That One Day (That One #1.5)

by Josie Wright

  But if I’m alone I’ll only end up drinking, and I don’t want to let it get out of hand. Not after the talk I had with Mike a few days ago, when he addressed my close relationship with the whiskey bottle. Apparently it has come to his attention—he wouldn’t tell me how but I guessed it was a little bird named Allie—that there’s always a whiskey bottle in my house and more often than not, I tend to nurse my emotional wounds with it.

  He told me his story, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t scare me. He also thought he had it under control, until he hadn’t. When he finished, he stared me in the eye. “Ben, when you feel like you need that drink, come over. Talk. Or just sit in my living room. Don’t go down the same road I did.”

  Therefore, instead of spending Christmas by myself and getting drunk, I decide to do what he asked and go over there.

  I’m greeted by Allie and quickly ushered inside where the rest of them are already waiting.

  “You all right?” Mike asks with his arm over Kitty’s shoulder.

  “No. But it’s okay,” I reply, sitting down and trying to look forward to an evening with good food and friends. It actually turns out to be a great evening. We eat, we talk, and we end up playing board games, which is surprisingly fun since Jake is a sore loser and Kitty a con artist who cheats at every opportunity. For just a moment, I think everything might be all right. Then I remember this is my life we’re talking about.

  Chapter 13

  Wrong Name, Wrong Time

  I visit my dad on the morning of New Year’s Eve. It’s the first time since he told me the truth about my mom and him. It’s still warm outside, even at the end of December, so we take a walk through the garden.

  “How are you doing, Ben? After last week?”

  I think for a moment, unsure how to answer. I don’t want to worry him or make him feel guilty. His state of mind is frail enough as is.

  “I’m shocked. Hurt. But, I’m glad I know the truth. It’s better than not knowing, you know?”

  “Yeah, I suppose I do.” He nods absentmindedly, his eyes fixated on something a few feet away from us. I turn to look and find he’s watching a ground squirrel, looking for food.

  “It’s because of her that you’re in here, isn’t it?” I already figured out that much, but I’d like to hear it from him.

  He looks away and lets out a sigh. There is nothing but silence as he avoids looking at me, shaking his head occasionally. He runs his hands through his hair—just the way I do when I’m at a loss. After another deep sigh, he starts talking in a quiet, shaky voice. “Losing her—losing you—broke me. I couldn’t cope. I know it must seem weak. I just couldn’t get out of bed anymore. I barely ate and every single day I thought about how worthless my existence was. I lost my job, the house. Your grandmother finally had enough. She was worried about me. So she arranged an appointment with a psychiatrist and he admitted me to a hospital. Not this one at first. While I was in there, I started to get better. I had setbacks, but it seemed like I was on the mend. But, as soon as I was out again and realized I was all alone, it just started again. I’ve spent most of my time after your mother left in these types of institutions, Son. Sorry.”

  “Dad, look at me,” I urge him, as he’s still not facing me. It takes him a moment to look into my eyes, and when he does, I want to grab his shoulders and shake him because there is shame written all over his face.

  “It’s not your fault. None of this is, Dad. There is only one person to blame. And that person isn’t you.”

  “I didn’t want to ruin your relationship with your mom, Ben.”

  “You didn’t. She lied to me all my life. There is no relationship to speak of. I’m done with her. I’m not planning to ever see her again.” Saying those words hurts. One parent is a liar; the other will probably never leave this hospital. I basically have no parents.

  There is a fleeting glint of satisfaction in my dad's eyes, but when I blink it's gone and replaced by sympathy and understanding.

  “You know, you don’t have to do this for me. I’d never ask you to.”

  I pat his shoulder. “I know. But I couldn’t be in the same room with her even if I tried. Not after what she did.”

  There is a moment of silence before his face breaks into a mischievous smile that makes me wonder what caused the sudden shift in moods.

  “And, Son, is there a special woman in your life?” I’m surprised. He never really asked about it before and I didn’t volunteer any information.

