37. Roman
CHAPTER 37
ROMAN
A crystal blue ocean can sit like glass in one location and be a hurricane in another. Water is a mystery. I dip my hand in the chilled sea and grip with all my strength, only to lose it all. It’s elusive until I let my hand relax, turn soft, and let it sit in the water. The only way to get water is by letting it go. The more I try, the more I lose it. It’s the opposite of what we’re taught and conditioned to believe in life.
Try harder and you will succeed.
It seems like we can overpower water, but it will forever return to its form. Ideally unaffected by the destruction.
Waverly is my water. With enough nurturing after being polluted, she’s become herself again. And I can’t hold on to her too tight, or I’ll lose her. Just like he did.
Sending that invitation was really fucking hard. Not knowing if she’d rip it up, send it back in a million pieces, burn it, or simply toss it in the trash. The build-up has been killing me. I dropped it off two weeks ago, and I’ve heard nothing since. I guess her presence, or lack thereof, will be my birthday surprise…
With my feet propped up on the edge of my sailboat, I stare into the sunset, remembering back all those years ago to the night when we sat on top of the hill, a Dave Matthews song playing in the background. It was an evening that changed my life. And not for the better. The spiral I sent myself down after admitting my feelings for her was not healthy. The fact she was my brother’s girl was the cherry on top of the stale cake that was my life.
That was the night that Patrick sensed something between us. Initially I was going to put some space in between Waverly and me. I knew once I told her how I felt on that bench at sunset, it was enough. I was done. But later on that night, after he dropped Waverly off, we went to the bar. We were having a great time until we weren’t. His face turned to stone, something I’ve never been on the receiving end of, and he told me I needed to step away.
That’s all. Nothing more. Nothing less. But I’d understood what he meant. The bond between me and his girlfriend was an intense one. I’d hate to be the man dating a girl who had a better relationship with his brother than him.
Every weekend after that I was with a different woman, dabbling in a little more than alcohol… Anything to get that blonde-haired, green-eyed woman out of my head. Waverly left a wound that didn’t seem to heal no matter what I did. So sleeping around Venice Beach was a temporary Band-Aid. It did what I needed it to do.
That is, until she stepped outside onto my parents’ balcony after the funeral. She may have had a few more creases on her face, but it didn’t steal anything from her beautiful soul. Nothing could take that away. Although my brother gave it a good whack in the process.
The funeral. Patrick. I’ve been avoiding my brother like the plague. As if him being alive means absolutely nothing to me. That’s not the case. My brother, my life-long best friend, is alive. I’m a shit human. We exchange pleasantries when my parents insist I come home for family dinner. Naturally, he’s there. Where else would he be? We joke with dad about not giving a shit about anything, but the tension is still there. Like an elephant in the room, I can’t bring myself to talk about. It’s not Waverly’s fault. Whatever was happening between us, it’d been building before that. We tried to fight it, ignore it, cover it in caution tape, but nothing worked.
My phone vibrates next to me, bringing me out of my depressed stupor. And it looks like my luck is changing as it flashes with the only name I’ve wanted to see for the last five months.
Waverly:I’ll be at your party. If you’re sure you want me there?
My mouth goes dry. I want nothing more than to see her. I mean, I did see her not too long ago when I walked by the shelter that was not on my way to work. I just needed a fix. To make sure she was doing okay. That’s when I saw her carrying a box to her car with a smile on her face. As long as she’s happy.
Me:Of course I want you there. Can’t wait…
Short and simple. Was it too simple? Should I ask her how she is?
I scroll up to our last conversation. It was us making plans for the St. Patrick’s Day Festival. That night was going to be everything . I wanted to ask her to be mine, officially. I wanted to make love to her, something I can honestly say I’ve never done before with any woman.
The beer bottle reaches my lips before I down what’s left of it. “If she’s coming to the party, I guess it’s time for me to rip off the Band-Aid with Patrick,” I admit to the moon.
Here we are. Staring at each other like we haven’t been related our entire lives.
I’m nervous as hell as Patrick pours us glasses of whiskey. His welcome was anything but warm and brotherly, but that’s my own fault. “Welcome to Casa de Paddy, wanna drink?” were the only seven words he’s said to me since I’d been here.
I peruse his new apartment. It’s small with little to no furniture, bare walls, and a partially stocked mini bar in the corner, smelling of fresh paint and Burberry cologne. It’s very… him .
He stalks toward me, holding out my drink. The hollow look in his eyes takes away from the smile he’s wearing. Except it’s a fake smile. He’s showing me teeth in a lazy way. Dentists everywhere would be disappointed.
“Thanks, man.” I take a sip and welcome the burning in my throat. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” I offer, holding out my drink for a cheers. Small talk. I hate it more than I hate not talking to Waverly. And that is a-fucking-lot.
“Yeah, thanks. Have a seat,” He gestures to a green chair, and I do as he says, which makes it even more awkward because usually if he ever told me to do something, I did the opposite. I sit and wait for him to say something, because lately more than ever, I find it hard to render words.
