Cocktails and Dreams

by Cocktails

  ‘This looks delicious!’ I said, easing into a seat as he pulled it out for me. I blinked in surprise. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’m feeling very gentlemanly today,’ he winked, sitting opposite me. ‘And thank you for your part. Although I still think the dried basil was craziness.’

  ‘It’s a choice! And when you don’t have fresh –’

  ‘– You don’t use anything!’ he said, topping up my glass.

  ‘Watch it, your Italian is showing.’

  He laughed, sitting back in his chair, running his hand through his hair. Milo picked up his wine glass and shook his head. ‘You know, you’re right. The longer I’m away from home, the more I miss everything about it.’

  ‘New York?’

  ‘No, not the place, but I miss my nonna’s meatballs, and Ma’s lasagne. I miss sitting having a drink with my grandfather in the living room, with the football on. I miss…’

  ‘Your family?’

  He shrugged, gritted his teeth. ‘I guess. I set off with this big dream. I didn’t want to be what they were, I didn’t want to have what they gifted me. I threw it back in their faces and left to travel the world. And now I wonder what the point of that was.’

  ‘What are they, exactly?’

  ‘My grandfather’s a butcher, Nonna’s a seamstress, and my ma was a waitress. All they wanted for me was to have a good office job, something steady and solid. Meet a nice girl, have a family.’

  ‘There are worse things.’

  ‘Yeah, there’s the life you dream of, burning away inside you whilst you’re trying to make everyone happy.’ Milo shrugged. ‘I was good at putting a brave face on it for a while, but me and my ma used to fight about it all the time. Why wasn’t I moving up, why wasn’t I getting a promotion? Why didn’t I have any drive, why didn’t I want more for myself? Why wasn’t I proposing to Nancy, why weren’t we having kids?’

  ‘Was it just your mum and you?’ I asked, wondering if that question was judgemental.

  He nodded. ‘She… my ma had big dreams. And she made a point of saying, every time I got a crappy grade, or lost a school game, or got passed over for promotion, that she gave up her dreams to raise me. It was like my achievements had to be enough to make up for all the things she didn’t do.’

  ‘What did she want to do?’

  He grinned at me, raising his eyebrows. ‘She wanted to be a singer.’

  ‘Ah,’ I nodded, ‘I see.’

  ‘But I can tell from your side of it, your mother choosing her dream didn’t work out much better for you.’

  ‘Nope,’ I laughed, looking out at the fading light in the garden, hearing the cheerful shrieks of the kids next door. ‘I think the worst thing was, she wrote this song about it. Number one hit. “Baby Don’t Ask Me to Stay”, it’s called.’

  ‘I know it.’

  I spread my fingers wide. ‘Well, ta da, it’s about me. She wrote a song about leaving me. And that fucking song has chased me my entire life. The kids at school used to sing it to me.’

  ‘Little bastards,’ he said. ‘Kids can be shit.’

  ‘They didn’t know what it meant. I was just the kid with the famous mum. It must have been nice to have your mum there, even if it made her push you.’

  His smile was soft and sad, and he looked beyond me, as he tried to find the words. The silence settled and I watched the expressions change on his face as he paused, started, paused again.

  ‘It’s hard being the reason someone gave up their dreams. You have to work hard to make their sacrifice worth it, you know? And then one day, I realized however hard I worked, it was never going to be worth it. I’d been a realtor, and I just talked this young couple into buying this amazing apartment that would financially cripple them, and my boss gave me a raise. And I came home, sick with myself about it, but at least I knew she’d be pleased…’

  He sighed, shaking his head. ‘She just started on at me – why had it taken me so long, didn’t I know what she’d sacrificed to raise me, why I was 29 and still just making it work, instead of setting the world alight?’

  I pressed my hands together, fighting the desire to reach across the table to him. My fingertips settled on the table edge, tapping gently.

  ‘And what happened?’

  ‘I quit my job, told her I was going to travel the world and set up my own bar. I was going to live my dream instead of the one she’d decided for me.’

