I stare out of a window while people talk mostly to my father and give him their condolences. I’ve never felt especially close to either of my parents, but damn it, I really want my mom right now. We fought over so many stupid things, said hurtful things, and now she’s dead. We never got the chance to find that happy medium in our relationship that so many mothers and daughters eventually find when they have a rough start.
The guilt from our last conversation overwhelms me more by the second. Can’t do much about it now.
“Hey.”
I whirl around at the sound of Brayden’s voice. Finally! I was starting to think he wouldn’t show. He’s late as it is. “Hey. Thanks for coming.” My arms are around his waist and my head against his chest before I can stop myself. He’s very stiff; is he uncomfortable being here?
“Of course. Sorry I’m late.”
“It’s fine. It should be about time for them to shoo people out and move her into the car, I think.”
His hands rub my back. “How are you doing?”
“Terrible because people won’t stop asking me that.”
“It’ll be over soon.”
That’s not really reassuring, but Brayden himself is. I allow myself to lean on him, to let Brayden be my rock today, just as he’s been the past few days. He rides with me to the cemetery. He stands by my side, holds my hand, and I lean into him while Mom’s preacher sings her praises. No more tears fall. Maybe I’m finally cried out.
Afterward, everyone heads to my father’s house to eat. While I would love for Brayden to come with me, I don’t feel comfortable asking him. As he watches everyone walk to their cars, speaking softly about heading to my father’s house, he’s still tense, probably hoping I won’t ask him to come with.
“Just take me back to the funeral home, so we can go our separate ways.”
He nods, his shoulders immediately relaxing. “Yeah, sure thing, darlin’.”
The drive back is silent. I wonder how pissed my father would be if I don’t show up. A nice, strong drink sounds nice. Brayden parks next to my car and I unbuckle my seatbelt.
“Maybe I’ll see you later,” I say.
“Text me if you need me, okay?”
I don’t like the idea of needing him, but the past few days have proved that I have. I also haven’t minded too much. Although, having him be there for me through this confuses me. How can I keep him at arms’ length if he’s holding me together? How can I ignore his strength and how good he’s been to me?
“Deanna?”
Snapping out of my thoughts, I glance over at him. “I will. Thanks again.” I hurry out of his car and to mine. After a quick trip home, I change and call a cab to take me to the bar. The plan is to eventually get drunk, so I won’t be driving home. I text Rose to meet me, but ultimately, I don’t care if she shows or not.
The bar is rather empty, save for about five other people. At least this means I get to pick practically any seat I want. One drink and thirty minutes later, Rose shows up.
“You seriously cannot be drinking this early in the day.”
“It’s not that early,” I argue.
“Early enough.”
“You weren’t supposed to come and bitch at me.”
She frowns as she orders her own drink. “Fine. Anything you want to talk about?” One glance at me and she asks, “Brayden or your mom?”
“What makes you think I’d want to talk about Brayden on the day of my mom’s funeral?”
“Because he’s supposed to be a fuck buddy and he went with you. I’m your best friend and I was there, but you were glued to his side the entire time.”
“I don’t want to talk at all,” I suddenly decide, waving the bartender over to order another drink.
“Yes, you do. How are things with Zane?”
I shrug. “I forgot about him earlier this week and then Mom died. I went over there, but burst into tears and left before anything happened. He’s been texting me because he’s worried. I’ve been ignoring him.”
Rose shakes her head. “I really don’t understand you.”
“What do you mean?”
“They are both good guys, right?”
“I guess.” I don’t really know Zane that well, but he seems nice.
“Then why won’t you date one of them? What are you getting out of a sex-only relationship? Nothing! What’s the point?” She stares at me, waiting for an answer. She’s been dying to ask me this for a long time, I bet. “I get that you have a bad track record,” she starts when I don’t answer fast enough, “but come on. You’ve matured greatly since then. All of your former buddies find themselves getting girlfriends and getting married because you never show interest in anything more with them. Do you realize how many great guys you’ve allowed to walk out of your life because you won’t see them as anything more than a fuck?”
I frown. “None of those guys wanted a relationship with me.”
“Oh really? You don’t think there’s a possibility that Zane hopes for more? He’s been fucking you for what? Almost a year? Kevin was with you for two years before he gave up and left.”
“They didn’t want a relationship,” I firmly repeat. “What guy wants a relationship with a girl who sleeps around? Besides, I don’t let them get close.”
“Yes, you do. In the beginning, you do. Just for a little bit. You went out with Zane a few times before you pulled back and pulled the whole fucking-only stunt. You did the same thing with Kevin. You’re doing the same with Brayden right now, though it’s going on longer than it did with the others. It’s like you have to reel them in and get them hooked on you before you cut them off from everything but sex.”
Shit. I forgot that there were a few times Zane and I hung out in the very beginning. It was only like three or four times, now that I think about it. Same with Kevin. I’m over that limit with Brayden.
“You need to stop this if you ever hope to settle down. You’re messing with good guys in the process, Deanna.”
“It’s my fault now?” Anger swells inside of me. “I’m not forcing them to stay. I don’t get their hopes up. I don’t text them for sex or ask to see them.”
“So, what? You like the attention they give you? You still come when they call.”
“Not always.” There’s been plenty of times when I didn’t see Zane or Kevin or any of the other guys because either I was busy or already had plans with one of the guys. “I don’t do it for the attention either. Since when did this become a bashing Deanna session?”
“I’m trying to sort your love life out for you before you ruin it completely.”
“I don’t need your help! I don’t even have a love life!”
Her voice softens and there’s freaking pity in her eyes. “But you could. That’s my point. I think Brayden could be that guy.”
“What? Are you crazy? He doesn’t want anything more than sex.”
