Chapter 17 Brandon
brANDON
The steam from the kitchen faucet surrounds me as I wash the stock pot that held the pot roast. Carter offered to help me clean up while Miles and Angie talk in the living room, and I know it’s taking everything in him not to burst.
“I like seeing you happy,” I tell Carter as I hand him the pot.
“Thanks. Yeah, it’s nice to have someone. Not that you weren’t someone for me. But Miles is—”
“He’s your someone,” I finish for him and smile as I remember telling Angie I can be her someone.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “You and Angie look happy.”
“We’re in a good place. She works harder every day to be happy and I want that for her.”
“That sounds like love,” Carter says and dries off the salad bowl that I hand him.
I wash my hands and dry them off, turning to him I cross my arms over my chest. “Well, it’s more than like I can tell you that. But I don’t know if we’re at the love stage yet.”
“I mean, you two aren’t in a rush or anything, are you?”
“To get married and have kids?” I ask, and Carter nods. “No. We actually talked about it. I know I don’t want kids. Angie says she doesn’t want kids, but she’s still young and might change her mind.”
“Would you be okay with that? If one day she wanted kids and you’re still firm on the idea that you don’t want them?” Carter asks and folds the dish towel in half and sets it on the counter.
“She brings a lot to my life. I see music now where before all I saw were numbers and games. And I’m slowly immersing myself into her world at the TapHouse. So if kids are what she wants one day, then I’ll give them to her.”
Carter pushes off the counter with a laugh and pats me on the shoulder. “Hate to break it to you, buddy, but you’re way more than “in like” with her.”
I watch him leave the kitchen with a scowl on my face.
The exuberant greeting from the living room reaches my ear.
But I have to wonder if I am in love with her and not just in like with Angie.
I get to work on wiping down the counters and the stove as I think.
I’m a numbers guy who loves equations, but is there a formula that lets you know when you’ve fallen in love at the moment you’ve gotten an answer for the equation?
Leaving the kitchen cleaner than it was, I join them in the living room and drop on the couch next to Angie. She immediately leans into me and I wonder if this is a good day for her. Despite her parents coming home, I wonder if today is a day that’s stayed high.
“What were you two talking about?” I ask, referring to her and Miles.
“Angie’s dream of opening a piano bar. I told her I think it’s a great idea and I’d very much love to be a silent investor. Philly needs more music,” Miles says and pulls Carter into his side.
“Really?” I ask, turning to her.
“B, it’s still just a dream. When I graduate I’ll get more serious about it,” she reassures me.
“I have faith in you,” Miles tells her. I like that they’ve quickly bonded. Carter and I share a look from across the room and I can tell that he likes it too.
When I hung out with James and Emily, they always did their best not to make me feel like the third wheel.
Naturally, it would happen because they were a couple.
But other times, the roles would reverse, and depending on the day, James or Emily would be the third wheel.
At the time, I wished for a significant other so those roles would stay set.
But when James died, I threw out my wish and wished for nothing.
I did, however, wish for happiness; I didn’t wish for pain.
And watching Emily go through that and watching my family crumble, I equated wishing for love to pain.
Then Angie came along, and my wish came back. I no longer equate love with pain.
“Thank you.”
The rest of our time together revolves around Miles and Carter, particularly how they plan to navigate when the season starts back up and Miles is on the road. And getting Angie more excited about the possibility of opening a piano bar. I know she can do it, but I need her to believe it, too.
“That was fun,” Angie says when I come to sit back on the couch with her after seeing Cater and Miles off.
“It was. I like Miles.”
“Me too. I’m still shocked that he was here.”
“Yeah. And that Carter is dating a professional basketball player,” I joke.
Angie adjusts and takes her boots off, then gets more comfortable next to me. “You’re gonna give him so much crap, aren’t you?”
“Of course. What are friends for?” I tease and then sober up as I turn to face her. “How are you?”
She props her arm on the back of the couch and rests her head on her closed fist. “Today’s a good day. I’m strangely having more of them lately that I’m terrified of jinxing myself.”
“Understandable. I was worried with your parents popping back in that it would derail you? I don’t know if that’s the right word.”
