Whiskey at Midnight, page 23
Steve shows up a day later without any alcohol. Trudy has already had her blow up, yelling at Wren that she can’t live with someone who is so incredibly fucked up. Wren had better sort it out now, Trudy said, or they’ll have to figure something else out. Trudy couldn’t look Wren in the face the entire time she spoke.
Trudy is locked away in her bedroom and ignores the knocking at the door so that Wren is forced to answer it. She’s in her pajamas and smirks at Steve. One of her eyes can barely open and Steve can’t look away from it.
“You going to invite me in?” Steve asks, softly.
Wren doesn’t answer, just moves to sit on the couch and leaves the door open for him. She offers a cigarette before he can ask.
“I kind of lost it. At the bar. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” says Wren.
“Is anything ever going to go back to normal? I really liked how things were before. Going out and having fun, not having to worry about anything. It’s so fucked up now.” Steve wipes a hand across his forehead. “Do you have anything to drink?” He stares at the cigarette in his hand.
“Yeah. Hold on.”
There’s a lot of alcohol to choose from. It’s the one thing Wren makes sure to keep in the apartment. Trudy has kept the pantry stocked with food, easy things to eat that Mrs. Buckton has probably instructed her to buy. Wren picks out a bottle of gin for them to drink.
“I knew it’d end badly. I told you. Remember?” Steve asks. “But I still didn’t expect it to go this badly. And I know why it has. You can’t hide it anymore. Not from me.” He takes a sip from his glass, puts out the cigarette and grabs another. “I didn’t know you loved her. Not until the bar. Why didn’t you run, Wren?” He whispers the last part so that Wren can barely hear it.
“From what?”
“From her. From the fist punching you. From everything.” Steve shrugs. His face is troubled as he stares at the coffee table.
“Sometimes you can’t run,” Wren mutters.
There’s nothing left to do but drink and sit together. Steve admits, after a period of silence, that he and Victoria are having issues. Irreconcilable differences based on the fact that she wants some kind of normal relationship and Steve doesn’t have the drive for that kind of thing. Wren shrugs at the news. She might get blamed for it, end up getting shitty tables again, but she’s past caring.
When Steve leaves, he hugs Wren. She immediately goes back into her bedroom and pulls out the bracelet Emma gave her for Christmas. She doesn’t put it on. She handles it like it might bite her at any moment. She places it on her nightstand and falls backward onto the bed, ignoring the pain in her ribs.
Chapter Nine
Cam reminds Emma of people’s names on the car ride over. The bride is Angela, the groom is Michael. Never call him Mike. They get lost three times before they find the farm. Emma’s never heard of anyone getting married on a farm, but the people who own the land are apparently family friends and Cam doesn’t find it strange at all.
They’re both overdressed. Most of the people there mill about in khakis or similar attire. “Of fucking course,” Cam mutters under her breath.
A man walks by them as they’re stepping out of Cam’s car. He wears a red sweatervest and nods at Cam. They don’t speak though, and Emma doesn’t wave or nod.
Everything is strange. There’s no rhyme or reason where people park, or where they stand. Some have grouped together in little circles in the middle of the field being used for parking, others stand around what will become the altar. There’s only fifty people around, at the moment, and Emma trains her eyes on the ground with her arms crossed over her chest. Cam doesn’t talk to anyone but Emma.
“We can leave as soon as the vows are said,” Cam says. “We won’t be missed.”
“Don’t you want to visit with your family?”
Cam shrugs, kicks at the ground beneath her feet. It doesn’t surprise Emma. It’s not like Cam has ever talked about her family much. Emma does know that Cam’s the only one in her family to go for an office type of job. Cam’s mother and father have spent their years going from company to company, sometimes saving up enough to try their hand at opening a business. Cam spent a few of her middle school years hanging around the gas station that her parents ran for a time.
Everyone else there seems so close. They slap each other on the back or hug, some even kiss on the cheek. They all look so happy with smile lines that mark their faces permanently. Cam doesn’t have any of that, not even the sparkle that some of them can’t keep out of their eyes.
