Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
CORMAC
“There you are,” Liam says, striding toward us seconds after we reenter the tasting room.
He’s a huge redheaded guy—as tall as I am and about twice as broad—so he reaches us quickly.
“The guys in the band have been shitting a brick looking for you. Dottie stopped the tea leaves thing a while back, and your dad’s worried about being off schedule. ”
Liam used to be in Garbage Fire, but he dropped out after taking a job as the head brewer of Silver Star Brewery. He doesn’t seem to regret that decision, given that he’s dating Nora’s friend Briar, who owns the place.
“Oh, crap.” I turn toward Nora. “I’ve got to go.
We’ll talk later about Cookie.” And the double date from hell.
But I don’t want to mention that in front of Liam.
Odds are, he wouldn’t care or question me.
Still, she wanted to keep it secret, and so do I.
When my dad told me to be nice to Nora, I’m reasonably certain he wasn’t telling me to date her.
“Cookie?” she asks in confusion.
“My dog.”
This earns me a smile and a nod. “Ah yes, the anxious dog. I look forward to meeting her.”
After throwing me another glance that I feel down to my toes, she takes off, slipping into the crowd. My mouth still feels her soft skin beneath it.
“What was that all about?” Liam asks as he steers me toward the stage, where the guys are getting set up. He knows that Nora and I have historically struggled to get along.
“We had a good talk,” I hedge. “I’ve been trying to”—I shrug—“make peace.”
We’re only about fifteen feet from the stage when I feel a wash of dizziness. I stagger to a stop. My stomach is crawling at the thought of getting up on the stage. Especially since the cafeteria slop chicken isn’t sitting right. “Nah, I need to go puke first.”
He huffs a laugh but shifts without complaint, heading back toward the exit to the hallway. “Yeah, how could I forget the great Cormac Peebles tradition.”
“It’s definitely better than if it happened onstage. Could you imagine?”
“Yes, and now I’ll never cheer you on from the front row.”
As if he would anyway. Liam’s like me, a person who’s usually more comfortable by himself, or with people who accept that he’ll never willingly be in the front row for anything.
“How’d you convince Nora to dog-sit for you?” he asks as we step into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind us. “Has she met Cookie?”
“No,” I reply with a smile. “Otherwise, I don’t think she would have made the offer. But I wasn’t sure what to do next weekend, so I’m not about to turn her down.”
My father usually dog-sits for me. Cookie is accustomed to him, and he is accustomed to Cookie. But my dad will be away on a two-week-long honeymoon with his new wife. They’ve been very cagey about where they’re going, as if they’re worried someone might burst in on them.
Then again, I suppose I did encourage my dad to rethink the whole marriage plan.
All my dad said was that I had his phone number, but he would prefer that I didn’t overuse it.
Knowing my father, I doubt the secret location is Paris or Bruges.
He’s too practical for a vacation like that—or at least too practical to plan such a thing without at least a year of advance notice.
Maybe it doesn’t matter where they go. I suspect they’ll find entertainment enough in each other, something I’ve never experienced with one of my exes.
I’ve had a couple of serious girlfriends, but my relationships always end the same way. With accusations about my character and assumptions that are usually incorrect.
Yes, I did forget Rebecca’s birthday, but when she told me it was okay, and that she’d prefer to go out with her friends anyway, I thought I had the go-ahead to schedule a meeting.
And I “heard what I wanted to” when she told me she understood why I get so sucked into my work I don’t remember other people exist.
Maybe Nora really can help me understand women, because I don’t have a good track record. To tell the truth, some days, I feel like I don’t understand anyone.
Liam laughs, and I remember we’re in the middle of a conversation. “Well, well, she’s about to get a Peebles trial by fire.”
“Cookie’s not so bad,” I say out of loyalty.
“And hell is just a sauna.” We’ve reached the bathroom door, but he hesitates, which seems odd. I can’t imagine he wants to go inside and listen to me dry-heave.
“Do you need to use the bathroom first?”
He shakes his head, staring off into the distance for a moment, then says, “I’m getting married, man.”
“What’s that have to do with using the bathroom?”
“Nothing,” he says with a laugh. “I stalked you here to tell you.”
Oh. Crap, that probably should have been obvious. It would have been if I weren’t so flustered about Nora.
“To Briar?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he replies. “Your mom was already remarried, so I had to make do.”
