Whiskey at Midnight, page 26
“I’ll be out soon,” Emma calls out. Wren can hear shuffling and cursing behind Emma’s bedroom door. Emma appears, thirty minutes later, wearing shorts and a t-shirt. They smile at each other awkwardly.
“There’s a park that I like. We can go there,” Wren says.
As they pause at Emma’s front door for Emma to lock it, Emma turns to Wren. “What are we even doing?” she asks.
Wren moves her bag from one shoulder to the other. The hesitant look she’s had on her face since Emma stepped out of her bedroom is still there. “I don’t really know. Let’s find out.”
Wren scowls at the stupidity of it all on the way to the park. Emma’s bound to think of the picnic, even though it’s not the same place, and start talking about feelings. And that’s why Wren should have stayed away from the start. She lights a cigarette. “We’re almost there,” she tells Emma.
It’s the same park Wren took pictures of during her first semester of college. She hadn’t met Steve yet. She hated her room in the dorm and would walk around campus until even that grew boring. Then she found the park. Ducks hang around the pond. Some chase people. They’ve never chased Wren. The pictures she took, all bad compared to what she can do now, she gave to Lily.
Emma huffs behind her, unused to walking the distances that Wren does weekly. “We better be close,” Emma says. “I don’t think I can go much farther.”
“We are. And it’s worth it,” Wren promises.
A minute later, Wren stops at a bench. There’s nothing but bushes and trees behind it. In front is the large pond. Across the pond is the clearing that some people use for sports. Wren sits down and pulls a bottle from her bag. “Don’t get too excited,” she says, as Emma plops down next to her. “It’s just wine.”
“Did you bring any water too?” Emma asks.
Wren smirks and reaches into her bag for another bottle. Emma drinks from it greedily.
“It’s beautiful around here,” says Emma. She places the water bottle down on the ground in front of them. “Who knows how I’m going to get back though. My legs are going to be sore.”
Wren passes the wine bottle to Emma, who takes a sip before passing it back. “We’ll just walk to the entrance and call a cab or something.”
Wren hasn’t checked the weather. She’s never been the type to do so. They luck out with a sunny day and breezes that keep them from baking in the sun. It may not be the same spot as their picnic, but there’s no denying that it is similar enough.
“What’s your major?” asks Emma. “Out of the blue, but I don’t know what it is.”
“Psychology.”
They continue passing the wine back and forth until the awkwardness between them starts to fade. Emma lets her posture slump into a more comfortable position. Emma’s cheery, humming to herself and plucking at blades of grass that she picks up at her feet.
“I want things to be different this time,” Emma says. “I mean, as friends. You let me in a little bit and I’ll try not to be such a selfish bitch.”
The sun and wine have gone to Wren’s head. That’s the only explanation for her response. She says, “Okay.”
Emma smiles like she’s won some grand prize.
Emma doesn’t have a lot of time to see Wren. The school year is drawing to a close. Emma has meetings upon meetings and work at the craft shop. Wren studies more than she ever has, learning all of the things that she missed during her little breakdown. Honestly, it’s the only appropriate term for it.
In those moments when they can both get away from responsibility, they meet up and talk. Even though it’s for short amounts of time, usually thirty minutes to an hour, Wren’s throat feels as if it’s closing up. It feels raw for hours after so that Wren has to drink water. It’s all because she’s trying, trying to keep whatever friendship she can salvage going. So Wren tells Emma about her family, about how Roy is such a fucking stereotype that Wren can’t quite believe he exists in the real world. She tells Emma how her mother is like a flying insect with a broken wing, fragile and strong all at once. Emma listens to it all, never interrupts unless they’ve lost track of time and both need to leave.
“I could tell you about the first time I met Steve,” Wren says. “First, I saw him when I put in my application. It was late afternoon. Not a single table in the restaurant. He walked out from the kitchen with two straws in his mouth. He was making noises like he was a walrus. Then, on my first training shift, he walked up to me with that big, stupid grin of his. He told me to settle in, that it was going to be a wild ride. It has been.”
