TUCKER
Islam my front door closed behind me with an almighty thud. I don’t get it. I just don’t get it.
Without thinking, I slam my fist into the mirror that lines the hall wall. I grab the shoe rack, lift it high above my head, and hurtle it into the next room.
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”
I collapse onto the bottom step of the stairs, my hand bleeding onto the floor.
What had I done wrong? Not the house stuff. Things can be replaced. With Amber. I worked stuff out, I took a chance, and where did it land me? Alone. Again. God I’m stupid. Schmuck.
You’d think I’d learn from having the same thing happen again and again, but no. I somehow expected different results. I guess happiness isn’t something that was meant for me.
I traipse into the kitchen, careful not to step onto the broken glass, and pull out the first aid kit. There’s a hunk of jagged glass embedded into one of my knuckles. I hadn’t even noticed.
I pull it out and flick it over my shoulder. Next comes the fun part.
I unscrew the lid off the cleaning solution and empty it over my hand. The sharp burn of it is almost soothing. Or at least it would be any other time.
With the cuts cleaned, and none of them appearing to need stitches, I wrap a bandage round my hand and head for the couch. Without turning the TV or sound system on, I clump down into the couch and sigh.
“Fuck.”
For the first time in my life, I was genuine and only meant well. Yet here I am. A warplane with no communications hoping to find their path.
After I get off the phone to my cleaner, a lovely lady, I continue to scroll through my contacts. I don’t understand what’s happening or why, so logically, a second opinion seems like a good idea. Although most of my ideas of late have sucked, so who knows?
I eventually settle on Joshua. Yeah, I’ve got a million bros I could call, but Josh is the one guy who gets me.
Four rings and he answers.
“Hey Tuck, what’s up?”
“Hey bro, you free? I need some advice. About, errm, a girl.”
There’s a pause here. I don’t think I’ve ever asked Joshua for advice about girls and as the silence grows longer, it’s clear he’s just as shocked as I am.
“Okay. Shoot. Is this about Amber?”
“What? How did you…? No, yes, it doesn’t matter.”
“Of course, it does. C’mon, hit me.”
“All right. Okay. So, here’s the deal. Remember how I hooked up with Amber ages ago? She’s really fucking great in the--”
“Tuck, I don’t need to know that.”
“Yeah, sorry, it’s just she is really good in -- ah, never mind…” I trail off. “Anyway, we hooked up, then she was gone the next morning. Fine, whatever. I do that. I get it. Then we hooked up again at my party. And it was great.”
“Bro, what did I just say?”
“No, it’s not like that. The second time felt different. Like we weren’t just two strangers fucking each other’s brains out. It felt more. Hell, I wanted more. So we met up. Like, not for sex. Although we did. Time number three. But that wasn’t the plan. We just were gonna hang.”
“Okay. So, what’s the problem?”
“We had a fight. Well, it wasn’t even a proper fight.
We just got our wires crossed. And I had surf practice and needed to leave.
I didn’t wanna, but things got heated and, I don’t know…
But long-story-short, I came to this realization that I don’t want to just be fucking her, I want to be with her. ”
“And you’re trying to work out how to tell her?”
“No! That’s the thing. I text her saying how I’m feeling. She left me unread for ages then finally got back to me saying she doesn’t want anything to do with me, pretty much.”
“Ooft. That’s rough, bro. I’m not really sure where I come in, though?”
I’m not sure what I was expecting from Joshua. I know he can’t wave a magic wand or fix this for me with money, but I need something.
“I want to be with her. How do I do that?”
There’s another pause. This one is longer than the first.
“Wait, are you asking me how to go about dating her?”
Yet another pause.
“I mean, when you say it like that.”
“Oh Tucker, you’ve got it bad, man. Okay. Get comfy. I’m gonna run you through what you need to know.”
I get up and move over to the single seater, plant myself down, and hit the recline function.
“Right,” Joshua starts. “If she’s not interested.
Like, really not interested, there isn’t much you can do.
You just need to respect her boundaries and try to get on with life.