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.” I shrug, unsure how to answer that. Do I really want to tell my dad about Frankie? It’s not like he can give me much advice considering he’s been institutionalized nearly as long as I’ve been alive.

  He doesn’t seem to expect an explanation. Instead he starts laughing.

  “Yeah, they are confusing creatures. Women will drive you crazy.” He laughs at his own joke, but I don’t find anything funny about this fucked-up situation.

  Deciding to ignore his outburst, I take a deep breath. I figure I might as well share.

  “There is a girl, but I really messed up. I doubt she wants to ever see me again unless it’s to dance on my grave.”

  “You think she likes you?”

  Thinking back to our night together and remembering her words, I have no doubts about it.

  “She definitely did. I doubt that’s still the case, though. I can’t even blame her.”

  “If she liked you then, she probably still does. Look at me, despite everything your mother has done, I still love her. If she ever asked, I would forgive her. I think you still have a chance to make things right.”

  I’m unsure if I should put any value into his advice. It does, however, manage to make me feel a bit better. Hell, if he could forgive my mom, I’m sure Frankie can forgive me. But that depends on going back. That’s not something I have given much thought so far.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “No problem.”

  Back home, I just hang around on the couch, having a few hours before Allie, Kylie, and Jake come over for a New Year’s Eve party. Well, if you can call the four of us hanging out at my house a party.

  After talking to my dad about Frankie, I’m curious as to what she’s doing now, how she’s doing, and if she’s doing anyone. God, I hope not.

  On a whim, I make a new Facebook account using my dad’s last name. Then I go on to find her, but her account is still set to private so I don’t see anything other than the same photo she had back in May. It’s not much different with Dave’s profile, although he seems to be in Florida now, and judging by the two blond chicks on his arms, he seems to be enjoying himself.

  Hmmm, my curiosity is still not satisfied, so I look for Drake’s profile, wondering if she might still be in touch with him. From the look of his page, it’s his birthday today. I scroll down for a while until I see her picture. So they still talk. Well, isn’t that fantastic. When I read her message, I nearly crush the mouse in my hand.

  Happy birthday to the best and baddest there was, is, and ever will be.

  Best and baddest? Seriously? Best at what? I knew I hated that guy for a reason. When she first started dating him, unknown to her parents of course, I wanted to run him and his stupid bike over. All the times when Dave and I saw him climb out of her window in the morning when going for a run, both of us pondered where the best place would be to bury his body.

  I guess they didn’t stop talking when she went off to college. Who knows, maybe she even went to see him the weekend she was in Michigan. The weekend she told me she loved me.

  I slam the laptop shut, groaning when I hear a crack and open it back up to see the screen is broken. At least it’s New Year’s Eve and I can get drunk.

  ***

  It’s around nine when Allie, Jake, and Kylie show up. Kylie looks sexy as hell in a short, glittery dress that shows off her long legs emphasized by heels that should be illegal. A picture of Frankie and Drake flashes through my mind and that’s all the encouragement
I need. I walk over to her, pulling her into a hug.

  “You look hot, Kylie.”

  She pulls her head back to look at me, her eyebrows pulled up, and she’s biting her lip. She seems surprised. I guess that’s to be expected, since we’ve been strictly buddies so far.

  “Thank you, Ben.” She doesn’t say anything more, but slings her arm around my waist, when we walk into the living room. At least the downstairs is finished now—the kitchen, living room, and dining room look modern and cool. The upstairs is a whole different thing.

  We decide to watch a few movies, mostly comedies. According to Allie, it’s the way to start the New Year in a good mood.

  Kylie sits next to me on the couch, while Jake and Allie are snuggled up on the arm chair. The steady supply of drinks is making me carefree, and so I place my arm around Kylie, drawing her closer. Her breath hitches, but she relaxes into me, placing her hand on my stomach, precariously close to the waistband of my jeans.