  I smiled. ‘Wow. That’s… that’s amazing.’ I tried to imagine having a dream I wanted enough to tell everyone to go to hell. I tried to imagine Mia telling her dad that she had to leave and live her life.

  Milo sighed, pressing his lips together, that soft smile saddening. ‘Comes with a price, though. The last thing she said to me was that it was a terrible decision to have me, and I was her only regret. We never spoke again.’

  I winced, watching the frown on his forehead deepen, only to be smoothed away a moment later. I avoided meeting his eyes. Clare had never wanted me, but she’d never required me to achieve anything. She’d done her best when I was a kid on the road, telling me stories and playing games, I had to admit that. I was angry at her, for the person she was, but she’d never needed anything from me. There was a relief in that, I realized.

  ‘Anyway, families, right?’ Milo broke the silence and picked up his wine glass.

  ‘We all say things in the heat of the moment. I’m sure once she sees how well you’re doing, she’ll reach out. People take time.’ I injected a lightness into my voice, knowing that it was one of those empty platitudes people offered when they weren’t comfortable with darkness. Like when someone tells you they have cancer, and you say everything happens for a reason. You think you’re providing comfort, but you’re being a dickhead. But I simply couldn’t think of anything else to say, which was why I supposed people said stupid things in the first place.

  Milo shook his head, smile tight as he looked away. ‘She died a couple of years ago. Sometimes… you don’t say the things you should have said. And, I guess, it’s been hard to commit to the bar idea since then. Doing something she hated whilst she was alive, well, that’s one thing, but…’

  ‘I get it,’ I nodded, sipping at my wine as the silence surrounded us. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. It was a pause. A moment when you truly see someone, beyond the beautiful eyes and wicked laugh and the way their hands pulse as they chop coriander. You see their dreams and their fears and their doubts in one single moment, and in that moment, you know them completely.

  The air had cooled and I shivered with the slight breeze, the scent of cut grass lifting suddenly.

  ‘A bit deep, huh?’ Milo turned in his chair to face me, cheeky grin back in place, the mask only briefly displaced.

  ‘Just deep enough, I think.’ I twitched a smile at him, and then adopted a cheerier tone. ‘Plus, I think it’s important someone teaches me I don’t have a monopoly on mother issues.’

  He pointed at me. ‘Exactly. I was really just doing you a favour.’

  ‘Well, thank you, very kind,’ I nodded.

  The silence settled again, but it was softer now, gentler. Milo reached across and topped up my glass with the final dregs of the wine bottle. ‘Do you wanna go inside, maybe listen to some music or watch a movie? It’s the first time in weeks I’ve had the sofa back after Dan’s been sleeping on it.’

  I nodded and started clearing the table. ‘What did Dan do?’

  ‘This time it was a double whammy of agreeing to meet up with an ex for coffee, and spending four hundred bucks they don’t have on a new games console… whilst she’s biking miles to work because they can’t afford to fix the car.’

  ‘Yeah… he does sound like a bit of an arse,’ I laughed, stepping inside as Milo followed.

  ‘Oh, he is. He’s a nice guy, he’s just… not husband material.’

  I put the plates on the side and started running the tap. ‘I’ve never found a shop that sells that.’

  ‘It’s very rare. I’
ve only seen two guys made of it myself. And certainly not that hipster dick you used to date.’

  I turned, my hands splashing in shock. ‘Rob?’

  Milo scoffed. ‘The waitresses told me who he was, that crappy DJ from the TV, and I put it together. The guy is so full of shit.’

  I said nothing, focused on the running water.

  Milo paused, awkwardly. ‘Sorry, I overstepped, didn’t I?’

  ‘No, I just… I’d never thought of him as husband material. He was just Rob. And he certainly never wanted to marry me. But her… well, maybe there’s such a thing as wife material too. I hope he’s happy.’

  ‘You do?’ Milo clearly didn’t believe me.

  ‘I will, at some point. For now, I kind of hope that every day for the rest of his life he steps barefoot onto a piece of Lego? But I’m sure that’ll change.’

  Milo guffawed. ‘That’s a good curse. Just painful and annoying enough to send someone crazy. So… you’re not still in love with the guy, are you?’

