11. Connor
“Chuck, you look like I need another drink,” my dad jokes, earning a dramatically loud laugh from Mr. Berringer.
“That’s why Celeste wasn’t sober for the first three years of our marriage,” he replies, getting an equal reaction from Dad.
The men both stand up from the table and wander into the kitchen, presumably to get more alcohol, while Celeste smiles widely and takes a sip of her wine. “Those two are nothing but trouble,” she tells me, her French accent much thicker now that she’s been drinking.
“It’s good to see Dad laughing like that,” I say. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen him have this much fun.”
“Your papa has laughed with us many nights, Connor. Maybe if you came home to visit him more you’d see that, no?”
The sting of her words has me feeling both defensive and ashamed. I can make a thousand excuses why my work and my timeline are important, but I’m realizing I’ve missed a lot more than I thought.
“I should apologize,” Celeste says quietly. “That was not my place.”
“No, no,” I look at her. “You’re right. Plus, it’s definitely your place. I remember you yelling at me and Chris almost as much as Mom did, so I’m used to it.”
The corners of her mouth turn up slightly. “Poor Nina, with all you men. She needed all the help she could get trying to keep the lot of you in line. Although you weren’t so tough. Your brother and my Scott gave us all hell. I thought your mother was going to drive them over state lines, push them out of the car, and never look back.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure she threw that threat my way once or twice,” I smile at her.
She gently reaches across the table and puts her hand over mine. “She was a wonderful woman, your mother. I miss her terribly, especially during this time of year. I’m sorry you lost her so young. I am grateful for every day that I can still be here with Scott and Jessica.”
The alcohol that had loosened me up earlier is now making it difficult to breathe with the thickness of emotion. I clear my throat and try to change the subject. “Speaking of Jess, where did she run off to?”
Celeste grins and pats my hand. “I think I saw her sneak out the front door, perhaps the booze has gotten the better of her tonight.”
“She’s not alone.” I stand and push my chair back in. “I think I might get some fresh air myself.”
Celeste nods at me and continues sipping her wine contentedly alone at the table. I walk to the coat rack at the front door and grab my jacket before stepping onto the porch.
The cold, dry air hits my face abruptly, sobering me up a little. Festive lights illuminate the quiet neighborhood, which is covered by a light blanket of snow that will surely melt by the end of the day tomorrow. There’s a peaceful tranquility here that I don’t get back in the city and I’m thankful I’m finally getting to spend some real time in it.
“Howdy, stranger.” Jess’ voice probably should startle me, considering I didn’t realize she’s been sitting on the porch swing behind me. Instead, it just makes me happy to know she hasn’t gone back next door yet.
I stroll over and sit down next to her, prompting her to take the blanket she has wrapped around her legs and cover my legs with it as well. She balances a coffee mug in her left hand while deftly adjusting the blanket with her right, not saying a word even after we’re both settled.
“I thought you might have gone home after such a brutal loss in there,” I comment.
“Whatever, the whole thing was rigged. You were in cahoots with my parents. You’ll all be sorry when I figure out how to prove it.”
“Did you just say ‘cahoots?’” I tease.
She takes a sip from her mug and nods solemnly. “I did. And I’ll say it again. There was definite cahooting.”
I chuckle, my buzz returning to blissful. “That sounds dirty.”
“What? No it doesn’t! You’re one of those men who can make anything sound dirty, aren’t you? You’re probably thinking of hooters.” She giggles at her own revelation. “Like cahooting is when a clown plays with a woman’s boobs or something.”
I can’t help the laugh that I bark out at that, the visual is so ridiculous. “What is going on inside your brain that you came up with that?”
“Trust me, buddy, you wouldn’t last five minutes up here,” she points to her temple with her index finger.
“Got your own little world in there, huh?”
“Oh, there’s nothing little about it.”
“No doubt.”
Jess takes another careful sip from her mug and regards me for a moment. “Hey, I’m really sorry you had to go to the hospital. That must have been frightening. Especially after what happened to your mom.”
“It was,” I surprise myself by confessing. “But after doing some research and having…like a lot of alcohol tonight…”
She chuckles at that.
“…I’m okay. I can take precautions to prevent it from happening again and there are medications they can give me if it does happen again. Although I think just trying to find something to do when everyone else is working might be more stressful than the rest of it.”
“I know you pour a lot of yourself into your job, I’m sure this is all a lot to take in. Is there anything I can do to help?”
I think about it for a moment. There really isn’t anything she can do, but I find myself wishing there was.
I must pause for too long because she continues. “Here, give me your phone.”
I pull it out of my back pocket, unlock it, and hand it over to her without question. Wordlessly, her thumbs tap across the screen and then a minute later she pulls out her own phone. “There,” she says, handing mine back to me. “I texted my phone from your number. So you’re in my contacts and I’m in yours. Now if you’re feeling bored or whatever, you can reach me. I know it’s not much, but I think I’m pretty entertaining.”
“Oh, I completely agree. Not much of a card player, but…”
She glares at me. “I will spill this hot tea in your lap, don’t even start with me.”
I pause. “You’re not drinking coffee?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Gross.”
“You are very entertaining, I never should have implied your poker skills were anything less than exemplary. And I’m sorry, did you just say ‘gross?’ Coffee is the glue that holds every morning together for 98% of the globe.”
“Never gonna happen,” she shakes her head.
