She closes the screen and goes to put the laptop down, but there’s no room. A whole pie, forks, two wine glasses, a large iced coffee milk tea with boba, and two unmarked bottles of wine cover the table and she looks up at me, confused.
“Pie and a horror movie?”
“Yeah, I think I need that.”
I take the wine bottle and unscrew the top. I’d make some joke about screw top bottles and being a classy guy, but this stuff isn’t cheap. I hand her the bottle so she can check it out while I flip through movies. She sniffs at it and instantly her lips purse and pull to one side while her nose scrunches up. I can’t tell if she hates it or just isn’t sure what the scent is. “It’s blackberries. I have a thing for sweet wines. A friend of mine makes it. Well, he was a friend of my dad’s and once a month he still drops off a couple of bottles. These were for Chase, and I had to promise him the next batch to pry them away.”
“So I’m about to be drinking Chase Cooper’s bottles of free homemade wine?”
“Sort of free. Carl has it in his head that he still owes them to my dad for some job my dad did for him or something. I’ve told him he’s got nothing to worry about, but he insists. It’s his way of keeping the tradition going. I get free wine dropped off once a month. He gets to sit on the back porch, reminisce about my dad’s life, and complain about his kids for an hour or three while we get high.”
“Reminisce about your dad? I don’t understand.”
I sit beside her and caress her cheek, working myself up to say the words I try hard to avoid. “Lexi, my dad…he died six months ago. Car accident.”
“Oh my god! Jamie, I didn’t…oh I should have, though. I should have known by how you talk about him. I thought…”
“It’s okay, Angel. I’m shit at talking about it still, and tonight I’m here to take care of you, not me. So drink up and scoot over.”
She takes a cautious sip. As I watch, her eyebrows shoot up and her tongue slides across her lips. I should focus on how fucking hot that is, but I realize that’s the second time I’ve talked about my dad without feeling like I’m walking the edge of a downward spiral. Both times have been when I’m with her. I tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger on her neck.
“This…this is really good.”
“Glad you like it, beautiful.” She blushes. I desperately want to kiss her, to taste that blackberry wine on her lips. Instead, I turn back to the TV and pull up the movie we started the other night. “Wanna watch this again since we fell asleep last time?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of my comfort movie. I’ve seen it like ten times.”
“Comfort movies go well with pie and wine on crappy nights. Even if they are about a cannibal abducting women.” We laugh together as we snuggle on the couch. I bought a whole damn pie, and it’s sitting on her lap as I feed both of us while we watch. It’s about halfway through the movie when she’s finally comfortable enough to talk.
“I’ve never actually told anyone about him. Well, I did, but they assumed I was lying, so I’ve never told anyone like friends or anything.” I nuzzle the side of her head and she sniffles. “Can…can you tell me about your dad? He just sounds like such an amazing guy. I’d rather listen to you tell me about him than go through my issues right now. If that’s okay.”
She hands me the bottle and I take a long drink.
“Well, I, uhm, I haven’t figured out how to talk about him and the accident yet. Not really.”
“I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m not sure why I?—”
“It’s alright, Lexi, I promise. I get it, you’re in a shit spot and you need some kind of comfort. And me telling you about my dad might bring you some. He’d have been honored. Helping people was his thing.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I know what it’s like, losing someone like that.”
“No, it’s…Angel, I can’t tell you that you and your secrets are safe with me, or that you can trust me with your experiences if I’m reluctant to do the same with you. That’s not how relationships work. Or at least I hope not.” I take another long drink before handing her the bottle, afraid I’ll drink too much before I get this out. “I should be able to talk about it now. It’s been six fucking months.”
“Why? There a time limit on grief and grieving that I never learned about?”
That gets me to smile, which helps me relax a little. She pauses the movie and turns around so she’s facing me, giving me all of her attention. It might have been easier when I wasn’t staring at her, but I can’t say that.
“He was on his way back from a charity art show. He did a lot of those, this one for Carl, actually. Dad had donated a bunch of paintings to an auction for kids who needed mental health treatment. Usually, I went to the shows and helped him setup, but this was one I didn’t go to. He was leaving the studio to go get cleaned up and ready, and when he noticed how focused I was, he told me to stay home and keep working. He said I was too in the zone. He probably came back out to tell me he was headed out, but I never heard him.”
“He texted around midnight to say the event was a big hit. He said there was a guy he met there who might be interested in working with me on an installation. I didn’t see the text because I was still working on that piece. I worked on it till I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore and crashed out on the couch. I did that pretty often.”
“I was sleeping in the studio when someone started banging on the front door so loud I could hear it all the way in the back of the house. It’s all a little surreal, like I knew it was going to be the last time I locked up the studio somehow. I could tell something was off because Dad wouldn’t be knocking at 2 in the morning. If he did, he’d have knocked on the studio because he’d have known I’d still be out there.”
I don’t even realize I’m crying until she wipes the tear from my face. That breaks open the dam, even though I try to hold it back. I struggle through the rest of the story, trying not to break down any further.
“He, uhm, got hit on the freeway. A semi truck driver fell asleep. Carl wasn’t far behind him and saw the whole thing happen. I think that’s part of why he still brings the wine over, guilt. I never blamed him or anything; he even got out and tried to help, but there wasn’t anything he could do. Once the cops got there and took his statement, he came right to the house to tell me. He wanted to make sure someone was there for me, since he knew about my past and was real tight with Dad. He didn’t want me finding out from some random badge that pretended to care.”
My fingers trace down the bottle of wine. “I remember the look on Carl’s face when I answered the door that night. I’ll never forget it. I haven’t been back in the studio since.”