All of it makes Emma uncomfortable. Emma’s not as close to her family as she used to be, but Cam is standing around like she’s being held at gunpoint. If Cam can feel that way about her family, there’s no telling how she might feel about other people.
A young man about their age walks up holding two beer cans and hands them to Cam and Emma. He wears a green polo shirt and khakis and a smile that automatically makes Emma happy.
“Camille!” he says jovially. “Who’s your friend?”
“I’m Emma,” Emma says and shakes his hand. Cam just holds onto the can of beer she’s been handed, but Emma opens hers and takes a few swallows to loosen up.
“Kenny,” he says. “So did you convince Camille to come? I didn’t think she’d show.”
“No,” says Emma. She looks questioningly at Cam.
But then there are more people arriving and Kenny excuses himself to go over and greet them. He grabs hold of the new arrivals in big bear hugs, not unlike Steve.
“Brother of the bride,” Cam explains.
“Oh, I see.”
They’re quiet again after that. Emma sips at her drink and tries to ignore the curious glances of various family members. It doesn’t seem to bother Cam at all.
Cam didn’t give Emma the look before getting out of the car, the look that says to watch her hands, and so Emma reaches down and grabs hold of Cam’s hand. It’s icy cold.
“What are you doing?” Cam asks.
“Holding your hand. Is that okay?”
Cam looks around, taking in the faces of her family members who are standing nearby, glancing at the far off fields. Her eyes are hard when she looks back at Emma, but she has no real reason at the moment not to hold Emma’s hand.
“I guess,” says Cam.
It’s still awkward. Cam doesn’t seem to want to talk and the older family members ignore her just as much as she ignores them. An older gentleman with a white beard nods at her as he walks by, but he doesn’t ask how she’s been. Even Kenny seems to be done with them. At least the other people around them are joking and laughing so it’s not all silence. Some are grabbing finger foods from a table that is loaded down with plates and bowls. No one seems to care if there’s a certain time they’re supposed to eat.
Emma is still looking around, taking in all of the different kinds of people. Some of the newer arrivals are much older, with canes and wheelchairs, all dressed in their Sunday best. The children who tag along behind, calling out the names of grandparents, are dressed in blue jeans and sneakers. Emma is so focused on them that her hand being dropped makes her jump. She turns to ask Cam what the hell is going on, but Cam is staring at a car that has just pulled up.
Emma doesn’t recognize the people in the car, but she wouldn’t. Cam doesn’t keep pictures up in her apartment. Cam’s jaw is set, her eyebrows furrowed.
The driver is a woman who looks young but as she steps out into the sunlight her stern features make her look fifty. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun. She smiles at one of the passengers, a man, and looks infinitely younger.
The man is large, both tall and overweight. He has a beard that reminds Emma of a professor. He grunts as he finds his footing to step out of the car. Cam’s parents, Emma thinks. She can’t stop staring.
The woman, Cam’s mother, is all skin and bones. She looks elegant. Maybe Cam has features that might appear rather stern, but nothing like her mother. And the smile that lights up her mother’s face is so bright that Cam could never be able to emulate it.
“Are you sure you weren’t adopted?” Emma whispers.
Cam scowls at her for a moment before looking back toward her parents.
“Sorry,” Emma mutters.
In the backseat is another passenger that Emma first overlooked. A girl steps out of the car behind her parents. She has Cam’s father’s wide nose and Cam’s mother’s high arched brows.
“You have a sister?” Emma asks. She searches through the cobwebs in her mind. No, Cam has never mentioned having any siblings. Emma glares at Cam. How much has Cam not told her? A family wedding might not be the place to bring it up. Emma is irritated and drinks some more of her beer.
“Are you going to keep asking questions?” Cam asks out of the side of her mouth.
Emma huffs, but doesn’t ask anymore questions. She finishes her drink and looks around for a cooler. There’s one near Kenny and his friends, or family members, Emma isn’t sure which. Since Kenny is the only person who has directly spoken to her, she heads to that cooler and gets another beer. It’s only eleven in the morning, but she doesn’t care. Neither do some of the other guests and that makes Emma feel better about it all.
