anything? Okay… so, Pete never tells me anything, but still. He’s my brother. There’s supposed to be some kind of sibling code.
“Murph, though… that’s an entirely different story. We… we’re… well, he’s my boy. We’re supposed to tell each other everything. Do you have any idea how many secrets I’ve told him over the years? Like that time when we were twelve, and I was jerking off to my mom’s Good Housekeeping magazine, and she nearly walked in on me, and my zipper caught my… Fuck. I still have a zipper scar. Whatever. The point is—everything! I’ve told him everything. Because that’s what best friends do. They’re…they’re your person. Does he not see me as his person?”
“Um…Jesse?” Cheri’s voice calls over the thump of Miley Cyrus’ ‘Party In the USA.’
Glancing up at the stage, I find her crouched down in front of me, frowning. The electric glow of the neon liquor signs illuminates a halo of fluorescent rainbow light behind her.
Shit.
Did I say all that out loud?
Pretty sure I didn’t say anything about anyone being gay or bisexual, so the super-duper secret-keepers in my life can continue to live more days in anonymity. You know what? Cheri’s not one to gossip, even if she did hear me. Maybe she can give me some advice to help me understand what it is I’ve done so wrong that the people closest to me don’t tell me things that are important to them.
“Yeah?” I ask, waiting for wisdom that might put me out of my misery.
“If you’re not going to watch, do you mind if I go on break?”
Break? Is she serious?
I just poured my heart out onto the stage bar and all she can think about is abandoning me? Do I have any friends left in this world?
Kneeling, she rests her hands on top of her thighs and flashes me a guilty expression. “I’m sorry. I hate how dead it is on Sunday nights, and I can tell you’re going through something, but I was running late for work and missed lunch.”
How can she think of food at a time like this? My world is upside down, and I don’t know if I’m allowed to stand in it anymore. Murph looked so annoyed that I was surprised by his news. Like, really annoyed. I’ve never seen him like that. How could he expect me to not be surprised, though? We’ve been friends since we were little kids. He’s had literally every single day over two decades to tell me.
I don’t get why he said he didn’t think I could handle it. Who does he think I am? Did he think I wouldn’t want to be his friend anymore? Of course, I can handle it. What’s there to handle? You don’t abandon years of friendship just because someone doesn’t like the same things that you do. He listens to country music, and I’ve never kicked him out of Delores for crying out loud. There’s proof right there.
“It just… hurts. You know? I could have been there for him all this time the way I have been for everything else, but… but he didn’t even give me the chance to. I feel… cheated.”
“Um… I can sit and talk with you when I get back,” Cheri hedges, making me realize I just said that painful truth out loud.
Great. My heart broke the filter between my brain and my mouth.
Laying her hand over mine, she gives mine a squeeze. “I’m just going to run to Dairy Queen. I’ll be right back. Then you can tell me all about what’s got you so down in the dumps.”
It’s a nice offer, but no way am I telling her. I don’t care if Murph doesn’t trust me because clearly, he doesn’t if he waited until we were thirty to say something. I’m not going to break friend code, though.
Shaking my head out of its funk, I take a swig of my beer. Ugh. It’s warm. Ralph needs to check his cooler temperature.
“Nah. I’m good. Thanks. Sorry. Just talking to myself,” I assure her, digging a twenty out of my wallet and handing it to her for her efforts.
“Thanks Jesse. You sure you don’t want anything? Fast food always makes me feel better whenever I’m upset.”
Biting the inside of my lip, I hate the fact that Murph isn’t here to make our late-night junk food run that we do after a night at the bar. I was going to help him pick after lunch, but he didn’t say a single word to me the entire time after he dropped his bomb. Not a single word. We’re never silent when we’re together. He made it pretty clear he was fed up with me for the day.
My instincts told me to call him to come to the bar tonight when I couldn’t stand the sickening feeling of loss in my gut after I got home, like I’d lost him, but hello? Titty bar.
He’s been here with me a hundred times. It has me programmed into thinking he’d want to come. But how would it look if you ask your buddy to go to the titty bar the same day he tells you he’s gay? That seems like it would be an error of epic proportions. No way am I fucking this friendship up. That’s why I came alone—I need time to think, to re-evaluate our dynamic so I can figure out what I’ve been doing wrong to make him so wary of trusting me.
Easy. Right? Just… analyze every single interaction we’ve had for the last twenty-some years—every single interaction that I thought was between two best friends who were totally honest and comfortable with each other. Except, apparently, one of us wasn’t.
Fuck. I’m so stressed out, now I’m hungry. Fishing out another twenty, I hand it to Cheri.
“Could you… get me an Oreo Blizzard?”
“That’s too much. You already gave me a twenty.”
“No, it’s on me. You said so yourself—Sundays suck.”
This Sunday especially. I don’t know if it’s my stress hunger, wounded pride, or Ralph’s warm-ass beer, but the sour feeling in my gut churns as I waffle between shame and hurt, recalling Murphy’s words. I’m not the one who was acting weird.