Eventually, you’ll go a day without thinking about her, and that’s when you know you’re healing.
However, this doesn’t sound like she’s not interested.
You don’t have sex twice and meet up unless you’re at least a little bit interested. ”
The first part of Joshua’s pep talks sucked balls. The second part gave me a slither of hope.
“So, what do I do?” I say, rubbing my temples so hard I may put a finger through them.
“Just … Be yourself.”
“What?”
“No, no. Hear me out. How can I put this in a way that won’t make you smash a mirror…?”
“I don’t do that.”
“Sure … Think of it like this. There’s Ryan’s version of you, and the version of you when you’re with me. She wants the version I see.”
“Dude, that’s the lamest thing you’ve ever said.” I couldn’t help but laugh. Two Braddocks sitting around discussing feelings. Next, we’ll be getting perms together.
“Oh c’mon, you know what I mean. I’m not good at this stuff either.”
We both laugh at the sheer absurdity of the situation.
“Right. So I need to be not-the-party-parody-me. Be the realist. Speak from the heart. Should I write her a poem?”
“Fuck no. Why would you … You can’t even write poetr…
” Joshua trails off. “Look, just be honest. Women love honesty. They can work with that. What they can’t deal with is guys who say shit just to placate them.
You remember when Dad would leave the paper in front of the TV, on the floor?
And when Mom would tell him to stop leaving it there and he’d say ‘Sorry, I’ll make more of an effort?
’ She knew he was lying, and it pissed her off.
Had he said, ‘I leave it there because I can never remember where I put it if I move it’, then that’s conversation with honesty and they could work shit out together.
What you need to be is honest, reliable, but not pushy.
Women hate pushy guys. Just tell her you’re serious about being serious. ”
The final pause. This time because I don’t think I’ve ever thought about stuff like that. And I’m amazed Joshua has.
“That makes sense. When did you get so…”?
“Wise?”
“I was gonna say old.”
“Hey fuck you, man.” We both laugh.
From Joshua’s end I hear his doorbell. It’s a much nicer sound than mine, which I still haven’t got round to changing.
“If it’s okay, I’m gonna have to bounce. Caitlyn’s got a … errm … friend coming over and I need to be sociable.”
“It’s cool, bro. And hey, thank you for this.”
“No probs, Tuck. You take--”
Hang on. Why did he stutter on the word friend? No fucking way. No. Fucking. Way. Amber. It’s gotta be. I’m here spilling my guts to my brother and suddenly she turns up at his. I don’t believe in fate, but this is definitely, I don’t know, a sign or something.
“Tuck, you there? You haven’t said anything in, like, 15 seconds.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Before you go, can I quickly pop over and grab your screwdriver, mines broke and I need to put up some paintings.”
“You broke a screwdriver? And you bought paintings? Wouldn’t a hammer be better?”
Newspaper. TV. Honesty.
“None of what I just said is true.”
“No shit.”
“Amber’s there, isn’t it? I want to come over, for like five minutes, just so I can get off my chest what I need to say. Is that cool?”
“No. Of course not. I’m not having you make a scene. But I guess if you turn up unexpectedly, I’d need to offer you a drink otherwise Caitlyn would think I was being rude.”
“Sweet. Be there in 10. Keep her talking.”
“This isn’t a Police op. She’s literally here to talk, you clown.”
And with that, I hang up on Joshua and race upstairs to quickly change clothes. I dart out the front door, hop on my bike, and speed -- safely, of course, I’m a new man -- to Josh’s house.
I’m almost out of breath by the time I reach the door and knock three times.
Caitlyn opens the door with the face that says oh for fuck’s sake.
“Hey Caitlyn. How’s things?” She’s not buying it.
“What are you doing here, Tucker?”
“Oh, you know, I was just in the neighborhood and -- is Amber here?”
As if summoned by her name, Amber appears a few short steps behind Caitlyn.
“It’s been great catching up, but I need to get to work,” Amber says with a tone that isn’t 100 percent sincere.