“Yet he’s been there for you through your mom’s death. He brought you lunch without you asking or even knowing he was doing it. He cares about you, Deanna. That could turn into something! The fact that you haven’t pushed him away means something, too. Don’t fuck it up with him. You need to stop seeing Zane, tell Brayden that you stopped seeing him, and try things out with him.”
She is crazy. Absolutely bonkers.
Yet, after she leaves, I do find myself crafting a text to Zane. I’m not sure what to think of what Rose said. However, I know that I could never see myself in a relationship with Zane. It’s time to end things with him. There’s a spark that’s missing. The craving to be with him is not there. Then again, maybe I’ve never given him a chance. I don’t know. Too late now. Text sent.
Me: Sorry for ignoring you. It’s been an extremely rough week for me. I also think we should stop fucking. Doesn’t have anything to do with what happened or what’s happening with me. It’s just time. Good luck with your life.
God, that sounds so lame! I don’t know what else to say, though. Or how to say it. I’m also surprised that he doesn’t text back relatively quickly, but maybe he has a game or something.
Maybe Rose was right and I need to get my love life in order. Life is short. After all, my mom died without warning. But I still don’t want to tell Brayden that he’s now the only person I’m sleeping with. As long as he thinks I’m fucking other people, then the possibility of a relationship is off the table. Fear can rule me for a little while longer.
As the bar fills with more and more people, I continue drinking. It’s not karaoke night, but there is live music. Unfortunately, that means it’s extra crowded and I get hit on too many times for me to handle in my grieving, pondering-my-love-life state.
At some point, I text Brayden.
Me: Ar oyr bar.Cime hdmg wth me.
When he doesn’t respond, I drag my drunk, bummed butt out to dance. The last time I was truly trashed was when I made the very stupid decision to attempt to drive home. At least I won’t get behind the wheel this time. Mom would probably be still disappointed that I’m letting myself get this drunk. Even in death, I can’t make her happy.
The thoughts bum me out even more, so I return to my seat, order another drink, and rest my head on the bar. I apologized to Mom so many times over the years for so many things, but it was never enough, was it? Here I am, drinking my sorrows away, when she was the stubborn one! She couldn’t forgive me. Hell, this might just be my sweet grandma’s fault. Because she wanted me to take some responsibility and get my life together, she caused everyone else to be pissed with me in the process.
I miss Grandma, too. If she were here, she’d straighten them all out.
“Are you okay?”
I glance up at the bartender and point to my empty glass, indicating I want another.
“Bring her check,” another voice says from behind me.
I sit up and turn to find Brayden. “Hey, you came!” At least, that’s what I’m supposed to say. Not sure it comes out so clearly.
“Fuck, Deanna. How long have you been here?” He reaches up and wipes my cheeks. Am I crying? I lift a hand to my cheek and find it wet. Guess so. “I’m taking you home.”
I frown, and then I realize what he’s wearing. “Is that a suit?”
“There, ah, was a company party.”
“Damn.” He’s exquisite in a suit. My hands fumble as I attempt to run them over his chest. He quickly grabs both wrists, holds them in one hand, and pulls out his wallet with the other to pay the bartender.
“Fuck, Deanna. That’s one hell of a tab. How long has she been here?” he asks the bartender. He then curses when he realizes I’ve been here starting only an hour after he last saw me. “Let’s get you home.”
I wobble on my feet, making him curse again. The room spins, and I’m not so sure walking is a great idea. Another curse from Brayden as he tries to drag an unstable me through the throng of people.
Wait just a minute! I wanted him to come and drink with me. Not take me home!
“What are you doing?” He sounds exasperated as he turns to face me now that I’ve stopped walking.
“I’m not done drinking.”
“Yes, you are.” He yanks me closer, flush against his chest. “You’re going home.” He lifts me up and starts walking. I push against his chest, even as I hide my face in his neck because the sudden movement makes me want to puke.
“Suppose to drink with me,” I mumble.
“You drank enough for the both of us. Quit fucking pushing my chest, Deanna. We’re obviously leaving.”
Fine. Brayden manages to get me into the car and drives to my house. I’m bummed that he came to my rescue, but the bright side is he’s in a hot suit. Uh-oh. “Pull over.”
“What?”
Before I can repeat the command, I open my door, lean over, and puke.
“For fuck’s sake, Deanna!” He slams on the brakes. The seatbelt cuts into me, but I’m too busy puking to moan from the pain. “What were you thinking?”
That I was wearing a seatbelt and I really needed to throw up. “Sorry,” I mumble. “I get carsick when I’m drunk.”
“You couldn’t have warned me?”
“Sorry,” I repeat. Sitting up slowly, I close the door. “Go slow.”
We stop three more times for me to throw up, but we make it to my house. Brayden walks Otis and I feel really crappy then. Poor guy has been cooped in the house all day! Amazingly, I don’t see where he went to the bathroom, but he did destroy the cushion from the rocking chair and his bed. Can’t say I blame him there.
Brayden finds me already in my pajamas and brushing my teeth. Otis pushes past him to bump his snout against my leg. I pet him with my free hand. He sits and leans his big body against me. I have to brace my legs to keep from falling over.
“You want me to stay?” When I nod, he says, “Good, because I was planning on it anyway.”
I laugh, nearly choking on the spit-toothpaste mixture in my mouth in the process. I spit, rinse, and face him. “Then why ask?”
“More polite that way.”
I find him a spare toothbrush, still in the packaging, that he can use and leave him to crawl into bed. Otis jumps up behind me. I rub him while I watch Brayden brush his teeth and then shed his clothes until he’s only wearing his boxer-briefs. He slides in next to me, pulls me against him, and wraps his arms around me.
“Get some sleep.”
“Yes, sir,” I mumble, already dozing off.