39. Riley
Since I started workingfor him, Cole has gone over to his friend Declan’s house for poker every couple of weeks. He told me that he used to be the regular host, before he hired me; hosting poker night at his place allowed him to spend time with the guys while still keeping an eye on Archie.
Tonight, he’s finally decided to invite Declan and Reed back to their usual spot. I can hear them laughing and joking with each other downstairs as Archie and I head up to go to bed.
It was nice to see the way they interacted with Archie. Cole’s friends are intimidating, but Archie seems completely comfortable around them, calling them “Uncle Dec” and “Uncle Reed.” There’s a familiarity between all of them that’s touching.
On the way upstairs, Archie tugs on my sleeve. “Why can’t I stay up later? They’re still playing.”
“Sorry, bud,” I say. “You know the rules. Bedtime is bedtime. And besides, they probably want to have some grown-up talk.”
“What do grown-ups talk about?”
I think for a second, then grin down at him. “Taxes,” I say. “And their boring, boring jobs.”
Archie wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Ugh.”
“Yeah, it’s terrible,” I say with a mock sigh, “but you have to do it, when you’re a grown-up. Luckily for you, you’re still a kid. So we don’t have to talk about mortgages, and instead, I get to tell you a bedtime story. How’s that sound?”
“Okay!” Archie exclaims. He runs the rest of the way up the stairs, and I follow him slowly.
“Go brush your teeth!”
Archie darts into the bathroom, and a few minutes later, he’s in his pajamas and snuggled up in bed.
I take my time with his bedtime story, both because he seems a little too energetic to fall asleep right away, and also because I’m a little nervous to go back downstairs on my own.
I’m not typically a shy person, but there’s something about the dynamic between Cole, Reed, and Declan that is intimidatingly familiar. I can’t shake the feeling that they know everything about him—and by extension, that they know about me.
Finally, at the end of an epic about Trevor and Dino, Archie drifts off to sleep. I tuck him in and turn out the light.
I take a deep breath at the top of the stairs, then descend.
It’ll be fine, I tell myself. You’ve met these guys before. They were friendly.
Sure enough, as soon as I step into the dining room, where they’re all gathered around the table, Reed looks up with a charming smile. “Hey, there she is,” he says. “You’re all done with work, huh?”
“Sure am,” I say. I may feel a little awkward and off-balance, but I’m determined not to let it show.
“How’s the kid?”
“Unconscious,” I reply, grinning. “It’s pretty late for him.”
“Pull up a chair,” Declan invites, gesturing. “Join us for a drink. You can watch your boss get his ass kicked at poker.”
Cole lets out a long-suffering sigh, then, when Declan and Reed aren’t looking, shoots me a wink. I walk up behind him to get a glimpse of his cards—two pairs.
I take the seat next to Cole’s, and as I do, I notice that Declan and Reed exchange a significant glance.
Maybe I was on to something earlier, I think uneasily. Maybe they do know about us.
I wonder if Cole told them, or if they guessed.
I’m probably just reading into things too much.
I force myself to relax as Cole sets his cards on the table, face-down, and gets to his feet.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Um… sure,” I decide. Why not? It’s not like I’m on the clock. Archie’s asleep, and I’m allowed to relax.
“What can I get you?”
I shrug. “Whatever you’re all having.”
As Cole gets up to fix me a drink, Reed grins at me from across the table. “Let me get this straight. You want the million-year-old shitty whiskey that Cole keeps around just to torment us?”
“Sure. How bad can it be?”
Reed chuckles, shooting a glance at Declan. “You’re the whiskey expert here,” he says. “Go on, tell her how bad Cole’s taste is.”
Declan lowers his cards to the table. “You have no idea,” he says dryly.
I hear the sound of ice clinking into a glass in the kitchen. “Don’t listen to them,” Cole calls to me. “They’re full of shit. It’s nice whiskey. Top shelf.”
“‘Top shelf’ isn’t everything,” Declan retorts. “There’s an art to a good scotch, and you never seem to pick the good ones.”
“It’s subjective,” Cole says, returning to the table with a short glass of caramel-colored liquid. He sets it down in front of me, then scowls at his friends. “You can’t seriously be giving me shit over something this stupid.”
“We can, and we will,” says Reed, lifting his chin. “Quite frankly, I agree with Declan. When we were hosting poker night at his place, the refreshments were considerably more—”
“You’re so full of shit.” Cole sighs. “I stock better stuff than Declan.”
