Chapter 14
Gabe
What if you came back to Sassafras?
I contemplate what that would look like, taking another swig of whiskey. The clock catches my eye and fuck, it’s only 10 a.m.
Yeah… maybe.
It’s been a week since I told Bex that I didn’t want to be friends with her. Which came out all wrong. Of course I want to be friends with her, but I also want to be so much more. I don’t want to be just friends with Bex.
But instead of voicing that like a normal human being, I told her that I didn’t want to be friends with her. The look on her face made me feel like someone was trying to cut my heart out with a spork. Agonizing in a way that you know won’t stop anytime soon. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.
I keep trying to talk to her, but I can tell she’s avoiding me, and it feels like we’ve taken ten steps back.
My buzzing phone drags me out of the thought spiral I”ve been revisiting all week.
The flashing screen shows an incoming call from Erik Olsson, because I’m not close enough with my dad for it to be something witty like Daddio or endearing like Papa Olsson. I’ve never been particularly witty or endearing with my father.
I don’t want to answer but I’m already in a shit mood, so talking to Father Dearest can’t make things much worse.
I swipe and raise the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Anders. I need to get a head count for this gala your mother is hosting. Will you be there?”
“What is this gala for again?” Alice and Erik Olsson are New York elite. My mom has hosted all kinds of functions over the years, as was expected of her. She was raised by traditional parents with old money—I think marrying my dad, someone from new money and the first man she found outside of the social circles she was raised in, was her way of rebelling. It backfired spectacularly.
“Fuck if I know. Probably special kids or some shit.”
Special kids or some shit.Lovely way of phrasing the charity that Mom has poured herself into for almost my entire life.
Alice Olsson is not exactly warm and friendly, but she has put a lot of work into the Kids in the City Foundation that works to provide resources to families with special needs in New York City. I’ve spent a lot of time volunteering there over the years. It started as a way to prove my worth to my parents but I ended up truly falling in love with a lot of the kids and families.
I often wonder if my mom spent so much time caring for other families that she forgot to care about me. That or she couldn’t stand to be around my dad for very long and I just got abandoned in the process. Either way, I don’t exactly blame her, but I have had to set some firm boundaries in place when it comes to my parents.
“Anders. Are you there? Stop dicking around and pay attention to the conversation. You always were the worst about that—never listened to anything I said.” Probably because he never said anything of value.
I debate hanging up then and there, but instead I use some grounding techniques I’ve been working on with my therapist.
What can I feel?Carpet feels soft beneath my feet.
What can I hear? Music coming from Gabe’s room.
What can I taste?Peppermint toothpaste still lingering in my mouth.
What can I smell?Chinese takeout wafting from the kitchen table.
What can I see?The wall scuff from the time Gabe thought it would be fun to try rollerblading inside.
Taking a final deep breath, I reply, “Yes, I’m here. And yes, I’ll be at the gala for Kids in the City. A charity that you probably should have learned the name of by now.”
“Don’t smartass me,” he threatens, slurring his words just a bit. “I have no idea where I went wrong with you. My parents raised me to have some respect for adults. To grow up, get a respectable job.” Here we go.
“You defied me every step of the way. Tried to sign you up for the best club sports and you join up with the prissy bitches in feelings class. Tried to get you to go to my alma mater for undergrad and you head to Podunk, Massachusetts. Tried to get you to pull your head out of your ass and go back to school for an MBA after you failed at audition after audition, and instead, you ran back to Hawthorne for more fucking feelings classes. Are you at least bringing a date for your mother’s gala? Or, let me guess, the flavor of the week is sick of your drunk, unaccomplished ass?”
It’s not even worth telling my father that I actually enjoy living in a small town, that an MBA would get me absolutely nowhere that I want to be, or that I stopped drinking almost two years ago, so it would be hard for my ass to be drunk right now. I bet his is, though.
Instead, I reply with, “No, I won’t be bringing a date. Sorry to disappoint. Again.”
“Well I’ll tell your mother to put you down for a plus one anyway; find someone. You have a few weeks to figure it out. Make sure she’s something nice for me to look at.”
God, he’s such a sick fuck. I grit my teeth. “I’m not bringing some woman around for you to objectify. You are married. To my mother.”
“Your mother is a bitch and you know it.”
“Okay, I’m done with this conversation.”
As I go to hang up the phone, I hear him mutter, “A complete fuck up in every way.”
I was wrong. Talking to Erik made things much worse.
My mood has not improved by the next night, so I decide to head down to Louie’s for a tea before bed. I used to frequent Louie’s in college for a much different purpose, but since moving into the apartment building upstairs with Gabe a year and a half ago, I have started going down there on nights when I need to get away from my thoughts.
Louie, the bar’s namesake, noticed me sitting here nursing room temp water one night and offered to make me tea instead. We hit it off and I’ve been sitting at his bar on lonely nights ever since.
I quickly exit the apartment building and scurry next door to Louie’s. I didn’t grab my jacket because I knew I would barely be outside but damn, it’s fucking freezing out here.
Swinging the door open, I rush in and do a double take at the head of curly brunette hair at the opposite end of the bar. Louie is pouring her a cup of tea and my body has decided that we are no longer moving from this spot. Might as well pitch a tent and live here now.
Fuck, she’s beautiful. And I miss having her attention on me. The way her eyes dance when she’s about to throw a verbal shot. Her lips—God, her lips—as they curl into a scowl when she’s flustered. Okay, now I’m pitching a different kind of tent.
