by K. C. Enders
“Then, please…leave me alone.”
I wake from what had to have been a dream. There’s no way Addie would’ve been in my flat, tending to me while I was sick. But I’m wrapped in the quilt my mum made me while on the couch with a glass of water in front of me instead of whiskey. My quilt holds a subtle scent of something. Something soft and warm. Something I can’t quite place, but it’s familiar at the same time.
The distinct smell of disinfectant hangs in the air, and as I stumble into the kitchen, I take in the polished surfaces, the perfectly straight canisters, and a small stash of pain relievers and cold remedies. The fridge holds half a container of chicken soup and a full bottle of ginger ale. Things I know we did not have in the flat when I fell ill because I looked. I was fucking desperate for them. And the tissues are soft, soothing ones. Not the prickly roll of toilet paper I was using.
My smile stretches across my face as I read the note tucked under the meds. It’s loopy girlie handwriting with the time marked for when I’m due my next dose. Christ, I slept like a baby. I shake out a few Advil and throw them back with ginger ale straight from the bottle. It wasn’t a dream.
I shuffle to my bedroom, wrapped in my blanket, pillow tucked under my arm, and check my phone. No messages. No new contacts added. I dial the pub, and after no one answers, I text Jimmy.
Me: Did you buy food?
Jimmy: No.
Me: Did someone stop by? One of your…women?
Jimmy: Just the girl. Green hair, pierced nose, nice rack.
Me: You saw her rack?
Jimmy: She has great tits.
Me: I haven’t seen them. How did you?
Jimmy: Relax. Used my imagination. She was being swallowed by a huge sweater thing. Nice legs though.
Me: Fuck right off. Did she leave a number?
Jimmy: No.
Me: Is Aidan there? Ask him for her number.
The bouncing dots taunt me while I straighten my bed and adjust the angle of the TV. I tilt the blinds so there’s no glare on the screen, debating what to do next.
Jimmy: Sorry. He says no.
Why are they all against me? Because, now, I don’t have her number, and all I can think of are her tits. Or the possibility of them since she always seems to be hiding under big, bulky jumpers.
Since Francie won’t let me back to work yet, I watch movies, read, and think long and hard about what to do for myself—the next step in finding my place in the world. My purpose.
The application for university isn’t difficult, but I hold my breath when I hit the request for my records from Dublin to be sent. That could ruin my chances. Francie and Aidan think I’m young and stupid now. I roll my eyes at the thought and can’t help but think of Addie. Christ, she can roll her eyes gloriously. She thinks it’s all tough and off-putting when she does it, but it just makes me wonder what she looks like when she loses herself in a moment of rapture.
Fuck, I’ve taken a lot of showers since she was here in my flat, and my cock has never been cleaner. I was sick, sure, but not sick enough to ignore the thought of her going into my room, into my space. If only I’d had her here and not been feverish. The mental image of her splayed out on my bed, green tresses spread out across my cream sheets, a hint of her perfume lingering. Her eyes rolling entirely from my efforts.
The frustration of not being able to break through her shell feeds the tedium of having nothing to do for the next few days. Add that to all of the anxiety from submitting my uni application and I can’t seem to stop fidgeting. I glance at my phone for the fiftieth time today, just as a text pings in.
Virginia: How are you feeling, honey? Better?
Me: Better. Bored though.
Virginia: Did you have a visitor?
Me: I did. I have no way to thank her. Can you help me?
Why did I not think of this before? Of course Virginia has Addie’s phone number. Maybe I really am young and stupid, but at least, now, I know what I’m doing in some respects.
My phone pings again with a phone number from Virginia. One not from this area code. I send a quick winky face and enter the new number under Addie’s name in my Contacts.
Jimmy busts through the door, balancing a six-pack of beer and a large pizza box. “Fucking lazy bastard. When ye coming back to work?” He empties the contents of his arms onto the coffee table and glares at me on the sofa.
The smell of Italian sausage and mushrooms wafts through the room as I lift the lid of the box snagging a piece. “I’m bored as fuck. Would love to get back to it,” I mumble around the huge bite of pizza.
Jimmy pops the top off a couple of bottles of beer and hands me one. “Right. So, you’ll take a few of my shifts this week to make up for all your hours I worked?”
I owe him for certain, but I know what he’s getting at. And the answer is no.
“I’m not taking St. Patrick’s Day. No.”
“I’ve had to train the new kid all by myself,” he whines. Legit whines, like a child. “Finn, you fucking owe me.”
“Not that. I’ve not had a break on St. Paddy’s in four years.” I reach for another slice of pizza. “And my flute is feeling neglected,” I deadpan.
Jimmy snorts beer out his nose.
I pop the pizza crust between my teeth and type out a quick text to the number Virginia sent me. My thumb hovers over the Send button, not quite ready to commit. I could call. Francie would tell me I should call instead of text. He’d tell me it was the proper way to say thank you.
But, if I call, she can opt not to answer and then just delete my voice mail. I’d never know if she listened or not. A text though? I can see that it’s delivered and when it’s read. With a text, I feel like I’ll have a better grasp on her level of ignoring me. What are the chances she didn’t turn off those notifications?