  By the time midnight strikes, I’ve had a few drinks too many. Two or twenty, I don’t know—it doesn’t really make a difference. I have a nice enough buzz going and it seems to help with stopping all the feelings and thoughts. I want to forget everything—my mom’s lies, my dad’s mental health, and most of all, I want to forget Frankie and Drake.

  Why not accept the help of a hot girl who’s been eager to get in my pants since we’ve met.

  When the clock strikes midnight, I throw all caution to the wind and kiss Kylie. I draw her close and press my lips against hers. It doesn’t even take any coaxing for her to open up to my tongue, and it’s not until Jake clears his throat that I stop the kiss.

  “Umm…Allie and I will go home now. We want to ring in the New Year in private.” He grins while Allie blushes. She quickly hugs Kylie and me, wishing us a Happy New Year before they both take off, leaving only the two of us behind.

  “Where were we?” Kylie smiles at me before grabbing my shirt and pulling me with her to the couch, pushing me down on the seat. She straddles my lap and starts kissing me. I kiss her back, ignoring the hollow feeling in my chest and the nagging thought in the back of my mind. The thought that's telling me this isn't right. That it isn’t enough.

  I'm haunted by a past full of lies, and I'm haunted by the memory of a woman who will never be mine.

  I know it’s wrong but I don’t care. I’m done questioning things. I want to stop worrying and just enjoy the moment.

  It gets easier when Kylie drops to her knees in front of me, unzipping my jeans and pulling them down along with my boxer briefs, freeing my cock in the process. He seems to like the attention he’s getting. I hiss, my muscles tightening when she closes her hand around the shaft of my now hard cock and starts stroking with a slow, strong grip. I thrust my hips to meet her movements. It’s all the encouragement she needs. The strokes of her hand become more determined and faster. I can see her licking her lips through my half-closed eyes.

  When her lips touch the head of my cock, I decide to stop thinking and to just go with it. I moan loudly when she suddenly stops and jerks back. “What did you call me?”

  I'm confused for a second before I realize the mistake I made. Apparently, my mind wasn't on board with the direction my cock was going.

  “I didn't say anything.” I lie despite knowing full well what I said.

  “You just called me Frankie. What the fuck?”

  “I…listen…forget what I said.” I try to pacify her, but she's not having any of it. Huffing, she dives for her dress. She must’ve discarded it at some point and starts pulling it on—her irritation palpable. Her back is ramrod straight, her movements jerky as she yanks her dress on.

  “This was supposed to be just a nice fuck, but that doesn't mean I have no pride. You're hung up on some Frankie guy and that's fine by me. Just come out of the closet and stop picking up women you aren't interested in. Maybe you wouldn’t be such a miserable ass then.”

  “No, Frankie is not a…” I don't get to finish the sentence before she’s out the door, her high heels in her hands. She slams it shut, muttering profanities loud enough for me to still hear it even with the door closed.

  I drop back onto the couch with a groan, running my hands through my hair before packing my junk back into my jeans. Not like my cock is interested in a party anymore.

  Of course I’d say Frankie's name. Why wouldn’t I?

  Happy New Year to me.

  Chapter 14

  A Shoulder to Lean On

  I don’t recall making my way into the bedroom. I only remember spending the early hours of the New Year with lots of whiskey and some leftover pizza, watching re-runs of a sitcom.

  But I guess at some point I must’ve gone to bed because that’s where I suddenly bolt upright from my whiskey-induced sleep, woken up by something wet and cold splashing on my face. I splutter and run a hand over my face.

  “What the fuck?”

  The words come out as a roar. Last night had been bad enough. I don’t need this kind of shit today.

  When I open my eyes, it takes me a few moments to be coherent. Then I notice Allie standing a few feet from my bed, a scowl firmly on her pretty face, and one of my grandmother’s vases in her hand. I knew I should have sold all of them. And I shouldn’t have let Allie put flowers in them the other day. Now the flowers are gone and the water is dripping down my face, the smell of rotten flowers filling my nostrils.