  ‘I… I hadn’t been in love with him for a long time. I just hadn’t been awake enough to realize it,’ I piled the plates neatly in the drying rack, wiping my hands on a tea towel Milo handed over.

  ‘Been sleepwalking, hey?’ His voice was soft as he stepped towards me, warm eyes watching my lips.

  ‘For the first time in a long time, I am absolutely awake,’ I whispered, holding the tea towel to my chest as he moved closer.

  ‘And how does being awake feel?’ Milo placed a hand on my shoulder, stroking slowly down my arm, as if soothing a spooked horse. He enveloped me in his embrace, looking into my eyes, that cocky smile again, as if he knew what he was doing to me, as if he could feel my hands starting to shake, my legs trembling. He smelled like soap and coffee, and chopped garlic, fresh herbs.

  ‘Terrifying.’ I looked up at him, smiling. ‘And wonderful.’

  Time stood still and my heart was in my throat as his fingers twirled the curls at the base of my neck.

  We heard a cough, and turned to the door to see Charlie, standing there seriously, saying absolutely nothing.

  We looked at each other, then back at Charlie, like a disinterested statue.

  ‘Can… can I get you something, man?’ Milo asked with a laugh, arms still around me.

  Charlie shook his head, looking put out. ‘I hit a wall, and the food smelled good so I thought I’d see if there were any leftovers. But I seem to have entered at an inopportune moment, so I thought I’d just stay here until I could back away slowly.’

  ‘But we’re talking to you,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, that has rather put a dent in the plan,’ he sighed, turning on his heel.

  ‘Hey, Charlie, wait.’ Milo let go of me, and I felt the loss of his warmth, but my heart rate started to return to normal. ‘I saved you a plate, here.’

  He handed over a selection of the food we’d made earlier, and I couldn’t fight the smile on my face. Charlie simply nodded, and walked away, until I heard the slow thump up the stairs.

  Milo turned around and widened his eyes, before scratching the back of his head awkwardly. ‘Timing, hey?’

  ‘You made him a plate?’ I grinned, head tilted in question. ‘That’s so nice.’

  ‘I’m nice! Why are you surprised?’

  I shrugged, grinning, saying nothing.

  ‘I’m nice!’ he yelped again.

  ‘I know. So, movie?’

  He inclined his head towards the living room and I plonked myself down on the sofa. The radio was on in the background as he considered the DVDs on the shelf. The music was something gentle, delicate, a melody like a whisper, designed to lull a child to sleep. The male voice was both strong and soft and it made me want to loll my head back in release.

  ‘Do you really hate music? I don’t think it’s possible to hate music.’ He lowered himself onto the sofa beside me, watching. He placed a pile of DVDs on the floor and turned to me. ‘Come on, Simon and Garfunkel? Queen? There’s gotta be something you like.’

  ‘Sure, I like a lot of things. And then I wonder who they’re writing those songs about, and if those people were chased by someone else’s words all their life, never getting to tell their side of the story, because it doesn’t sound as good.’

  He looked like he was considering it, and I leaned back, resting my head on the sofa and staring at the ceiling.

  ‘I started to wonder about Eleanor Rigby and if she was hurt at how they painted her. I thought about the lovers and families and friends who became nothing more than inspiration. Not muses, because muses are adored and worshipped but… ideas. We become ideas, not people.’

  ‘Don’t musicians have a right to their side of the story too?’

  ‘Sure, but they’ve got an advantage. People love to hear a sad song. No one wants to hear a sad story.’

  We sat in silence for a moment, and I felt him slide down in the sofa next to me, so that his shoulder pressed against mine, staring at the ceiling and not at me, which I was grateful for.

  ‘Hey, what about your dad?’ he asked, wriggling a bit, the warmth of his skin against the back of my arm.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘What does he do? Who is he?’

  ‘He was a roadie. That’s how they met. He fell under her spell. And then she found out she was pregnant, dumped him and fired him.’

  ‘Why?’

  I snorted gently. ‘Because Persephone Black doesn’t stay. And she doesn’t have anything that ties her to anyone. And she does not listen to people who tell her how to live her life. So she got rid of him before he tried to make any of those things happen.’