By the time Emma returns, Cam’s parents are hugging Cam warmly. Mr. Hayes is wiping at an eye like he might be tearing up and Mrs. Hayes is rubbing Cam’s back. Cam is like a plastic toy, not quite able to put her arms around her parents, her back rigid. Her sister isn’t hugging Cam. She’s walked over to be with Kenny.
“How’s work going, sweetie?” Mr. Hayes asks.
“Same as always,” Cam says, her mouth barely opening to get the words out.
“I’m so glad you came. I’ve tried calling you. Have you changed your number?” Mrs. Hayes asks, patting Cam’s cheek.
“No, just been busy,” says Cam.
“That’s our Camille.” Mr. Hayes laughs.
In that moment, with both of Cam’s parents smiling lovingly at their daughter and Cam looking like their touches burn her, Emma likes Cam’s parents. She’s still standing a few feet away and realizes she probably looks creepy right as Mr. Hayes looks over and asks Cam who her friend is.
It’s a mistake to get her hopes up, to think that anything but what happens might have been a possibility. Cam quickly announces Emma’s name and reiterates that she’s just Cam’s friend. After the hotel it shouldn’t feel so bad. If Cam can’t handle a stranger thinking they’re together in a small town, there’s no way Cam will tell her family. Emma grits her teeth and shakes Cam’s parent’s hands, blushes when Cam’s mother pulls her into a hug.
The rest of the wedding is awkward, more awkward than before. The groom messes up his vows and everyone snickers. Cam’s knee touches Emma’s as they sit on folding chairs, but that’s it. Cam smiles at Emma at times, like everything will be okay as soon as they leave the wedding. But Emma is still fuming and by the time they get out of there, with Cam’s parents wanting to hug both of them and Cam’s sister ignoring them both, Emma just wants to go home.
There are questions that Emma wants to ask on the car ride back home. Things like who the fuck Cam really is, or how she can simply not care about her family, especially with how much they obviously care.
They stop at a gas station and Cam leans over to kiss Emma. It does nothing to ease the bad mood Emma is in.
“Is it always going to be like this?” Emma asks. It’s an unfair question, one that she might be embarrassed to even think in her head if she wasn’t in such a terrible mental place.
Cam sighs. “What do you mean?”
“Am I going to be your friend to everyone in the world until you get bored and run off to live your life elsewhere? Because I don’t think I want to be around for that.”
“That’s not fair,” Cam hisses. “You’ve had years to get used to the whole gay thing. And I’m not even gay. Do you want to explain that to my family? Because I don’t. So what’s the point? You have me. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
It’d be so easy to say that maybe Emma has been wrong about what she wanted, that maybe Cam isn’t enough, but she’s not that angry.
“I get it. I do. But, Camille, I’m not going to stick around if it stays like this. People will find out eventually, so sort it out. You know? I just can’t do this forever. It makes me feel dirty.”
Cam opens the car door, sets one foot out. “This makes you feel dirty? After fucking Wren for months?” She steps outside and slams the car door. Her jaw is clenched when she gets back in a few minutes later.
Emma fakes being asleep for the rest of the ride. Cam doesn’t kiss her when she drops Emma off and Emma doesn’t mind. Not at all.
Cam shows up two days later with red roses that she clutches in her fist. She won’t say sorry, not when she thinks she’s being rather reasonable, but the flowers are supposed to smooth things over.
Emma’s holding her phone when she answers the door. She quickly puts it into her back pocket, hopes that Cam doesn’t see the guilty look on her face. Cam does and arches an eyebrow for a moment but then smiles. Because of course Emma is feeling guilty about how she spoke to Cam and was about to text her to say so.
If only that was the case.
Emma tries not to smile when her phone vibrates. A new message from Wren.