Emma laughs, rubs at her eye. “Sounds about right.”
For the first time in what feels like forever, everything seems to be going right for Wren. Trevor doesn’t come over as much because he and Trudy have convinced themselves that time apart to study and take exams is good for them both. There’s only so many hours a person can study though and Trudy takes to talking to Wren during study breaks.
Day or night, Trudy wears pajamas. She wears little shorts or thin pants and cute t-shirts that Emma would love. She makes tea and offers some to Wren, saying that it’s better during stressful times than coffee. While the water heats up, she folds herself up on a kitchen chair and asks to see Wren’s latest pictures.
“I haven’t taken many new ones,” Wren says. She stands just inside the kitchen, hoping to pour a glass of water for herself before disappearing back into her bedroom. But there’s an overly interested look on Trudy’s face and Wren sits down on the other side of the table.
“Where have you been going the last few weeks?” Trudy dabs at the table, picking up crumbs from her toast that morning.
“To my friend’s apartment.”
The water finally begins to boil and Trudy pours it into a mug. She takes a sip and grimaces at her now burnt tongue. She’s not done with Wren, not yet. She sits back down and blows to make her tea cool down faster.
“Is she the one who bruised you all up? ‘Cause that was messed up. Like really messed up.” Trudy doesn’t look at Wren as she says it. She stares down at her tea and then picks at her nails.
“No,” Wren says and smirks. “And how did you figure that it was a girl?”
Trudy shrugs. She looks amused. “Aren’t you on the dyke train now? So, if it’s not the one who beat the crap out of you--”
“She didn’t beat the crap out of me.”
“If it’s not the one who beat the crap out of you, is it the one who left her bra that one time?” Trudy giggles and takes a tentative sip of her tea.
It’s the new talking to Emma thing, letting someone know things about her, that does it. It has to be. “Yeah,” Wren says. “Her name is Emma.”
Trudy blushes, like she didn’t quite expect an answer at all from Wren. There’s a glint in her eye. “Are you two together?” she asks. It reminds Wren of those old teenage movies with girly sleepovers where the girls paint each other’s nails. She lowers her eyes from Wren, uncomfortable with the prospect as much as she is interested.
It’s the tone of Trudy’s voice, kind of sing-song with a nervous excitement, not unlike Mrs. Buckton, that does it. Wren stares straight at Trudy. “We are.”
The resulting squirm on the other side of the table looks to be partly giddy and partly grossed out. “I guess it might be good for you,” Trudy mumbles. “I need to get back to studying.”
It’s a mistake. Trudy has a loud mouth and there’s only so many times Wren can go to Emma’s before she’ll have to invite Emma over and inevitably Trudy will talk to Emma. Emma hearing from Trudy that Wren said they were together would complicate matters. But there is something fun about messing with Trudy.
Wren goes back into her bedroom, forgetting the cup of water. She checks her cell phone. Emma’s busy all day and her phone habits are unpredictable. Sometimes busy means she won’t contact Wren at all, sometimes it means she’ll text Wren every single chance she gets. There’s no text from Emma, but there is one from Cam. Wren falls down onto her bed, bouncing up once with the force of it, before opening the message.
Wren has never been a violent person. She punched the guy in the club, started all of that. She may not be gentle in bed, but that’s it. Carefully chosen words have always worked for her. She twists in the bed and punches her pillow. Cam, the running coward, wants to know how Emma is doing, figures that Emma would be hanging out with Wren again and so Wren would know. Over text, it’s hard to tell if she’s just being honest, that she really does think that Wren is the most logical person to ask, or if there’s a hint of sarcasm or malice in it.
Wren wasn’t an impulsive child growing up. Roy might bring it out every so often when he really gets on Wren’s nerves, but with other people Wren has always weighed her options before acting. A teacher in grade school who annoyed Wren was easily taken care of by Wren doing everything that she asked, every fucking little thing, until the teacher gave up and told Wren to do whatever she wanted. But for the second time in one day, Wren acts impulsively. She responds with a reassurance that Emma is as good as she has ever been, that they’ve been having a blast. They have, but there’s no denying that Emma still gets a little sad look on her face if Cam’s name is brought up, even if she also says that things have worked out fine, just as they should have.