“What?”
“You want me to like coffee and it’s never gonna happen. Many before you have tried and failed to get me on the coffee train. My mom still openly weeps about it.”
“I don’t know, I can be pretty persuasive. It’s kind of what I get paid to do.”
“I’m going to change the subject now,” she announces. “Tell me something…” she taps her fingers on the mug that’s apparently full of tea and stares up to the left in thought.
“Just, like, anything?”
“No, shut up, it’s a game. I’m trying to think here. Ooo! Tell me something you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t had time for. And now you have six weeks to dive into.”
I ponder that for a moment. “Chris invited me to go with you guys to the Draft tomorrow night for karaoke. I think he’s trying to get me back into singing with the band.”
She gasps. “Please tell me that’s not just a joke. I need to see you guys making beautiful music together again. You’ve deprived the world long enough, sir.”
“Ah, well, it’s always nice to hear from a fan.”
“Seriously, Connor, you should think about it. My brother can’t sing for crap, you’re all Chris has left. Plus, think of the groupies you could score.”
“Oh man, I didn’t even think about the groupies. You’re making an exceptional case here.”
“See? I’m so good at being right. What do I have to do to close this deal, Mr. Price?”
I consider her briefly. “I think if I was going to put myself out there again—as an artist, of course,” I begin.
“Of course,” she agrees.
“Then I’d need to have some sort of groupie guarantee.”
She smiles. “Do you need like a minimum number of them out there or something?”
“Nope, just one.” Considering the only woman I’m consistently around is Lisa, my flirting skills are a little rusty. Jess looks at me, not fully understanding what I’m getting at, so I add, “and I’d like her to be wearing that red sweater she wore last Christmas.”
I watch the realization dawn on her and a slight pink colors her cheeks as she smiles. “I can’t believe you remember what I was wearing last Christmas.”
I blow out a big breath and looked forward. “It was a very nice sweater.” It only covered one of her shoulders and exposed the other and all of her collar bone. She looked damn near celestial.
She giggles. “I guess since we never really talk much anymore, I’m surprised you noticed at all.”
“I work a lot, Jess, but I’m not dead. Trust me, you are very…noticeable.”
Jess shifts under the blanket and searches her tea for something, clearly uncomfortable with being on the receiving end of my more direct compliment.
Sober Me would let her off the hook. He would politely excuse himself to go back inside and warm up because he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore. He would then set out a glass of water and some aspirin on his bedside table to prepare for the hangover he will have in the morning and resolve to forget all about Jess and her hot-as-hell red sweater, so he could try to figure out what to do for the next six weeks.
But Sober Me is not around right now, and Borderline Drunk Me is much more interested in seeing more of the beautiful woman beside him.
“So I have an idea,” I say, pulling her out of whatever rabbit hole her mind is going down.
“Well, that can’t be good,” she raises her eyebrows at me.
“Oh, it’s better than good,” I promise.
“Ooo, someone’s confident,” she takes a sip of her tea and stares back at me expectantly.
“Since you’re helping me by becoming my number one groupie?—”
“I never agreed to that.”
“Yes you did, I heard it. As thanks for that, since I’m a very down-to-Earth celebrity, I want to return the favor.”
Her eyes narrow. “That’s very kind of you, but I don’t actually have a need for any groupies right now.”
“Tell me about the state of your kitchen pantry.”
Knowing what I’m getting at, she immediately starts laughing. “That’s not how the game works. It’s ‘Tell me Something,’ that’s how you have to start it.”
“Fine, tell me something about the state of your kitchen pantry.”
Still giggling, she shakes her head. “I see you’ve talked to my dad. Ah yes, my kitchen pantry. I can tell you it’s a complete disaster just like everything else that’s behind a closed door or drawer in my house.”
“Well, allow me to be of service then. I have what some have called an unsettling love for closet organization.”
“You want to organize my pantry?”
“I know it sounds a little weird, but the way your dad described it, I got chills.”
She tosses her head back and laughs. “I mean, if that’s really something you feel you have to do, I won’t stop you.” I hold out my hand and she gives it a firm shake. “You have yourself a deal, sir.”
I take her hand and bring it to my mouth for a kiss because that seems super gentlemanly.
She rolls her eyes and pushes the blanket off her legs as she stands up. “Oh man, now you’re channeling your brother. Time to go.”
“That was painful and unnecessary,” I say. She sets her mug down on the banister and raises her arms above her head in a long, graceful stretch. When she puts them back down, her eyes settle on mine and she smiles.
“I think I’m going to go to bed now,” she says softly.
“Yeah, that buzz is fading into sleepytown territory,” I agree, silently berating myself for saying the word “sleepytown” out loud.
She chuckles. “All right, well I’m out all day with my brother tomorrow but, um, I’ll see you tomorrow night?”
“Sounds good. Any requests?”
“Hmm,” she muses as she heads down the patio steps. Turning on her heel and walking backwards, she looks at me and declares, “I think Sweet Emotions needs to grace my ears again.”
“Done.”
In the house, I can hear my dad and her parents laughing loudly at something, no doubt they’re going to be up for a while yet. I stay on the porch swing under the blanket and watch Jess walk next door, her feet crunching on the snow. She swings the screen door open and as she pushes in the front door, she stops and waves at me. I wave back, not entirely sure what to make of the whole evening, but feeling very glad it happened.