Emma didn’t expect a response from Wren the first time she sent a message to her. She asked about Wren’s face. It had been clear the night that Emma saw Wren that Wren didn’t want to talk about it. But Wren did respond, even sent a picture to show the damage. Emma flinched, how could she not, but was still enthralled by the colors.
Cam knows nothing about any of it. That Wren did something to get her face all fucked to hell, that Emma saw her and invited her over, that Emma has messaged her since.
“I think we need to talk about all of this,” says Cam. “Otherwise it’ll never work.”
She sits on Emma’s couch, looking completely at home, right where Wren’s head had been. Emma hasn’t smoked since that night at the bar, hasn’t even wanted one because she’s not a smoker, not really, but with Cam wanting to talk about feelings, it’s all she can think about. There are no cigarettes in the apartment. Emma tossed them out the day after Cam brought her home, after the break up.
Emma’s not unfeeling. She has the opposite problem. For months she’s been either not talking to Cam about feelings because Cam would flip out or been shut down by Wren for starting to say something. After all that, there’s no telling where to begin.
“I don’t know how to do this anymore,” says Emma, sitting down next to Cam.
The flowers sit on the coffee table. Emma hasn’t gone to get a vase yet.
Cam removes her shoes and places her feet on the coffee table, right next to the roses. She’s so comfortable, so at ease with everything. “What do you mean?” she asks.
“Talking about feelings. Communication. Where do you even start? Because everyone I’ve tried to talk to about that kind of thing has shut me up.”
Cam sighs as if she hasn’t been one of those people. As if she didn’t run away when Emma said too much on their date. “Well, you want me to be all open, marching at the front of the gay pride parade and I’m not ready for that. Does that sound like a good start?”
“That’s not it at all. I just want to feel like I’m as important as fucking Mark was. We’ve done this dance for so long that being the friend to the people who matter to you hurts. And I can’t do that. I won’t do that.” Emma doesn’t look at Cam as she speaks. Her voice might crack if she did. “I’ve loved you forever it feels like. I guess I just thought that things would be easier once you finally jumped.”
Cam moves again so that her feet are resting in Emma’s lap, trying to form some kind of physical connection between the two of them. “Sometimes I think we’re kidding ourselves,” she admits. “You’ve always wanted that true love thing that people talk about and you don’t even see me for who I really am. That’s partially my fault, I’m not denying it. I thought for a long time that I only had feelings for you because you were so into me. It’s just really nice, you know? Having a really rough day but knowing that there is someone in the world who still loves you no matter what you’ve done. Like you hung the moon.”
Emma chokes at the words, tries to stop the sob that threatens to come out. Her mother once spoke about turning points in life, but she was talking about events like graduating from high school or getting a big first job. She didn’t mention turning points in relationships. How everything could feel like it was folding in on a person and there was no way to reverse time by five minutes. “Jesus,” Emma breathes out. “That’s how it’s been all along, hasn’t it? I’m such an idiot.”
“Emma, I do love you.”
“In your own way. But not the way that I want. It’d never be enough, would it?” asks Emma.
“I could make you happy,” says Cam. She takes her feet off of Emma’s lap and toys with the wrapping covering the rose stems. “I might even grow to love you the way you want, but not soon enough.”
“How long have you known all of this?”
“Sometimes it feels like forever. Sometimes it feels like I’m just realizing it,” Cam whispers.
The floor isn’t cooperating. It’s not opening up into a hole to swallow Emma up. It might be stupid, it probably is, but Emma feels cheated. To have what she has wanted for so long and then hearing that she really doesn’t, hasn’t all along. To see that it wasn’t even really what she wanted. People aren’t concepts, aren’t things to collect, to change into what you want. Emma bites her lip and brushes away the few tears that spill out.
“We shouldn’t do this,” Emma says with all the conviction she can muster.
“Emma, I love you,” Cam says.
“I don’t… I can’t.”
Cam leaves soon after, hugging Emma at the door as they both cry. She says she’ll see Emma later, probably at karaoke or something. It’s so stupid sounding that Emma laughs and kisses Cam on the cheek. She promises herself never to do it again.