Wren tosses her phone on the other side of the bed as soon as she sends it. Cam probably won’t respond, but if she does Wren won’t hear her phone buzzing. Exactly how she wants her afternoon to go. Impulsive and kind of stupid, all of it.
Wren’s mother told her that there is usually one person in the world that they are weak about. It might be a person’s spouse or a child, maybe even a friend. Her mother was out in her garden, when she was just getting into it as a hobby, and Wren was poking a finger into the dirt in her boredom. The words made her pause, her finger an inch into the soil. Though she didn’t say it aloud, Wren swore internally to not be like that. Lily was weak when it came to family. Anything for Wren. A blind spot for Roy. That wouldn’t do for Wren.
The barrier that Wren put up didn’t come as a surprise to anyone. She’d already been quiet for most of her childhood. There was little change at home. And her friends, they had other things to worry about. Steve had been an exception. He adapted to being friends with Wren, understanding that there was little that she would share with him. It was good enough for him, he could fill the silence with words of his own.
Wren closes her eyes and pokes her fingers into her eyelids until it aches. Her mother was right. It’s useless to try and stop it. Wren is weak when it comes to Emma. She can’t bring herself to say no to Emma or stay away for long. The rage that Wren expects doesn’t come, just pure resignation. Her phone buzzes and she slaps at it, annoyed that she can hear it after all. But it’s Emma saying that she’s been told she’s done an impeccable job this semester and Wren smiles.
The day of Wren’s last exam, she comes home to find Steve sitting on her sidewalk. He wears women’s white sunglasses and a goofy grin on his face. His arms are pink from sitting in the sun. “Get dressed. I’m taking you out,” he says.
He’s wearing old jeans and a t-shirt with a lizard on it. He’s had it as long as Wren has known him. So when he follows her upstairs and sits on the couch, staring at the painting of Jesus above him awkwardly, Wren dresses in similar clothes.
She pulls on the jeans that Emma always liked, dark and full of holes, perfect for the weather. She can’t decide between all of her shirts. Half of them are laying on the closet floor. She grabs a white tanktop and pulls it over her head.
Steve would holler for her to hurry up if he knew that she was putting on makeup. It doesn’t take long for Wren, but he would say it’s the principle of it all. Wren can hear Trudy’s bedroom door open while she applies her eyeliner and then the tell-tale sounds of Trudy beginning a conversation. She wants to know Steve’s name, how he knows Wren. Underneath it all, Trudy is hoping that Wren is with Steve, just because it would make Wren somewhat normal. Wren laughs quietly.
It’s only taken her ten minutes since they got into her apartment to get ready, but as soon as Wren steps out of her bedroom, Trudy turns to look at her and Steve has a desperate look on his face. His face says, how dare you leave me here with her and get me the fuck out. It’s funny all over again because Trudy will just be happy to have met someone new and the only reason Steve is uncomfortable is because he’s heard how religious Trudy is. He’ll have been struggling to find the right words, worried that he’ll deeply offend Trudy.
“We’re going out,” Wren announces to Trudy. Trudy looks so hurt for a moment that Wren almost invites her along. Instead, she says, “We won’t be out long.” It’s a lie and everyone knows it, but Trudy goes along with it anyway and tells them to have a good time.
“She’s going to think we’re alcoholics,” Steve says in his car. “Going out when it’s still daylight. On a weekday, too.”
“She already thinks I’m an alcoholic,” says Wren.
Steve drives like he’s both never been behind the wheel before and has been driving so long that he doesn’t have to pay attention. He accelerates much too quickly and brakes at the last second. When he cuts someone off, he puts his hand in the air like he’s waving at them for letting him in. He laughs when people honk angrily. It’s only when he passes the usual street to turn on to get to the bar that Wren realizes he’s putting on a show, driving around like a maniac to get a reaction out of her. Somewhere in Steve’s mind, this is some kind of fun.