15
Adelaide
“If these walls could talk…”
“You’d probably masturbate less.”
Unknown: Thank you for coming by and taking care of me.
Me: Who is this?
Unknown: How many sick people have you been tending to?
Me: Finn? How did you get my number?
Unknown: It is. I wanted to thank you, and I didn’t want to wait for days to pass.
Me: You’re welcome.
I slide my glasses to the top of my head and rub at my eyes. This is about the last thing I expected. I’ve been working nonstop for…glancing at the three-foot round clock hanging high on my wall…six hours. I lost track of time again, and now, I’m stiff. Hefting my computer and lap desk to the table next to the chair, I slowly start to unfold myself.
A low grumble of discontent sounds from under the blanket by my feet, and Eric wiggles his little body out, blinking at me. It’s a standoff. If I hold perfectly still, he’ll go back to sleep, but if I move an inch, there’s no way I’ll be able to put off his walk for even a minute. His eyes are just drifting closed when my phone vibrates with a handful of text messages back to back.
The sensation, while not at all unpleasant, startles the shit out of me since I dropped it in my lap after responding to Finn. It might have slid to strategically rest right against my lady bits. Eric takes my subtle shift as confirmation of his deepest desires, and he bolts for the door, sliding to a stop before he dances in an awkward circle.
Sighing, I push myself up, grab my jacket and bright-yellow scarf, and shove my feet into my boots. “Buddy, it’s cold out. This is going to be a quickie,” I tell Eric as I scoop him up to expedite the whole process.
Eric, of course, is oblivious to the cold and hops and skips down the sidewalk, looking for the ideal spot to poop. Honest to God, what makes the spot three blocks away from my warm apartment so much more desirable than the snow bank right outside the door? Dogs are stupid. Or maybe the male species in general are the stupid ones.
I’m frozen solid by the time we walk back through the door. Eric does his helicopter dance in front of his bowl for his post-poop feeding. So
gross. I scoop out some kibble for him and go straight for my coffeemaker, fixing myself a fresh pot. The aroma fills the air around me as I fix myself a cup.
With my hands wrapped around the warm mug, I realize I have a big decision to make. More work? Or lose myself in a book for an hour or two? There’s not really a question to it. I grab my Kindle, and after a few minutes, just when things are starting to heat up, the cushion under my ass shakes.
Shoving my hand down into the side of the chair, I dig around for a bit before scoring. There are a ton of text messages, almost as many emails, and a missed call. I don’t talk to this many people in a given day, but there is someone new who has my number now.
“Eric, should I even look?”
Eric truly acts like he doesn’t give a shit.
Swiping at the screen, I see that Brielle sent me a ton of pictures of her and Not Brad. The guy is seriously hot and looks super familiar, but I can’t quite place why. The emails are from clients, and I decide to answer those later. The missed call is my dad. That’s a no.
Nothing further from Finn. Another surprise. I figured he’d be all up in my business now that he had my number. He’s not used to hearing no, and I have given him nothing but. I stare at my phone for a minute. Look around my apartment and take stock of my life. I’m twenty-five, I live alone, I work from home, and my best friend lives a thousand miles away and is sending me pictures of her and a hot guy who is definitely not her fiancé. My only consistent interaction is with a foot-long wiener named Eric. And, now, I’m bothered that one of the man-whore bartenders has my number and is not blowing up my phone. I don’t know what to do with this, but it doesn’t look good for my social life.
I drop my Kindle and send a quick text to Bri, asking who the guy is, but the bouncy dots never bounce. Nothing. I pull a strand of hair from my braid and wrap it around my finger while I wait. The colors blend and shift as the strands wind and layer from deep, dark green to a much paler hue. I glance at my phone and still no bounce.
I’m lonely.
Really freaking lonely. It’s never bothered me before. I like to be alone—like, really like it. No people. No germs. No feet. No attitude.
But it’s lonely.
I check again, and there are still no bouncy dots. It’s fine. My book will keep me company. I don’t need anything else. I mean, I moved here to get away, so I’m away. I turn off notifications and drop my phone in my lap, diving back into my steamy story. But the silence is interrupted by a voice. Eric cocks his head from side to side, staring at my lap. At where my phone rests.
“Bri, is that you?” I call, fumbling with the button, so I can just put it on speaker. “Hang on, you’re stuck between my thighs.”
The laughter is deep, deeper than Brielle’s voice. Maybe she’s with that guy in her pictures. Lord, that would be mortifying. But, when I check my phone display, it’s not my friend’s number I see.
“I can’t think of a better place to get stuck.” The accent is raspy and a touch nasally, but it’s his.
My fingers slide through my loose strands, and I groan. “Hey, Finn. I, uh…that wasn’t meant for you.”
“I’m not your Bri, but I wouldn’t mind getting messages like that.” He coughs out the last word and pulls the phone away from his mouth until he’s back under control. “Sorry, that got away from me. Probably the excitement.”
“You’re not better yet? Do you need anything?” I guess I just assumed he was over this cold.