Thank the Lord, he starts. “I’m not getting back together with Waverly, or technically, we never called it quits. So maybe I should say, I’m going to call it quits with her…” The brown liquid gets drained down his throat in one gulp.
I bring the glass to my lips, taking a small sip. One of us must be coherent during this conversation. “O-kay.” Simple. Still unable to form words.
He reaches to grab the bottle, pours himself another, and sets it between us. “I don’t want to get into it before I have the chance to talk to her first, but I did need to tell you.”
I nod and take another sip. “So, why have you been avoiding me, little brother?”
It’s time for me to chug. I put the glass down with a little more force than intended, and sit back, taking a deep breath in. “I felt like a shitty human, I guess.”
“Why’s that?” His eyes narrow and his eyebrows dip in confusion.
“Because as much as I wanted you back… Would give anything to golf with you again, or sail with you, I was pissed you showed up. It’s always been her for me. You know that.” Words pour out of me like vomit, and I’m fearful of the look on his face. “I’m sorry.” I let out a deep breath and he winces at my words. It feels good getting it off my shoulders, but I know my words cut him deeply. Patrick puts on a tough exterior, and most of it’s not a facade, but he has a good heart.
“You’re sorry you’re dating my fiancée?”
Those words sit in my head for a few minutes while I ponder over them. I think back to our night under the stars. Our dance at Two Balls and A Bull. Us cuddled up together on the plane on the way to Italy. Our first kiss in the rain.
“No. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
Patrick shrugs, putting his emptied glass next to mine. “I don’t think she and I ever had what you guys had, you know?”
That hits me with a blow. After all these years, he’s noticed it, too. “So encouraging us to hang out all the time…?”
He leans back and crosses his hands behind his head and stares at the ceiling. “You know that night we met her, I should have let you introduce yourself like you wanted to. I was a dick for swooping in, whether it would have worked out with you and her or not.” Touché. “But you were only eighteen and had no experience with women. No real experience, anyway.” His eyes narrow to find mine, and a smirk crawls across his face. I smile back, fiddling with the chain on my wallet.
“I watched you date any girl you wanted to in middle and high school. It came so easy for you. When I was in school, I was awkward as fuck.” His eyes close like he’s in pain. “I thought maybe if I get the girl for once, I would be as good as you are.”
I fly forward on my seat. He thinks I’m better than him? “Dude, you are so much better than I am. You have a career that you excel in. You save people, you have money stacked in the bank…You’re smart… Let’s also add that you have sixteen years’ experience on me. I’m nowhere near where you are in life.”
He palms the air to stop me. “Roman. I understand all that, but I was emotionally empty. I had no real connection with her—as much as I tried and wanted to. So when I practically pushed her into your arms, knowing you both would never cross the line, it was my way of giving her something from you that I couldn’t give her myself.”
His face flushes and his eyes are glossy with unshed tears. “It was fucked up of me. It was like dangling you both in front of each other knowing it was me she’d be going home with.”
He sniffs in. “Hell, even then, I never slept in the same room as her. I didn’t want to. I never felt like she was mine. But I guess it’s because I never made her feel like it.”
Nope. That was one thing she and I would talk about. She felt loyal to Patrick and didn’t have a valid reason for breaking up. Yes, she wasn’t herself anymore, but he never hit her, never talked down to her, gave her everything she needed, but he was emotionally null. Void of anything that made him seem vulnerable.
“I know what you did for her,” Patrick continues, making me a little nervous not knowing what he’s talking about. “The bucket list, I mean.”
“She said she wanted to cross everything off before she turned forty, so you know, you were dead—” I start and Patrick shakes his head, but I continue anyway. “I’m sorry…you were gone. I felt like I needed to step up and take care of her because I was losing her. And I don’t mean losing her as in ‘I walked away while you were together,’ but she was folding into herself. Imploding. Unable to pull herself out of her funk.”
My voice breaks. “Sometimes you just need someone to help you pull yourself out of the rut.”
He nods like he gets it. We sit in silence, listening to the noise from the crickets seeping inside.
The conversation feels like it’s come to an end. There really isn’t much more to say, but it seems like he and Waverly have to have a talk.
“Are you coming to my birthday party?” Jesus, I sound like an eight-year-old.
Patrick laughs and rests his hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll be there. But make sure Tommy and Timmy don’t hog the slide.” He jokes, knowing I sound like a child. “Who has a birthday party when they turn twenty-five?”
“Mom insisted, and I think it’s kind of for you, too. Like a re-birth to life thing… Since you’re not dead and all.” I stand, letting his hand fall from my shoulder. “I’m going to go.”
“Will she be there?”
“Waverly?” I’d like to assume I know who he’s talking about, but he could technically be asking about Mom.
I can’t help but break out into a big ass cheesy smile, “Yeah, she’ll be there.”
“Good.” Patrick dips his head once and it’s then that I know we’ll be fine.