Caitlyn frowns, but if she thinks something is wrong, she doesn’t let on, and instead says, “Oh, right. Yeah, great seeing you too.”
They both hug then Amber brushes past me as if I’m not even there. Joshua appears next and waves his arms in confusion.
As Amber drives off, Joshua takes the helm as the greeter.
“You still wanna come in?”
The word still is going to get him in trouble with Caitlyn the moment I leave, but that’s not important right now.
“You know what, I don’t think I will. I need to see a woman about getting a dog groomed.”
I pad back down the steps and get on my bike. What the hell am I doing?
I know if I turn up at Amber’s workplace she won’t get in trouble. It’s her business after all. It’s not like she’s gonna tell herself off for talking while on the job. Not unless she’s a really weird boss.
I arrive at her shop, which I’m pretty sure she’d hate me calling a shop, and I’m blown away by how professional it is. She really knows what she’s doing. Smart and sexy. Fuck, man, what am I doing? She’s way out of my league.
Outside, I decide to give myself a quick pep talk before I risk it all.
I’m not a god, hell I’m not even the best surfer in the world. But none of that matter. Not in this moment. I need to go in there and just be me. She doesn’t care about my last name, but she does care about who I am as a person. I need to show her that I’m serious about being a good guy.
When my hand hits the door to open it, I freeze. What if I blow? What if I crash? What if I look like a fool? Not in front of the dogs!
I breathe down what feels like my last breath and open the door.
“Hel-,” there’s no one here. Well, that was anticlimactic.
As the door closes itself behind me, Amber comes strolling through to the front area and we lock eyes.
Honestly, I could stand here all day staring into those ocean eyes. I could forget about eating, sleeping, and just be here for hours looking at her. She’s beautiful on a level I never thought possible.
“Heeeeey,” I say, cautiously.
Her face is filled with shock so much she looks almost sickly. Maybe she had a rough night last night.
“You, okay? You don’t look so great.”
Good one Romeo.
“Oh, yeah, I think I ate something bad. What are you doing here?”
That was the question. What am I doing here? What, in the hell, am I doing here?
“Look,” I say, looking down at the floor before angling my head upward to meet her gaze. “I just need a couple of minutes then I’ll be out your hair.”
Amber doesn’t say anything, so I take the lack of a response to mean get on with it.
“I’m not good at … at all this. I know, I’m a rich druggie bad boy with a penchant for over-blowing things.
I live large, but it’s not that simple. Ever since my folks died, I’ve been running from everything.
Responsibility, work, hell, I’m running from myself.
Any time my oldest brother tries to course-correct me, I fight back regardless of what he says.
I’m a mess of a person. But when I’m with you, I don’t feel a complete waste of skin.
I feel like you’re a good influence on me. ”
Strike one.
Amber looks down for a moment to compose herself.
“So, I’m like what, your psychiatrist? You want me because I’m somehow going to magically fix your life and make you a better man? What happens if you change your mind, hmm? What happens if you want all the drugs, the parties, and different women? What happens to me then? Tucker, I…”
“Amber, please, that’s not what I meant. I think you’re great, and I don’t want you to be my psychiatrist, just, let’s start over. We can talk. Just like two normal people. Let me take you for dinner? Tonight. Anywhere you want, no matter the cost, I’m paying.”
Strike two. Shouldn’t have mentioned money.
“Tucker … I’m … I’m sorry. I’m busy.”
“How about tomorrow night then? Anywhere you want. I’ll even cook for you?”
“Sorry, I can’t.”
Strike three.
I gaze at Amber, hoping I misheard her or something, but I know I didn’t when she adds, “I meant what I said in my message -- I’m not interested in seeing you again. Please don’t contact me again.”
Joshua’s advice from earlier rings in my mind: ‘If she’s not interested. Like, really not interested, there isn’t much you can do. You just need to respect her boundaries and try to get on with life.’
Bowing my head, I mumble, “I get it. I’ll leave you alone,” and then leave her shop without a backward glance.