I’m sure Dr. Frances would froth at the mouth if I told her what happened and how I reacted. She’d no doubt relate everything back to my childhood somehow.
I shake my head, answering her question, “Nope, that’s pretty much it.”
I leave therapy like a bat out of hell, sucking in deep lungfuls of winter air as soon as I step outside. After expelling the excess anxious energy that the session brought up to the surface, and a much needed cigarette that I sucked down in record time, I check my phone.
It’s still early evening.
I consider just taking the bus home, then rememberSophia’s working tonight. The last thing I want to do when I feel this restless is go home and sit alone with my thoughts. I’ll have to feed DK at some point tonight, but I still have a few hours to kill.
I sigh, considering my options and tapping a thumb on my thigh as I look up to the night sky.
My gaze is immediately pulled to the moon.
It’s impossibly bright tonight, almost full but not quite, as if a giant came to shave some of its layers, making it lop-sided and oval. My stomach twists as I think of Connie. And I can’t help but wonder if she’s looking at the same moon tonight.
The thought hurts, and the memory of her telling me about her moon theory hurts even worse. I rip my gaze away, not able to bear another second thinking of her. Unlocking my phone, I quickly send out a text before I change my mind.
Up for a drink?
I meetOzzy outside of McCallum’s, a neighborhood pub owned by one of his many friends in the industry. His face lights up when I approach him, like I’m somehow the best part of his day. There’s that guilt again, bubbling up to the surface for treating my brother with such disdain for most of my adult life. I wish I weren’t so full of bitterness and anger.
Maybe then I could let my brother in.
Ozzy grins, finishing his cigarette. “Charlie is starting to look just like you,” he muses instead of the standard hello.
“Yeah?” I ask as I take his cigarette right out of his hands and steal the last drag. “So like a piece of shit?”
Ozzy barks out a laugh, and I smirk, stubbing the butt under my boot before we walk inside.
McCallum’s looks like any standard Irish bar with faded Guinness signs on the wall, countless beer taps, and a wide range of Scotch and Irish whiskey shelved behind the bar.
It’s quiet tonight but just busy enough not to make it awkward. We pull out two high chairs at the bar and sit. Ozzy orders a Kilkenny, and I ask for a Jameson on ice.
As we wait for our drinks, Ozzy strums his fingers on the wood, staring at me with an amused look on his face. I sigh, already regretting asking him to hang out.
“What?” I ask with the same annoyed tone I used as a teenager. It only seems to come out when I’m talking to my older brother.
I avoid eye contact and start to shred my coaster to occupy my nervous fingers.
“So Connie, huh?”
My eyes practically roll into the back of my skull but luckily, my drink arrives, and I take a large gulp of whiskey to soothe the ache.
“It’s not what you think,” I answer flatly, staring at the TV above the bar.
I can tell Ozzy is still staring at me by the burn on my right cheek.
“You don’t know what I think,” he says.
There’s no reproach in his tone, just endless patience. It reminds me of my therapist. I slide my gaze to meet his but don’t move my head.
“Anyway, it’s over, so it doesn’t matter.”
Ozzy’s brows lift in surprise, but says nothing. He takes a sip of his beer, his attention swinging to the TV. The hair at my nape rises, suspicion prickling my skin.
“What?”
My brother looks back at me, licking foam off his lips and shaking his head.
