Iain

 

“Iain, over here!” Erik shouted, waving at me from across the bar.

Waving back, I made my way to his table. I sat down, took my gloves off, and ordered a beer from a passing waitress.

“How’s it going, man?” he asked, taking a swig of his. I peeled my coat off, draping it on the back of my chair, noticing an open menu in front of him. I took it, suddenly ravenous.

Erik had been my best friend since elementary school. We had been through it all - parents’ divorces, bad relationships, shitty jobs. He was by my side when I had come home from my last deployment, making sure I took care of myself after everything had happened. He was like my brother.

I wanted to tell him how things were really going - to explain this weird case I had landed, to talk about Brandon and his runaway wife. But instead, I shrugged.

“It’s going. Just work, as usual.”

A tall beer was set in front of me, and I ordered a burger and fries. Erik ordered the same, his dark brown eyes flashing with mischief.

“Man, our waitress is hot. You should get her number.”

I laughed, raising an eyebrow and looking toward the girl in question, a young-looking blond who had already moved on to the next table. Everywhere we went, Erik was always trying to hook me up with women. Our waitress, cashier, taxi driver, flight attendant, whoever. As long as she was a woman, he asked me to get her number. I, on the other hand, barely noticed women that way.

At least, not until Michele.

“If she’s so hot, you ask her.”

Erik’s smile dropped. His last girlfriend, Claire, crushed him. They were together two years, and he was even thinking about asking her to marry him. But then one day, it was like a light switch flipped. Claire broke it off, saying that he wasn’t who she thought he was. He’d been single over a year, and I pitied him. As far as I knew, he never got closure, and he couldn’t let go of her in any real way.

Up until Claire, he was definitely a relationship guy - he always had somebody. I figured he was always trying to set me up with women because it was what he wished he could do for himself, but something was stopping him.

“Nah, man. I don’t think so.”

The game was just starting, and we both watched in silence. The bar wasn’t getting any quieter, and when the Knicks scored, people stood and cheered.

“What have you been up to?” I asked him, finishing up my beer. It was going down easy tonight, and I already wanted another.

“Honestly? Nothing much. Work, of course.” He paused a beat, and then said, “I finally, um, was able to get rid of the last of Claire’s shit.”

“Really? That’s great.”

I ordered another beer from our waitress, and he did too.

“Yeah. She came by.”

“Seriously? What was that like?”

“It was… weird, seeing her. I’m just glad I didn’t say anything idiotic.”

I nodded, eyes searching the room. It was getting more crowded, as Saturday evenings generally did here. I watched a woman interlace hands with the man sitting next to her. I turned back to Erik.

“It’s about time she came and got her shit. Have you gone out with anyone lately?”

He shook his head, his dark hair flopping around his ears. “No. It’s just not a good time.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What are you waiting for?”

“What are you waiting for?” he countered, taking a sip of his beer.

I sat back, knowing I was beat. I was in the same boat as him, if not worse.

Stretching out the silence, I ignored his question at first, looking at the TV and pretending to pay attention to it.

“Well?” he prompted. I could hear teasing in his voice, but I grit my teeth.

“It’s not a good time,” I said, repeating his own words, meeting his eye again. We looked at each other, Erik’s face expressionless as he regarded me.

“No word from Emily, I take it?” he asked.

I winced, looking away from him. I never talked about Emily. Ever.

“I don’t expect to hear from her again.” I took a drink of my new beer, letting myself focus on the way it felt trailing down my throat.

“Iain, what she did was fucked up. But you’ve been single a lot longer than me.”

I didn’t answer him.

“Don’t you think it’s time to move on?”

I stared at him, thinking about what he was asking. I had moved on. But the thought of endless amounts of first dates was nauseating.

“I don’t miss her. Haven’t thought about her in months.” It wasn’t exactly true. I thought about what she’d done quite often.

More importantly, I thought about what I had done. How I hadn’t been there. How I had let her suffer alone.

“Then why won’t you ask that waitress out?” Erik persisted, and I sat back. I turned to look at the waitress in question again, noticing the way the light hit her blond hair piled on top of her head. She had a pretty smile. I looked away.

“She’s not my type.”

“Okay then, why not the other waitress? The one with the brown hair?”

I didn’t bother looking. Erik could go around in circles all night. I ran my finger along the side of my glass, leaving a line through the condensation that had accumulated there.

For the millionth time that day, I thought of Michele. I had put the case on hold the last couple of days, but, starting tomorrow, I resolved to scope her out. Once I found out where she worked and lived, then this would be done.

He’d called me yesterday morning, asking if I’d had any luck. While on the phone with him, I stared at her picture, remembering the way she had looked at me as I showed her which trains to get on. Like she almost wanted to trust me but knew she couldn’t.

I had lied to him over the phone. I told him I hadn’t found her yet.

“Not my type,” I said again, thinking about Michele’s dark hair. Thinking about those blue-green eyes, darkly sad and stoic on that street corner. The more time that passed since that day, the more my mind began to romanticize the encounter. But it was completely stupid to even think of anything like that with her. Not only was she Brandon Coffey’s wife, but she was a cheater, a runaway. A thief.

“We’ll get you laid eventually,” Erik said, and then cheered at the TV when the Knicks scored again.

I wasn’t even paying attention.

Even if, in an ideal world, Michele wasn’t Brandon’s wife but some stranger I had met on the street for real - even if, it couldn’t happen. If my relationship with Emily had taught me anything, it was that love was flimsy. Promises were too easily broken. I tried to give her everything, and it wasn’t enough. I had hurt her just by being myself.

An odd lump formed in my throat at that thought, and I took another drink of beer.

“I think we should find you someone first,” I said, in an effort to distract myself. “Either that, or we can just be bachelors forever.”

Erik laughed at that, raising his glass in a toast. I clinked mine against his, and we drank.

“Deal,” he said.