  Jake stands in the door, arms crossed, glowering at me.

  The residual alcohol in my blood stream makes me stupidly courageous, or maybe just stupid. I jump off the bed and with two big strides I’m right in her face.

  “What the fuck was that for?”

  “You asshole called my sister by someone else’s name while trying to get in her pants. By a guy’s name, at that. She might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, and it might not be hard to get in her pants, but calling her the wrong name?”

  It’s more of an accusation than a question. I’m guessing Kylie had a talk with Allie—sister-to-sister.

  I slump back down on the edge of my bed with what I hope is an apologetic look on my face.

  “For heaven’s sake—why don’t you just run her over with your truck for good measure? She actually liked you.”

  “We were just making out. Not like I proposed to her.” It just slips out, but at the end of the day, it’s the truth. Yeah, I know—it’s still a stupid answer because now she’s all up in my face.

  “That doesn’t mean you can be a disrespectful asshole.”

  I briefly wonder where the sweet, bubbly, and friendly Allie went. Never thought the day would come when I would miss her.

  “Not like I planned it, Al. I’m sorry, okay?”

  With a sigh she plops down next to me. “So, who is Frankie? Is he the reason you’re trying to pickle your liver?”

  She kicks last night’s whiskey bottle with her foot, making it roll across the wooden floor, until it comes to a halt at Jake’s feet.

  “Frankie is a girl. Francine. She just hates being called that. Says it makes her feel like she should be signing up for a hip replacement,” I explain, trying to set the record straight about my sexual orientation that for the first time in my life seems to be in question.

  “That still doesn’t answer my question.” Allie starts tapping her foot, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyebrows drawn together.

  I want to brush her off, to say something to make her leave, but God, I really need to talk to someone before this shit eats me alive.

  “Yes and no.”

  “Care to elaborate so I know if Jake should kill you or not?”

  A smile tugs at her lips before she flops back on the bed, looking at the ceiling, her feet dangling a couple inches above the floor.

  I do the same, take a deep breath, and start talking.

  I tell her everything. All the lies I was told, all the crap with my dad, my night with Frankie, and the fact that I’m not man enough to figure all this shit
out—to call her and apologize. She listens intently, not saying a word. Even when I finish she stays quiet, and I wonder if she fell asleep. I look up and find Jake sitting on the floor, his back against the door frame, giving me a sympathetic look.

  Just when I’m about to get up, feeling like a fool, Allie sits up and clears her throat. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Ben.”

  I actually feel offended. I just spilled my guts to her and my story isn’t pretty. At least it doesn’t feel pretty to me.

  Now it’s my turn to sit up. “Did you hear what I told you?”

  She purses her lips, her eyebrows lifted. “Yes, I did. And yes, your life got fucked up. Badly. Yes, it seems your mother is a liar and your dad has gone crazy. You screwed over the girl you’ve been in love with for years and who, to my surprise, actually seems to love you back. But guess what, life goes on. It’s up to you what you make of it all. You can go on hiding behind your fears, your self-pity, and misery, not to mention behind a truck-load of whiskey. Your life unraveling is a handy excuse, but it won’t work forever.

  “So unless you want to become a miserable, bitter old man, who sits in this house drinking himself into an early grave, while having a pity party, you need to put your big boy pants on and take charge. Why would you let your mother ruin the rest of your life? Isn’t it already enough that she ruined your dad’s? And, by the way, you sure he isn’t talking crazy? You know, considering where he’s been living for the past couple decades.

  “My two cents: Get to know your dad better, spend some time with him, finish this house if you feel the need to, and then go and see if she can forgive you, if you have a chance with her.”

  I stare at her open-mouthed. The knee-jerk reaction would be to tell her she has no idea, she never went through this shit. But before I can form those words, I realize it would be just another excuse to avoid taking responsibility for what happens from now on. I had no say what happened back when I was a baby or until I found out the truth. I was left in the dark. But now I can, and have to, take control of my own life.