“Talk about how my family hinges their love on if I bend their way?”
“We can talk about that.” She comes closer but appears to remember we’re not together and veers a little right, keeping a few feet between us. “We broke up, but we’re still friends. Are we still friends, Coop?”
I always hated that name. She knows that but thinks it keeps us on a friendlier term like we hang out all the time. I let the liquid coat my throat, my thoughts more morose around the fakeness that used to motivate me to push boundaries. I remind myself of Camille’s situation again. She’s still Thomas A. Anderson before he takes the red pill in Matrix, blind to the reality of this place.
Finding myself more distant from the people and this place, the idea of getting drunk isn’t a bad one. I’m not striving to black out. I simply want to burn away the edges of my irritation that have flared. If nothing else, she will always remind me of who I refuse to be and the mold that will never quite fit.
After another sip of mine, I lean against the counter. “Why are you really here?”
“Your mother said you were lonely and acting depressed.”
And they wonder why I used to drink heavily . . .
“My mom wouldn’t know. I’ve been here for days, and the only contact we’ve had are a family meeting with the attorney, a lunch where she was mortified that I’d wear jeans to the Chez Cab, and then her telling me ‘don’t ruin my future’ when I said I’m considering options outside of Haywood or New York.” I take another drink to calm the wave of anxiety crashing in my chest. “So my mom isn’t the best judge of what’s going on with me.”
“Don’t be too hard on her. At least she cares. It could be worse.”
“How so?”
“You could be poor.” Unblinking, she stares at me, unable to break into my psyche despite the concerted effort. Failure sets in, and she turns her attention to the cut crystal glass, running her finger over the design.
I’m still staring at her. How does that phrase leave her lips without her own conscience judging? I think about it, though, and I was just like her. I’m not much different now other than I’ve had my eyes opened to a new perspective thanks to Story. It doesn’t make me a changed man, but I think I’ve used the fallback of my family’s wealth as an excuse for too long.
“Anyway, you know there’s a dress code at Chez Cab. You wore jeans to upset her.” She shrugs and then takes a sip. “And it worked, so you can’t be upset that she fell for your tricks. Christmas is tomorrow. Maybe Santa will bring you what you wished for and turn your sour-puss attitude around.” She keeps going as if I’m participating in this conversation. “But only if you’re nice and stay off the naughty list.”
“What’s the fun in that?”
“You never change.” The snowfall catches her attention, and her gaze is stripped from me to find interest outside the large doors that lead to the expansive patio.
I don’t mind the reprieve. “You mean, I never learn.” Since she’s in no hurry to leave, I move to the couch and sit, crossing my ankle across the other leg.
“Same thing.” She looks back. “What’s going on with you?”
Still not able to wrap my head around her thoughts or actions, I ask, “Why do you listen to them?” She’s twenty-two and has looks, makes great grades, and comes from money. “Why do you follow the ridiculous rules of this town? Not laws. Rules that our parents not only made up but also forced us to follow?”
“I follow the rules to win.” Said like a Stepford wife.
“You’ll lose. I promise you, Camille. You can be more than a wife to some rich guy who puts you in Connecticut locked into that life by a white picket fence while he sleeps with his mistress in the city.”
“You make it sound so bad when I’d be okay with that.”
I can’t get through to her. I don’t know why I continue to try, but I’m not ready to quit just yet. “You’ll get the husband, the kids, and a hefty bank account but lose the rest of your soul along with it.”
Her jaw drops. “The rest of my soul?” She sighs, finally some semblance of a human reaction. “We always were so different, but a fight with a neighboring town kid who can’t afford to take a swing at you was never a fair fight to begin with.”
“What are you saying?”
“You’re untouchable to most because of your last name. Even when it came to your teenage angst. You may not be using your fists on some guy who looked at you sideways, but who are you really fighting? Who’s the enemy in this scenario? Your family who cares about your future? Or yourself?”
The words hit home, making me uncomfortable sitting here, but I stay knowing unless I’m willing to walk out that door and never come back, I’m a hypocrite. I have been given everything, and I’ve treated it like the privilege is nothing. Thinking about Story and her mom, learning about the situation and her dad. Her experiences have shaped who she is, but she’s doing better than where she came from, and she leads by example. I just need to follow.
I put my foot on the floor and shift forward. “I’m trying to figure shit out on my own.”
“Your life is good, Coop. Look around. I don’t know what you want from this life, but you’ve been given everything you could ever want. This could all be yours one day.” Coming closer, she sits on the couch next to me, too close for my liking. Lowering her voice, she says, “If you hate being here that much, one day you can sell everything and move away. But for now, play the game and get what you can. Just take what you want.”
She’s right.
I have everything I could ever want.
All I need to do is take it.
18
Story
“You really don’t have to wait for me,” I say, backing out of the door with the key inserted in the lock.
Lou shivers. “Brrr. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’d rather you be safe.”
“I’m safe, Lou. I close up and walk home by myself all the time.” I click the bolt closed, pull the key from the lock, and then turn the knob to make sure the coffee shop is actually locked.
“Maybe you shouldn’t. There aren’t many people around. A lot could happen.”
Facing him, I shove the keys in the pocket of my coat. “I appreciate the concern.” Rocking back on my heels, I’m not sure how to wrap up a goodbye when it’s starting to feel like the end of a blind date. It’s Lou. I don’t owe him anything other than kindness, but I hate hurting his feelings. “Merry Christmas, Lou.”
“Merry Christmas, Story.”
I turn and start down the sidewalk with my head tucked down. The snow’s not been sticking, though I was dreaming of waking up to a white Christmas tomorrow.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to check the text. Cooper. I smile, the action just a natural response every time I catch myself thinking about him. Thinking about him has become a pastime since school’s out, and he left for the holidays. For some reason, the thought of his return and us picking up where we left off doesn’t seem so out of reach anymore.
The photo of him sitting in a car makes me curious about where he’s going and what he’s doing. The text says: Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.
Referencing the film we once both saw together without knowing each other at the time, my stomach flutters with butterflies, and I type: Sometimes life does that.
A shiny black Jaguar blocks the alley I usually cut through, the silver animal emblem in launching position off the front of the car. The windows are tinted to Secret Service protection levels. It’s perfection that I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to before. I can only imagine the price tag.
As I approach, I start to debate what’s best to do. What’s my safest option because Lou has me feeling paranoid? It’s almost eleven. I closed later than I should have. But I had too many in the coffee shop needing a place to be on Christmas Eve to throw them out on the streets. I have nothing better to do at home anyway, so I appreciate the extra tips.