Reed clicks his tongue, shaking his head. He glances at Declan. “Are you just gonna take that?”
“I won’t dignify it with a response,” Declan says, picking his cards back up off the table. To me, he adds, “You’re going to have to take our word for it. Among those who know what they’re talking about, it’s pretty much objective.”
“I have to be honest,” I say, pushing past my shyness, “I have no idea what good whiskey tastes like.”
“Well, you wouldn’t, working here,” Reed says, curling his lip in mock disgust.
Cole sits down at the head of the table, gesturing to my glass. “Drink that,” he says, with a glare at Reed. “Then you’ll know.”
I pick up the glass and take a tiny sip. The whiskey itself is acrid and dry, but overall, it isn’t bad—not that I particularly know what I’d be looking for. But to get in on the joke, I make a big show of spluttering, wrinkling my nose in disgust as I slam the glass back on the table.
“That’s disgusting,” I declare. “The worst whiskey I have ever tasted.”
Cole looks at me, incredulous. “Oh, for the love of—”
Whatever else he has to say is drowned out by the laughter of his friends. Reed guffaws loudly, pounding on the table; Declan’s laughter is more subdued, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
“You know what, Cole?” Reed says, wiping away a fake tear from the corner of his eye. “I like this one.”
Cole’s reaction to that is mixed—he seems pleased, but his posture also stiffens defensively. I can imagine why. Reed is reacting to me the way someone might react to their friend’s new girlfriend.
It’s nice to fit in so well with Cole’s friends, though, even if he’s a little on edge. Personally, I don’t mind if they know. They’re close enough with Cole that it would have been harder to hide it than tell them upfront.
“Same here,” Declan adds, giving me a nod. “Maybe he’ll pick up on your taste.”
Under the table, Cole’s leg brushes against mine. I suppress a shiver.
He’s picked up on my taste, alright, I think to myself.
“Do you guys want to play out this hand, or start a new one?” Reed asks. “We could deal Riley in, now that she’s here.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” I say quickly. “I don’t really know how to play poker, and I don’t want to slow down your game with all the instructions.”
“It’s pretty simple, if you want us to teach you.” Cole folds his hand of cards together neatly.
“I’m good,” I assure him. “In fact, I was probably going to get some painting done now that Archie is asleep, if that’s okay.”
The corner of his mouth twitches into a half-smile, and for an instant, I know we’re both thinking about the masterpiece that now hangs above his fireplace. “No problem.”
I stand up from the table, taking my drink with me. Before I can leave the room, there’s a sudden buzzing sound—Cole’s phone is ringing. He frowns at it, as do the rest of us.
“Little late for a phone call,” Declan comments, raising an eyebrow.
He’s right. Cole is notoriously busy, as is everyone else in the room, and if there’s anything I’ve learned from being around him, it’s that there is no such thing as true “time off.” However, most calls come before seven in the evening, at the very latest.
That is, most calls that don’t involve an emergency.
Cole frowns and picks up the phone. “Hello?”
He’s silent for a few seconds. His expression changes, almost imperceptibly, but from the way his eyes widen and his jaw tightens, I can tell it’s something serious.
When he speaks again, his voice is clipped. “I see.”
He stands abruptly, holding up a hand to excuse himself, and paces into the foyer. I can hear his quiet voice as he talks to whoever’s on the other end of the line, but I can’t make out any of the questions.
Biting his lip, Reed looks up at me. “Do you know what that’s all about?”
I shrug. “No idea. It doesn’t seem good, though.”
“No, it does not,” he agrees.
After a couple of minutes, Cole re-enters the room. He looks haggard, exhausted, as if that one phone call lasted for several hours.
“What’s the news?” Declan asks, his brow furrowed.
Cole trudges back to the table, sinking down into his chair. He’s silent for a long moment. Then he says, “That was a doctor at Sinai.” He blinks, as if he’s trying to force a thought to settle into place. “My father’s dead.”
Declan lets out a long breath, and Reed mutters, almost to himself, “Oh, shit, man.”
I stand on the other side of the room, frozen in the doorway to the living room. I’m suddenly unsure whether I should give Cole his space or stay here for support. I opt to wait, just to see what he needs from me.
“We weren’t close,” Cole says, his tone hollow. He folds his arms on the table, his shoulders hunched over. “It shouldn’t be a big deal.”
