Page 37 of A Forever Love

The same old conversation, year after year.

You’d think I would have learned by now. But no, nothing seems to penetrate my stubborn skull. I take another gulp of the Scotch, a birthday gift from Uncle Gavin. He probably didn’t anticipate his nephew would polish off this pricey present in a single night.

“Pretty good stuff,” I comment, surveying the bathroom as I recline against the cool tiles of the bathtub. I’ll drown my sorrows and indulge in sickness if I damn well please. I eye the partially filled Scotch bottle and wonder whether I should have brought more. The only thing missing from this alcohol-fueled escapade is an infinite supply of the necessary poison.

“Let’s fix that.” My slurred words puff up my ego. Off to a fantastic start, clearly. I fish out my phone from the leather jacket and fumble for the contact button, trying my best to navigate to the letter ‘T’ for Tiki’s. Tiki owns a diner, and even though he doesn’t usually deliver hard drinks, I’m confident I can talk him into making an exception for my birthday. But that’s only if I can locate his name in my phone. After what feels like an eternity of my fingers searching fruitlessly for his name, I’m on the verge of chucking my phone when it starts ringing in my hand.

Double vision blurs the name, but I can recognize those red curls even in a crowd. “Hey, mittens,” I drawl. “What can I do for you today?”

“You’re drunk?”

“I’m definitely not drunk. Just had a few drinks with friends. You don’t need to—” I keep talking, but Merida ends the call. That’s probably for the best. She shouldn’t see me like this anyway. I make another attempt to locate Tiki’s number.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Merida stands in front of me, her fists planted on her hips, glaring at me with irritation.

“What are you doing here?” I shift my gaze between my phone and her at the doorway. “You were—”

“I was outside your building when I called you, Einstein.” She steps in and plops down beside me, wrinkling her nose in annoyance. “You stink, by the way.”

“I’m starting to think giving you a key to my apartment wasn’t the best idea. I have no privacy anymore.”

“You don’t need privacy from me,” she retorts swiftly. As I’m about to take another swig, she places her hand on my arm. “I think you’ve had enough.”

“Drowning sorrows in alcohol is a grown-up thing, Merida. Something you wouldn’t understand.”

“Alright, Mr. Grown-Up. How about I call Uncle Connor? Or better yet, Uncle Gavin? I’m pretty sure they’d be thrilled to see the future CEO of Kings Security in this state.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” I grip her hand tightly. “They can’t see me like this. No one can.” Even in my intoxicated state, I can hear the horror in my voice.

Lucky are those who have that one person in their lives with whom they can let their guard down. All the fake fronts, false pride, and artificial toughness dissolve in the presence of that one person. For me, that person has always been Merida—a colleague’s daughter who chose me to be her friend instead of her dad’s. A five-year-old who decided I would never leave her side and would always love her, even though she’s terrified of love.

“Then you need to go freshen up. I’ll put a change of clothes out for you.”

“Don’t touch…”

“I know.” She cuts in swiftly, her lips flattening into a thin line.

A few years back, Merida decided she was going to pick out my clothes on my birthday. Her excitement was through the roof when she got full access to my meager wardrobe, but I died of mortification when she emerged holding black pants, a baby-blue shirt, and black boxers.

That day, I created our first ground rule. My underwear drawer is off-limits.

“Why are you still sitting like this?” Merida reappears, and I shift my gaze from her face to the black track pants and gray T-shirt she’s holding. She deftly hangs my clothes on a hanger before approaching me. “I’ll take this.” She takes the bottle from my hand and heads out. Just before closing the door, she brandishes her phone. “If you don’t come out soon, I’ll call your uncles.”

In less than ten minutes, I emerge from the bathroom to find Merida seated at the dining table. Two cups of ramen noodles sit before her, steam wafting from the small openings where she must have poured hot water. A small pink box sits beside them.

“I wasn’t sure what to get you when you’re this drunk, but the internet says it’s good to eat something with water.”

“That looks perfect.” With shaky steps, I take a seat beside her.

Merida fills a glass with plain water for me and asks carefully, “What’s happening?”

“Same old, nothing new,” I reply, brushing aside the water and reaching for the hot noodle cup. I peel off the plastic seal entirely, ready to take a forkful of ramen into my mouth, when she grabs my hand.

“It’s hot, you idiot.”

“Who are you calling an idiot?” I set the fork onto the cup. “I’m going to be your boss someday.”

“Will you stop being a dickhead when you become the CEO, or will you continue this nonsense?”

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