Wren laughs and lights a cigarette, leans over the center console to stuff the lit cigarette between his lips. Then she lights another for herself.
Her hand had been holding onto the door for dear life, but now she relaxes and smokes. She closes her eyes as the wind blows into the car and whips her hair around. Another hard brake and Steve giggles, says “shit.” Wren opens her eyes and rubs at the back of her head where it hit her headrest. A tiny station wagon is in front of them, a mere two inches separates it from Steve’s car.
“That was a little close,” Steve says. The light turns green and Steve is off again, swerving into another lane to pass the station wagon. “Oh, one more thing for you,” he says and fiddles around with the radio until distorted guitars blare out from the speakers. Wren smiles. Steve really has thought of everything.
The sun hits its peak as they ride around. Steve shouts along to the music. He’s so loud that people in other cars turn to look when they stop at lights. The faces in the nearby cars range from amused to horrified. Steve waves to some of them before speeding off.
They ride like that for over half an hour before Steve loops back around toward Wren’s apartment. He passes by the apartment complex and keeps going until he reaches the entrance of the local park. He jerks into a parking spot and raises his arms. “Ta-da! Most beautiful fucking sunset. Just for you, Wren.”
The music ends mid-song as Steve turns the car off. The silence is jarring. Even though it is now after work hours, the parking lot is relatively empty. Steve reaches for a bag in the backseat and grins. “Well, come on. Gotta hike to that damn bench for your present.”
Wren’s only given Steve alcohol before. They’ve never exchanged cards or presents. She gets out of the car and warily begins to follow him. Though he’s only gone to the bench once, he leads the way, never having to ask for directions.
By the time they reach the bench, his mood has only gotten better. He gestures for Wren to sit down and begins rummaging through the bag. First, he pulls out a bottle of wine. “A classy drink to celebrate with,” he says. Next, he mimics the sound of a drum roll and pulls out a carton of Wren’s brand of cigarettes.
“They won’t last long, but fuck it,” says Steve, handing them over to Wren with an exaggerated bow.
Wren laughs and claps her hands together. “Thank you, Steve. I mean it,” she says.
“Alright, gorgeous,” Steve says and sits down next to her. He pulls out a wine opener and uncorks the bottle. “Ladies first.”
No one passes them as they drink from the bottle. Even though they’re supposed to watch the sunset, they end up ignoring it mostly. Steve talks about work, like how Vicki hasn’t been talking to him for some unknown reason. That leads him to talking about the daytime bartender Chase. Wren has to suppress the urge to connect the dots for Steve. How Victoria is jealous and Steve’s being an idiot about it all.
Chase is nice enough. She never complains about having to be at work. That’s an automatic plus in Wren’s book. She also keeps to herself a lot, like Wren.
“By the way, I invited a few extra people out tonight,” Steve says. “Hope you don’t mind.”
Wren’s eyes narrow and she drinks some more of the wine. “Like who?”
“Why so suspicious?” Steve asks, laughing.
“Because I don’t have a lot of friends.”
“Yeah, little Miss Anti-social. I invited Chase and Emma. That alright?” He doesn’t seem particularly worried and he squints up at the sun.
“Yeah, alright,” Wren replies.
Though Wren has spent the better part of the last five years distancing herself from almost everyone, telling Steve when it’s mentioned that she doesn’t need anyone, she smiles at the thought of Steve inviting people out. Even if it is just the girl he fancies and the girl she fancies. Wren blushes. No, the girl she is friends with.
Steve is committed to waiting until the sun has officially set before they can leave. They smoke all of Wren’s old pack and Steve laughs. “At least we’ve got the carton to get through the night.”
When the last rays of the sun fall below the line of trees in front of them, Steve scratches at his head and stands up. “Well, I think that about does it. Ready to go get fucked up?”
He bends over to put the carton and wine bottle back into the bag, zips it up with a heavy hand. He rises again, the bag hanging from his shoulder.