Bex hasn’t noticed me yet, but now Louie has. He raises a weathered hand to wave me over and I have the sudden urge to duck. Instead, I begin walking toward Louie and the woman of my dreams.
“Anders, over here. We have a new addition to our tea party. This is Bex. She was just telling me about her boy troubles; maybe you can help. I’m too old for this,” he mutters.
At this, Bex’s head snaps up to Louie, eyes wide and pleading. He remains blissfully oblivious, turning around to grab another mug for my tea. It would be hilarious if it weren’t for the fact that I know she’s mad at me. This seems like the perfect opportunity to break the ice a bit, so I plop down on the barstool next to Bex and bump her shoulder.
“Boy troubles, huh?”
I suddenly understand the phrase “If looks could kill.”
Before Bex answers, Louie cuts in with, “Yup. Some dickhead is always flirting with her but then tells her he doesn’t even see her as a friend. I told her that he probably means he sees her as more than a friend, but these college boys are idiots who don’t know how to communicate with a doorknob, let alone a woman.”
The entire time Louie has been talking, Bex has been sinking lower and lower in her chair, angling her face so that her curls fall around it and block my view of her eyes.
“I, too, am a college boy who doesn’t know how to communicate with a doorknob, let alone a woman.”
Louie slides my tea over to me. “I know. That’s why I thought maybe you could talk to her. Give her some real world insight. I’m going to go check a few things in the back.” He turns to Bex and sees the panicked state she has worked herself into. “Don’t worry darlin’. Anders is a stand up guy, he’ll help you out.” With that, he pushes through the back door to the storage room.
“I would ask what dick I need to hunt down for some quality time with my fist, but I don’t think I could figure out how to punch myself properly.”
The smallest of tilts begins at the corner of her mouth. I’ll take it.
“Bex, look at me,” I plead, turning toward her.
She just shakes her head and continues to sink further into her chair, which shouldn’t be possible at this point.
All on its own, my hand reaches for her. My mind shouts Dangerous! but my hand doesn’t seem to care.
I brush away some of the chaos framing her face and try to tuck a few curls behind her ear. Fuck they’re silky. And they have a mind of their own, immediately bouncing from behind her ear and framing her face again. I barely resist the urge to twirl a curl around my finger, reaching for her chin instead. Cupping it firmly, I turn her face and lean in closer. Her eyes flutter shut but she allows me to angle her face to me.
“I will get on my knees and beg you to look at me, but I’d rather be somewhere a little more private for that. Don’t make me become an exhibitionist,” I whisper conspiratorially.
The mouth tilt is back at that.
I lean a little closer. “I’d do it though. For you.”
Finally, her caramel and gold eyes tentatively peak up and meet mine. It takes me a second to recognize the embarrassment there but as soon as I do, I hate myself all over again.
“Hey.” I’m still whispering and I’m not quite sure why. Maybe if I do, I’ll keep her attention on me, where I always want it.
“Hi.” She rolls her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing. Tea parties with Louie are my thing.”
“Since when?” she asks, curiosity taking over the embarrassment.
“Oh, about six months after I came back to Hawthorne.” I release her chin and lean back in my seat. “I stopped by often since Gabe and I are just upstairs. Louie noticed me after a while and the rest is history. I come down here when I need to think.”
“What are you thinking about tonight?”
“You,” I answer without hesitation.
She tries to duck her head again, but my hand is back under her chin. I allow my thumb to run over her plump lower lip, and she lets out the most delicious gasp I’ve ever heard.
“What about me?” We’re back to whispering now.
“Well, as you were telling Louie, I’ve fucked up. I made you think I don’t want to be friends with you when that couldn’t be further from the truth. And as Louie so astutely pointed out, I actually want to be so much more than friends with you.” I should be terrified to tell her this, but for some reason I’m not.
I’m not, until her response is, “We shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” I scoff.
She gives her head a little shake and pulls back from me. “I don’t know, Anders. For a lot of reasons. Gabe would flip—”
“Gabe would get over it.”
“Maybe he would, but you”re his best friend. I just don’t know how he’d handle that, and I’d never get in the way of your friendship. Do I have feelings for you? Of course I do. When have I not?”
Excuse me?Before I can ask that question out loud, she continues.
“Plus, you’re essentially my teacher which I’m pretty sure is frowned upon by most of —”
“I’m already taking care of that.”
“—society. Wait, you’re what?”
“I mean, I haven’t taken care of it yet, but I can. I’m in if you’re in.”
She puts her elbows up on the bar and runs her hands down her face. “I’m honestly so confused right now. You don’t understand. I’ve dreamed of hearing these words from you but not like this. We shouldn’t.” Her sigh is almost pained. “I can’t.”
I’m so torn. I want to fight her more on this, but I also want to respect her decision. What I say is, “I can be whatever you need me to be.”
Sighing again, she turns her face toward me, propping it on her hands, and says, “I need you to be my friend, Anders Olsson.” I can’t read her expression and I hope to God she can’t read the sadness in mine.
The tiniest laugh escapes her as she stands up and rolls her head toward the ceiling. “I can’t believe those words are coming out of my mouth.”
I don’t want to believe them, but I have to take her word for it.
I stick my hand out for her to shake. Because, you know, that’s what friends do. “Friends?” I ask.
Her hand hesitantly slides into mine, what looks like regret flashing across her face.
“Friends,” she agrees with a shake.