Waking Charley Vaughan (14 page)

“How?” I asked incredulously. “Nothing I can say can get them out of the situation they’re in. I don’t blame them for hating me. I’d hate me, too. What I did was wrong.  I abandoned them because I was afraid: afraid of who I would be if I stayed there.”

“It’s never too late, Charley. You’re a good person. You’ll come up with a way to fix things.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I sighed, not thinking it was even a possibility, but not wanting to bring the conversation down even further.

For a few minutes, we just sat there staring at the would-be Lyalah’s Bakery. Finally, Brennan said, “I think I know how to salvage today, at least partially”

“Pfft,” I protested, quite elegantly. “How’s that?” I asked, not believing him.

“Come on,” Brennan said, grabbing my hand and pulling me up from the bench. “I’ll show you.”

Twenty minutes later, we were inside the little pub downtown. I hadn’t been here since the accident, and I would have expected it to make me feel more strange. Instead, it felt almost cozy—like going home. No way was I going to say that out loud. I just took a seat at the bar as Brennan walked around to the back of it.

‘What’s this about?” I finally asked him.

“Here,” he said, handing me a glass of water. “Drink this, then I’ll show you.”

“Huh?” I had no idea what this was about.

“Just drink it please, it’s important.”

“Whatever,” I said as I took a sip of the water. He looked at me skeptically.

“Seriously, drink it. Don’t sip it or this isn’t going to go well.”

“Fine,” I said, still having no idea what was going on. I took a gulp of the water while Brennan fidgeted with things behind the bar. By the time the water was half gone, He’d turned around and began filling ten very small glasses with various beers from the different taps at the bar.

“Finish your water,” he said again, taking a second to put some more water into my glass.

I laughed. “How am I supposed to finish it if you keep filling it?”

“Just drink,” he said, and went back to fidgeting with glasses and napkins.

Once my water glass was finally empty, Brennan placed the ten glasses in front of me, then grabbed a pen and paper from behind the bar.

“Umm...what the hell?” I asked him, confused. “Are we trying to reenact the night of the accident?” I asked.

“Not exactly.” He was grinning. “Do you remember the first thing you tried to order that night?”

“Yes,” I said, “a shot of tequila.” A stupid, troublesome shot of tequila.

“Okay,” he cut off my thoughts, “the second thing you tried to order then…the beer?”

“Oh,” I said, remembering. I had wanted to order a beer, but I couldn’t remember what kind I liked. I had remembered being pretty upset about that fact. “Yeah, I remember. I didn’t know what kind of beer I liked. Matt was always the one who remembered the kinds I liked.” Then, I thought about that statement for a minute. “Actually,” I corrected, “he didn’t remember what I liked. He remembered what
he
liked. I think I always just ordered whatever he was having.” I paused another moment. “How lame,” I mused.

“That’s not important anymore,” Brennan said, stopping my train of thought. “Now, we’re going to figure out what kind of beer
you
like.” He smiled down at me, that same smile I’d seen the first night in the same bar. With the pain of Matt’s betrayal slightly further behind me, it was easier to appreciate how beautiful Brennan’s smile really was. His smile took over his whole face when he really meant it. It made his green eyes sparkle, and the dimple on his left cheek visible. Seeing him smile made me want to smile.

I couldn’t help but think of how different Brennan and Matt were. Matt’s smile always made me wonder what he was up to—what he was going to ask me to do, or what joke he was going to tell at my expense. The more I’d thought about him lately, the more I’d realized he wasn’t nice to me. I wondered if it was possible to love someone, but not love them enough to actually be nice to them. Had I just been convenient for him? I didn’t know, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to. I turned my attention back to Brennan, not sure how long I’d been stuck in my own thoughts.

He was still smiling at me, but his eyebrows were raised, as if in question.

“Did you say something?” I asked him.

“Yeah,” he laughed. “ I asked you if you were ready to start.”

“Oh. Yeah, I think so.”

He then walked me through a taste test of almost every beer he had in the bar. He only let me take sips of each. If I thought I liked it, he had me take another, making sure to make me drink water between every beer, and full glass anytime he was refilling the little cups. When I finally asked him what was up with all the water he said, “I’ve never had a hangover, Charley. Not even in college. Do you know why?”

“You don’t drink?” I asked.

“No, I drink, and unfortunately, in college, I drank more than I should have. But the point is, I don’t get hangovers because I stay hydrated. Hydration is the key to not feeling like crap the next day.”

“Oh,” I said, wondering if this was common knowledge.

After about an hour, I had discovered that I liked some sort of Belgian wheat ale that was served with oranges, I liked another pale looking beer that was served with limes, and basically, any beer he gave me that had a citrus fruit on the rim.

Brennan started washing glasses, and I hopped down from my barstool to walk around to his side and help.

“You going to wash one handed?” he asked looking down at my sling.

“Oh,” I said, remembering. “Well, I can dry. It’s the least I can do.”

He smiled, and tossed me a towel. We worked in silence for a minute before I got up the courage to ask what I’d wanted to know since the morning I’d seen him in the hospital.

“So,” I began, and then shifted gears quickly. “Why isn’t the pub open tonight? Isn’t New Year’s Eve kind of a big night in the bar business?” 

Brennan chuckled. “I’ve been telling my boss that for years now. He said he doesn’t want to contribute to what’s wrong with society. So, no New Year’s Eve, no St. Patty’s Day. Basically, no day specifically designed for getting hammered and going out causing trouble,” he said.

“Makes sense I guess,” I said.

“Brennan,” I started again. He looked down, meeting my eyes.

“Yeah…” he said encouragingly.

“Why did you do this for me?” I finally asked.