Declan shakes his head. “Of course it’s a big deal. That’s your fucking father. Something like this is going to drag up a lot of emotions.”
“He was a piece of shit,” Cole argues, his hands clenching into fists. “You know the history there. He was an abusive piece of shit, and he’s… he hasn’t been part of my life for a long time.”
“Listen,” Declan says, “I get it. My father is a complete bastard. But it’s still going to hit me when he dies, just because… well, for better or worse, he was part of your development. He’s part of the reason why you are who you are.”
“That’s a heavy feeling.” Reed leans forward to lay a reassuring hand on Cole’s shoulder, and Cole nods. “You gotta let yourself feel it. I’m sorry, man. We’re here for you, whenever you need us.”
“I know,” Cole says. He sets his phone on the table, face-down, as if he can’t bear to look at it anymore.
“Do you want to postpone game night?” Reed asks. “We completely understand if you need some time to process this.”
For a few seconds, Cole hesitates, considering. Then, finally, he nods and sighs. “I’m sorry, guys. I just don’t think I have it in me anymore. I’d rather push it off for a few days—take the time to get my head on straight.”
“No problem whatsoever,” Reed says. I’m surprised at the sincerity in his voice; of the three of them, Reed strikes me as the most unserious, always the first to talk shit and the last to understand the gravitas of a situation. Right now, though, he’s subdued, genuine.
“Give us a call whenever you need us,” Declan adds. “We’ll be there.”
“Thanks, guys.” Cole offers them a half-hearted smile. “I really appreciate this.”
Declan and Reed help Cole gather up the cards, and, on their way out, each of them claps Cole on the back in a gesture of support. They take their coats from the hall closet, then head out into the night.
Alone, Cole spends a minute or so at the table, staring down at its surface. I’m still frozen in the doorway, not sure what to do. Eventually, he stands, picking up his drink. He takes the decanter of whiskey from the kitchen counter and wanders into the living room.
Hesitantly, I follow him, sitting down on the couch a few feet away from him. I want to be there for him, but I also want to give him some space, if he needs it.
Cole tops off his glass of whiskey, then downs it in one swallow. He lets out a quiet hiss from the burn of the alcohol, then pours himself another glass, which he leaves untouched on the coffee table.
He seems distracted, lost in thought.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I venture, my heart pounding in my chest.
He glances at me, his expression troubled as he shakes his head. “It’s like I told the guys. We weren’t close.”
“I know. But… Declan was right. It’s still heavy. You have every right to feel how you feel.”
He reaches for the coffee table, picking up his glass and then setting it down again before leaning back on the couch. I slide a little closer to him, wishing I could think of something perfect to say, but also knowing I won’t be able to lighten his mood. He needs time to feel this.
“My father was a real piece of shit,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “He was a bad parent and a terrible person. We had to fend for ourselves because of him. It—it was his abuse that led to my sister’s struggles.”
I lay a hand on his knee, trying to comfort him. He gives me a grateful look, then continues.
“But… even though he was about as awful as he could’ve been, I still somehow remember these little flashes of good times. Like when he taught me to drive. He was a pretty good teacher. Much more patient than he normally was. Or the time he took me and my sister to the beach…”
Cole trails off, lost in the memory. After a few moments, the focus returns to his gaze, and he says, “I feel like my brain is trying to cling to those moments, like it’s trying to use those little scraps of good to block out everything bad that happened.”
His words remind me of something I learned in a psychology lecture while I was in college. Rather than give him the textbook terminology, I tell him, “That’s normal. It happens to all of us. Over time, everything will balance out again.”
“You think so?” He glances at me. His eyes are glazed, and it occurs to me for the first time that I’ve never seen him cry. I’ve rarely even seen his expression change.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “I do.”
Cole takes a deep breath, then exhales, as though he can purge the negative emotion by breathing it out. “Fuck. I don’t know what to feel. What to think.”
I want to say more, but I stop myself. I’m not sure there’s anything I can say or do to take his pain away, no matter how much I wish I could. This is probably something he has to feel. It needs to hurt before it gets better.
I can’t fix that. But I can make it easier to bear.
I slide closer to Cole on the couch, and he leans toward me readily, resting his head on my chest. I run my fingers through his dark hair in silence, and we stay that way for a long time, no words passing between us.
But it’s as if we’re communicating silently somehow, and when he finally lifts his head to look at me again, there’s something in his eyes that makes my heart thump in my chest.