  ‘Huh.’ Milo tilted his head and looked at me. ‘But he found you?’

  ‘When I was 16. Two weeks later he’d found a house in the same town, quit his job on the road, started teaching guitar lessons. A few months later he moved two streets away, retrained as a cabbie and became Dad, I guess.’

  ‘Did you go live with him?’

  I paused. ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I have no idea. I just didn’t. I didn’t know him until I was almost grown. He turned up for the shitty rebellious stage.’ I snorted.

  ‘I thought this was your shitty rebellious stage?’ He stuck out his tongue and waited for my response, which was a swift elbow in the ribs. ‘Hey!’

  ‘This is my empowering rebellious stage – there’s a difference,’ I said seriously. ‘My teenage years were more alcohol and bad hair dye.’

  ‘Well, whose weren’t?’ Milo grinned at me. ‘I made it through a whole summer with peroxide blond hair. There may still be photographic evidence somewhere.’

  ‘Can I see?’ I sat up, clutching at him. ‘Come on, I need to see that!’

  He grabbed my hands before sliding an arm around my waist and holding me tightly, keeping my hands trapped as he brought his face close to mine, speaking quietly.

  ‘This is our second date, Savannah. Embarrassing childhood photos are more of a month anniversary thing.’ He paused, searching my eyes. ‘Ask me then.’

  My heart raced and my breathing became shallow. It should have been too much, it should have been terrifying, but I was feeling things for the first time in years. I was feeling my dry throat and thumping chest. I was feeling the heat of his body down my left side as he held me close. And then I felt his lips on mine, different, insistent, warm. Milo wrapped his arms around me and I heard myself sigh against his mouth as he pulled me closer. My hands wound around his neck, fingers nestled in his hair, and I found suddenly I was insistent, seeking more. He tasted like red wine and his lips were soft. I could feel his smile before he pulled back, resting his forehead against mine like he wasn’t ready to let go. I kept my eyes closed, focusing on my breathing.

  ‘Well…’ he said, and I revelled in his own breathlessness.

  ‘Well…’

  ‘I didn’t know you had a thing for blonds,’ he said, and I laughed, the giggles erupting from my stomach carrying on to wher
e our foreheads connected. I shook my head.

  ‘So…’ I extricated myself and avoided his eyes, but left my thumb touching the back of his hand. ‘Movie?’

  ‘Is that a euphemism?’ He wiggled his eyebrows and I sat back, not sure what to say.

  ‘Um…’

  Milo patted my leg. ‘Savvy, I’m kidding. I wasn’t… we’ve shared more childhood trauma than kisses, I wasn’t expecting you to jump into bed with me. But I think you should come sit here so we can pretend to watch a movie together, and I can try and think of semi-witty comments whilst thinking how nice this is.’ He smiled gently. ‘That okay?’

  I shook a little with the exhale, nodding. ‘Sure. Sorry, I’m such a mess…’

  He waved it away without saying a word. I shuffled down next to him, leaning my head on his shoulder as he went through the DVD options. And when we picked something we’d both seen a hundred times before, I waited to see where he smiled, to listen to the melody of his laughter. I was thinking it was nice, to feel the warmth of his arm around my shoulders, to sneak looks at his cheekbones from beneath my eyelashes, to wonder if he would kiss me again.

  I could not have told you what that movie was about, but I could have told you his eyes were gold with a hint of green, and that I could not have been happier.

  Chapter Ten

  Persephone Black was not a good house guest. When I returned that evening, my heart full and fingertips tingling from the thought of the kiss I’d shared with Milo at the train station, lingering goodbyes and joyful promise, she was lounging in the living room, feet up on the coffee table. She was watching one of those reality TV shows where everyone seems to squawk and yelp at each other all the time.

  I walked in and turned down the volume as these beautiful, rich people screamed at each other about something unimportant. I threw the remote down on the sofa next to her, and she looked up, amused.

  ‘Something the matter, darling daughter?’

  ‘It’s loud. You’re being thoughtless.’ I turned back to look at her. ‘Are those my jeans?’