“Congratulations.” Suddenly, I’m struck with the memory of the speech I just gave. What was it I said about marriage?
I rub the back of my head. “Uh. I know what I said earlier, but I’m sure marriage will be great in your case. Briar’s really nice.”
He claps me in the back, powerfully enough to almost propel me into the wall. “I want you to stand up with me, man.”
I know he means well, and I’m grateful for his friendship, but I’m standing outside the bathroom because I have to puke my guts out before getting onstage. The last thing I want to think about is making another speech that’s going to attract weird looks.
But I remember what Nora said about the importance of acting politely. It’s not a direct comparison, since I’m not looking to get laid in this situation, but the precept holds. He’s a good guy, and he’s become a great friend. He deserves politeness from me.
I nod. “Of course. I’d be honored.”
“Uh-huh, likely story, you salty bastard.” He grins. “But you’ll do it all the same, and I’m going to hold you to it. We’re getting hitched in the fall. October. Now, get in there so you’re ready for the stage.”
I want to be the kind of person who laughs and shakes it off.
Who says I’ve gotten the better of my nerves now, thank you very much.
No puking is needed. But my stomach is still twisting at the thought of everyone watching us—and if I go out there feeling like this, I won’t be able to lose myself to the music.
So I accept the person I am and nod to Liam before ducking into the bathroom.
When I emerge from the bathroom, I find a little old lady waiting for me.
The little old lady. Her hair is dyed a soft purple, short and styled in waves around her face.
Her eyes are periwinkle, which is arguably the best color name in the English language, surrounded by soft wrinkles.
She’s elderly, but she doesn’t look like life has been a trial for her, more like an endless buffet of food more appetizing than the chicken casserole.
“Hello, my dear boy,” she says with a broad smile.
“Uh…hello again,” I say, instantly feeling awkward, both because I can’t seem to stop thinking of her as a little old lady and because I’m unsure of why she’s lingering next to the door to the men’s room.
“I think it’s time you and I had a little get-to-know-you talk,” she says. “I saw you at my tea table just now, but there wasn’t any time for pleasantries.”
Oh, shit. If there’s anything I could do without, it’s needless pleasantries. I can practically feel the seconds ticking by, the guys waiting on the stage…
Rob and Travis are pretty chill, but Mick, the rhythm guitarist, has a hell of a temper. I know this because he’s the owner of Ring Your Bell Boxing Gym, otherwise known as Bell’s, where both Liam and I work out.
I don’t go there in the daytime. Liam understands that it’s hard for me to be surrounded by other people grunting and punching and potentially watching me do stupid things.
Even harder when the overhead lights are turned on.
They’re a flickering, snapping set of fluorescents that seem designed for torment.
So we go a couple of nights a week after closing, and I bring in a lamp from home.
We have Mick’s blessing, since we always clean up before we leave—and also because I offered to completely recode his website, which was terrible.
But Mick hates tardiness unless he himself is tardy.
“Oh, okay,” I say, feeling my skin crawl with impatience. I restrain myself from tapping my foot, barely. “I’m Cormac, Eugene’s son.”
“Of course, I know.” The woman beams at me. “We were introduced a few weeks ago.”
I honestly don’t remember where or how this happened, but I nod and smile, as one does.
“I have to say, dear, you seemed quite interested in what I was doing at the tea table earlier.”
I’m not sure how to respond, so I make a sound that’s somewhere between a grunt and an umph.
“I’m Dottie Hendrickson.” She glances up and down the hallway, and when no one stumbles our way, she says, “I know you need to get back to your band, but it’s of dire importance for us to speak.”
“Uh…no offense intended, but why?”
“I know your secret, my dear boy, and I’m going to help you.”
I shift my weight, trying not to look uncomfortable. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She laughs as if this is hilarious and then pats my arm. Usually I don’t like it when people I don’t know touch me, but maybe because of her aforementioned littleness and age, it doesn’t bother me.
“I’m speaking about Nora, of course.” She smiles beatifically. “And I couldn’t be happier for you young people. You make a beautiful couple. I always thought you would. Ever since I saw you arguing at that Christmas party last year. There was something truly electric about your connection.”
Oh shit.
“Why do you think we’re a couple?” I hedge.
“I saw the sweet kiss you gave her outside. And you stood up for her, the way any good man should.”