He said he’s the same person but that I just didn’t know one thing about him. Well, it goes both ways. I’m the same person I’ve always been to him. The same old Jesse, just a Jesse that didn’t know one thing.
But now I do.
So, what? Nothing’s changed for me. Who’s not acting weird? This guy.
Murphy Malone is still the best damned friend I’ve ever had, and I’m not going anywhere. I guess I just need to get it through that thick beard of his.
“Oh, you’re the sweetest, Jesse.” I get a kiss on my forehead from Cheri for my offer to pay for our snacks.
Her sparkly nipple pastie scratches my eyelid as she hugs my head. Thank God I closed my eyes. The texture of that thing would be like a cheese grater on my cornea. Then I’d be a friendless loser wearing an eye patch.
Hopping up, her bare legs are a thing of beauty in that thong. I have no clue how these girls manage their pole tricks without leaving red friction marks on their skin. I tried once my first time here when stupid Murph ran off and left me to go play army. I was bored out of my freaking mind without him. It was amateur night, and I sure put the word ‘amateur’ into that phrase. I’ve been in awe ever since. Pole dancing is an art not for the faint of flesh. And I’m not sorry—The Dew Drop sure as shit beats Wenatchee Bowl-o-Rama. They have disco bowl night and play ABBA. Freaking ABBA.
Cheri starts toward the stage curtain but stops and turns back. “What size do you want?”
“Large.” I shrug so it’s not obvious that I’m in the mood to eat my feelings.
“You got it. Back in a jiff.”
Making my way to the bar, I set my warm beer down and wait for Ralph to finish helping Driver and Passenger, two old veterans who always set up camp at the end of the bar. It’s one more thing that makes me think of Murph. Charlie Driver is the big one who wears a leather biker vest. The other one is… Well, shit. I still don’t know his name even after all these years. Chuckling to myself, I pick at my beer label, recalling the night that Murph dubbed him with his nickname.
It’s common bar etiquette to holler someone’s name when they walk in. Kind of like you’re greeting a long-lost family member, so they know they’re welcome in the revelry happening. After everyone in the bar gave a cheery greeting of, “Driver!”, two seconds later, the other guy came through the door as usual. And, as usual, it was silent since nobody knew his name. Without missing a beat, Murph belted out, “Passenger!”
Everyone roared, even Driver and Passenger. It’s stuck ever since.
Watching them converse, I realize now just how many times I’ve seen Murph talking to them while I’ve been preoccupied with watching the dance routines. He really was never into this. Was he? Why didn’t I see it? The things you blind yourself to.
Today, he said he came here to spend time with me. The compliment still sends a warm rush all the way to my toes. Realizing he had to bullshit with two veterans just to tolerate spending time with me while I did my thing, though, makes my gut feel like it’s been sucker punched. What would he have rather been doing? I hate that I don’t know. Fishing or hunting? Does he even like fishing and hunting or were those a ruse, too?
Waiting alone at the bar, it feels like I’ve lost an appendage. We’re supposed to be like Driver and Passenger—always together. It feels like the passenger just got kicked out of the car, though.
I know he said it was only this ‘one thing’ that I didn’t know about him, but that can’t be true, considering he apparently isn’t the rodeo fanatic that I thought he was.
Crap. I bought him a bull rider bobblehead doll for his birthday this year. I feel so stupid now.
Ralph finally moseys over, taking his sweet ass time about it. Sunday service here sucks. Alexis would never keep me waiting this long, but I’m glad Ralph lets her have the slow nights off.
“What’ll it be, Jesse? You need a shot?”
“No. I need a new beer. This one’s warm. You might want to check if your cooler went out again.”
What the heck is the snort for? He knows I could probably fix it for him for free if he needs help. No chance of that, though, if he’s going to be all salty.
Grabbing another from the same cooler, he sets it down in front of me and levels me with a look as he takes my old one. “That’ll happen when you nurse it for an hour.”
An hour? What is he smoking? There’s no way I’ve been sitting in here talking to myself for an hour. Is everyone a liar?
Taking a swig, I make sure to keep my challenging gaze fixed on him. The ice-cold beer slides down my throat like liquid nitrogen. When I set the bottle down, my fingers are practically numb from the chill.
Damn. That’s… frosty. Mighty frosty.
His smug expression tells me I’ve lost all concept of time tonight. Thanks for that, Murph.
“Four dollars,” he informs me, folding his arms over his chest.
Alexis lets me run a tab and pay at the end of the night. Has Ralph always been such a dick?
He could do without the smirk. Forty-eight dollars in an hour and what have I got to show for it? I still have a million unanswered questions and no plan. Worst hour of therapy in my life.
Okay, so, the only hour of therapy of my life, but still. It’d be nice if it had bought me the assurance that I’ll be keeping my best friend and not just a large Oreo Blizzard.
Where the heck is Cheri, anyway? These feelings aren’t going to eat themselves.