He shrugged. “It only seems fair for someone to know what kind of beer she likes. Especially if she’s going to be hanging around a bartender. It would reflect badly on me if you didn’t,” he joked, stealing a line from my mother.

I smiled. “No,” I pressed. “I mean all of it. Why did you help me from the beginning? You’ve gone so far above and beyond what most people would have done. You’ve sacrificed time, sanity—you’ve put your whole life on hold for over a week just so you could pretend to be my fiancé,” I laughed. “It sounds absolutely insane when I say it out loud. Why did you do it?”

He took a second to answer, busying himself with rewashing some glasses. “If you asked Adam, he’d say it’s because I have super-hero complex,” he shook his head, smiling. “I guess he’s right. And, well, I’m sure Sara told you all about my mom and dad—that was some of it.”

“What was the rest of it?” I asked him, not sure what I was hoping his answer would be.

He didn’t make eye contact, and a slight blush was tinting the cheek I could see.

“I don’t want this to sound weird, but it’s probably going to,” he explained. “And, don’t take it to be anything creepy, because I’m really not a creep…or a weirdo.”

“Hey,” I cut him off, “just tell me,” I chuckled.

“It’s hard to explain,” he said, and I didn’t think he was going to say anything else. I just looked at him, hoping he would elaborate. He looked at me again.

“Have you ever met someone and just known that the person was going to be a part of your life for a long time? Not
how
they were going to be a part of your life, but just
that
they were going to?”

“Sara,” I said simply. I knew pretty soon after meeting her that she’d be a part of my life for a long time—for forever, actually.”

“So, you know what I’m talking about then?” he asked. “You know the feeling, I mean. Let’s just say, it was something like that.”

I could tell he felt awkward talking about it, but I had to ask.

“So that’s what you felt when you met me? It wasn’t pity?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” he clarified,” I felt bad about the situation you were in---I felt responsible for the accident. I still do. But, the first thing that drew me to you was that feeling—that small tug on my heart that told me that you were someone I was going to know for a long time. It wasn’t until I started to get to know you a little that I realized that that would be such a good thing.”

I looked down, sure that my cheeks, no matter how pigmented, would show my blush. Brennan kept talking.

“I don’t pity you, Charley.” He said simply. “I know you hate being pitied, and I know you think I feel sorry for you, but I don’t. I don’t think there is anything about you that is pitiful.” He thought for a second, “Not even your horribly low alcohol tolerance”

That made me laugh. I wasn’t about to tell him, but the past week I’d spent with him had made me feel like he was going to be a part of my life for a long time, too. I just worried that it was wishful thinking on my part, and not reality. He was a good friend, and as much as I loved Sara and would always love Sara, I needed a good friend that was not connected to who I felt like I used to be. Not when I was trying to figure out who I actually was.

***

Brennan walked me to my apartment, holding onto my free hand while we walked. The first time he’d reached for my hand, I ignored it. It felt wrong somehow—like a betrayal. By the time I was released from the hospital, I had been ready to let him hold my hand. I realized that day, that him wanting my hand was more out of protective instinct that any romantic feelings. Sara had joked that it was the only way, aside from picking me up, that he could insure I would not get hit by anymore vehicles.

That night, though, after the conversation we’d had in the pub, holding Brennan’s hand felt different. It was exciting, and it made me smile. Had it really been less than two weeks since I’d found out about Matt cheating? It was strange to imagine. Before that night, I hadn’t seen Matt at all, and hadn’t talked to him either. After his call to the hospital that first night, he’d never called again. The knowledge of that didn’t make me as mad as I thought it should have.

As we walked, Brennan and I chatted about everything: sports (which he was shocked to find I liked, even if I didn’t fully understand all of them), some of his ex-girlfriends and notable break ups, food, pets, and family. By the time we reached my door, we were on the topic of awful first dates. I’d been laughing so hard for the last two blocks that I’d started snorting at random intervals. It was embarrassing, but it just seemed to make Brennan laugh harder, so I stopped trying to hold it back. The loudest snort came when Brennan told me the story of the girl who had “fallen madly in love” after their first date. Those were her words, not his. He said she’d shown up at the pub the day after the date, screaming because he hadn’t called her. By the time he got to his impression of her screeching tantrum, I was hunched over, holding my stomach with my good arm and snorting out of control. I finally had to let him in my apartment because it was rounding on 3:30 in the morning and I knew Mrs. Arrington could hear me—more than likely, the whole building could.

We sat at the barstools sipping some coffee I’d brewed and talking for close to another hour and half. I think part of me was just lost in a great conversation, but I know there was part of me that was just holding on, feeling sure that once he left, he’d have no more reason to hang around all the time, so he wouldn’t, and I wouldn’t get to hang out with him anymore.

When the coffee could no longer keep me awake, I went and sat on my couch. After a few minutes of talking across the room, Brennan made his way over to sit next to me.  He played it off like it was necessary to illustrate what he was talking about at the time, but for a minute, it really seemed like he just wanted to be close to me. That was a nice feeling. One minute we were talking, and making fun of some infomercials, and the next, I was leaning my head on his shoulder. I knew he was talking, and I was trying to keep up, but my eyes were getting heavy. It’d been a really long day, and I just couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. The next thing I knew, he was covering me up with the blanket from the back of the couch. I opened my eyes, and he was in front of me, kneeling down in front of the couch.

“I should get going,” he said softly, and moved a strand of my surely messy hair out of my face.

“Okay,” I yawned, moving to get up. He stopped me.

‘It’s okay. I can let myself out. Do you need anything?”

“No,” I yawned again and sat up. “I think I’m good. I really can’t thank you enough for everything.” It occurred to me again that I’d probably never see him after that day. It was strange to think of missing someone that I’d  known less than two weeks, but the thought of not seeing him again made me sad.