“To be honest,” she lets out a heavy sigh as her eyes ping pong around the living room, “I still don’t know how I’m feeling about them coming home. I think I’m compartmentalizing and saving that worry for another day.”
I nod, letting her words settle into the room. “And where are you at with the piano bar?”
Angie groans and I smile at her annoyance.
“It’s a pipe dream, B. If I close my eyes really tight then, yeah I can see it.
But as soon as I open my eyes—I’m an almost college graduate with very little idea of where the road will take me when I do finish school.
I don’t have a business plan, I don’t even have a business degree, or the money. ”
“Okay, let’s play a game,” I tell her. “Close your eyes for real this time.” Angie rolls her eyes with a smile, but does as I tell her. “We’re ten years into the future, what do you see?”
I watch her throat move as she swallows and I’m about to open my mouth to tell her to forget about it. Because for people without depression they’ve easily made the five-year, ten-year, or even their fifteen-year plans. But Angie, I can tell, is grateful to make it to another week.
“I see me living in the city and out of the suburbs. I walk everywhere if I can or I take the subway if I need to.” Her forehead scrunches and her eyes flutter.
“What else do you see, Angel?”
“I don’t know,” she tells me shakily. “Do I have to keep playing?”
“No, Angel. You can open your eyes,” I say to her softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you.”
“You didn’t,” she admits. “I used to have the biggest imagination when I was in elementary school. I dreamed of being everything from a teacher, a news anchor, a talk show host, or even a famous pianist selling out concert halls all over the world.”
I take her hand in mine and trace the life lines on my palm like she did to me. “Dreaming big. What happened?”
“The fear of my dreams not being taken as seriously as Liam’s.”
My invisible path on her palm stops and I look up at her. “What?”
“My mom said that she was sorry for not giving me the attention that she gave him. I mean, sometimes I understand why they gave him so much attention. He was the oldest and he knew what he wanted to do. Baseball was a sure thing. Everyone could see that he was destined for big things.”
“Yeah, but so were you,” I reassure her.
“Yeah,” Angie looks down at our hands and smiles, “can we talk about something else?”
Her dreams and her happiness aren’t something that should be brushed off, but for now, I let her win this. “Sure. How about we watch a movie? Or do you have to go home?”
“Yes. And no curfew for me.”
“Perfect.” I get up from the couch and turn down the lights and grab the television remotes. “Any preferences?” I ask when I sit back down on the couch. “Are we failing at this dating thing? What movies do you like?”
“I wouldn’t say we’re failing. We’re just taking it slower on the personal front,” she reassures me. “As for my favorite movies, I love the late 90s coming of age and early 2000s romantic comedies.”
“Really?” I ask incredulously.
“Yeah. Does that surprise you?” Angie asks with a chuckle.
I snort. “A little bit.”
“Let me guess…you like the old school sports movies.”
I shake my head. “No way. John Hughes movies forever.”
“Interesting. So what are we watching tonight?”
“Rock, paper, scissors you for it?” I ask.
“You’re on.”
I press play on another movie as Angie’s dead weight lays on top of me.
Halfway through the first movie, she pushed me back and crawled on me like a teddy bear.
My hands began running up and down her back in a lazy motion, and a few minutes later, she was asleep.
I’ll never admit it to her, unless she tickles it out of me, but my mom and I used to watch the movies that Angie loves, so I toss an arm behind my head as the intro to Now and Then plays on my screen.
Angie stirs thirty minutes later when the characters are playing Red Rover.
“How long was I asleep?” she asks with a sleepy voice that I find insanely attractive.
“Almost two hours,” I tell her and angle my head to look at her. Her eyes are half-open and she’s got this furrow between her brows like she’s confused about where she’s at.
“And you didn’t think to wake me?” she asks and her body vibrates as she stretches.
I wrap my other arm around her. “Nope. You’re so cute when you sleep.”
“Just what every girl wants to hear,” Angie deadpans, causing me to laugh.
We fall into comfortable silence, me reveling in the feel of Angie laying on me and her rubbing her thumb across my rib cage while we watch the girls ride their bikes to the library.
“Do you wish we lived in a small town like theirs? I mean, I know it’s not super small, but the idea of a close-knit community doesn’t seem so bad,” Angie whispers.