“Mostly better, no more fever, but—” He grunts a little, and it sounds like he’s walking. “Sorry, I wanted some privacy. Since I’ve got you, erm…I, ehm…” He laughs quietly and blows out a barely audible, “Wow.”
“You don’t have me; let’s just get that straight.” Realizing how prickly that came out, I try to soften things. “But what do you need?”
“That didn’t make it any easier to ask.” Finn huffs out a laugh. “I would like to show you a good time.”
“Show me a good time?” I snark. “You really think you’re up for that?” Does he even hear himself? I gave him a chance. I tried to be nice. “Why don’t you just—”
“That’s not what I meant. I want to take you out,” he rushes out. “Will you…” I hear a muted thud, like he banged his head against the wall or door or something. “Would you allow me to take you out on Friday evening?”
I’m stunned silent.
Whatever smart-ass direction I was about to tell him to go fuck off scatters from my brain when I hear a quiet, “Please.”
“Okay.”
“You will?”
I don’t know what possessed me to say yes. Well, I do. It has everything to do with that whole lonely thing going on with me.
“Yeah. But I should go. I, um…I have to…I’ll see you later.”
“Bye, Addie.”
“Adelaide. It’s—”
And he’s gone.
“Adelaide.”
16
Finn
“I would go to the end of the world for you.”
“Yes, but would you stay there?”
I don’t know what to do.
I’m absolutely mental over this, where to take her, and Francie is not making things any easier. He keeps riding my arse about being a gentleman and not trying to get in her knickers on the first date. I’ve been trying to do that since I met her, and I don’t know how to flip that on its head now.
Giving in to Jimmy’s constant whining and begging for me to take his shift is starting to look like a good enough idea. I could tell her that I had to make up work from when I was sick, but that wouldn’t be right. I don’t think I can lie, nor do I really want to.
“Where are you taking your girl?” Francie asks.
“I don’t know.” I polish the very clean bar top.
“You have a date?” Aidan pulls the bottle of Jameson from under the taps and pours himself a substantial one.
“I do, but I…” I look around the pub. All the preparations for St. Patrick’s Day are done. “Maybe I should cancel and help Jimmy and you.” It makes sense really.
“Pfft, we’ve the new kid all trained up. Are ye nervous, Finn?” Francie, bless his heart, looks like he’s worried for me.
I do feel a little off. Maybe I’m still sick.
“Who’re you taking out that has you tied in knots?” Aidan looks from Francie to me and back again.
Jimmy picks this God-given moment to walk through the door. “Your Adelaide. Gonna loosen her up, yeah?”
“Christ, you’re not.” Aidan’s eyes are wide, and his mouth is hanging open as he tries to make sense of what’s happening. “Don’t you fuck that up. She’s a nice girl. You’re not allowed to drive her away.”
And, because she wouldn’t give me her address, we’re meeting at McBride’s.
On St. Patrick’s Day.
With people packed in here and no room to fucking breathe.
Francie’s at the door, checking IDs. Jimmy, Aidan, and the new kid, Kieran, are behind the bar, and I’m just standing here with my hands in my pockets, looking like a prat. The shattering of glass pulls my attention from the door, and Kieran’s standing like a deer in headlights. He sputters an apology at Aidan, but when he leans down to pick up the bits of the bottle he dropped, Jimmy trips, sending the kid to his hands and knees. When Kieran sits back on his heels, there’s a huge shard of glass sticking through his palm.
“Finn, can you…” Aidan nods toward the crowd of people filling the pub as he wraps Kieran’s hand with a clean bar rag. He and Lis shuffle the kid out the door—taking him to the hospital, I’m sure.
I jump in and start pulling pitchers of beer and taking money, falling into the familiar rhythm of the past four years. Money. Beer. Whiskey. Flirt. As soon as I’m able, I reserve a spot at the bar for Addie, hoping she’ll understand. Hoping.
I look up from another pitcher of green beer to see cascading emerald curls tumbling around the shoulders of an oversize cardigan. At least it’
s a million different shades of green. I set a mug of coffee in front of her, grabbing a carton of cream from the fridge.
“I’m so sorry,” I start.
“It’s okay. The guy at the door told me there was an emergency. Should we just forget this?”
I splash a bit of cream in her mug and tuck the carton away. “No.” I’m leaning in, so I don’t have to shout at her. “You look far too lovely and festive to waste this opportunity.” I push the mug closer to her. “Do you mind waiting a bit? Maybe Aidan will come back.” I get pulled back into the flurry of empty pitchers and waving dollar bills before she can answer.
It’s an absolute madhouse, just as it is every year, and far too much time passes before I can take a breath and make my way back to Addie.
“Is this normal?” she shouts.
I grab her mug, refilling it as I knock a tap closed with my elbow.
“Pretty much. It’s Francie’s favorite day of the year.” I nod toward the door and see the line is not going to let up anytime soon. “Usually, we have three of us back here, one at the door, and Francie keeping supplies stocked. We were a bit shorthanded to start and then…” I just shrug because more empty pitchers are being waved at me.
A few hours pass with Jimmy and me scrambling to keep up, and each spare moment is spent making sure Addie won’t give up on me.