Page 70 of When We Meet Again

Waverly is my water. With enough nurturing after being polluted, she’s become herself again. And I can’t hold on to her too tight, or I’ll lose her. Just like he did.

Sending that invitation was really fucking hard. Not knowing if she’d rip it up, send it back in a million pieces, burn it, or simply toss it in the trash. The build-up has been killing me. I dropped it off two weeks ago, and I’ve heard nothing since. I guess her presence, or lack thereof, will be my birthday surprise…

With my feet propped up on the edge of my sailboat, I stare into the sunset, remembering back all those years ago to thenight when we sat on top of the hill, a Dave Matthews song playing in the background. It was an evening that changed my life. And not for the better. The spiral I sent myself down after admitting my feelings for her was not healthy. The fact she was my brother’s girl was the cherry on top of the stale cake that was my life.

That was the night that Patrick sensed something between us. Initially I was going to put some space in between Waverly and me. I knew once I told her how I felt on that bench at sunset, it was enough. I was done. But later on that night, after he dropped Waverly off, we went to the bar. We were having a great time until we weren’t. His face turned to stone, something I’ve never been on the receiving end of, and he told me I needed to step away.

That’s all. Nothing more. Nothing less. But I’d understood what he meant. The bond between me and his girlfriend was an intense one. I’d hate to be the man dating a girl who had a better relationship with his brother than him.

Every weekend after that I was with a different woman, dabbling in a little more than alcohol… Anything to get that blonde-haired, green-eyed woman out of my head. Waverly left a wound that didn’t seem to heal no matter what I did. So sleeping around Venice Beach was a temporary Band-Aid. It did what I needed it to do.

That is, until she stepped outside onto my parents’ balcony after the funeral. She may have had a few more creases on her face, but it didn’t steal anything from her beautiful soul. Nothing could take that away. Although my brother gave it a good whack in the process.

The funeral. Patrick. I’ve been avoiding my brother like the plague. As if him being alive means absolutely nothing to me. That’s not the case. My brother, my life-long best friend, is alive. I’m a shit human. We exchange pleasantries when my parentsinsist I come home for family dinner. Naturally, he’s there. Where else would he be? We joke with dad about not giving a shit about anything, but the tension is still there. Like an elephant in the room, I can’t bring myself to talk about. It’s not Waverly’s fault. Whatever was happening between us, it’d been building before that. We tried to fight it, ignore it, cover it in caution tape, but nothing worked.

My phone vibrates next to me, bringing me out of my depressed stupor. And it looks like my luck is changing as it flashes with the only name I’ve wanted to see for the last five months.

Waverly:I’ll be at your party. If you’re sure you want me there?

My mouth goes dry. I want nothing more than to see her. I mean, Ididsee her not too long ago when I walked by the shelter that wasnoton my way to work. I just needed a fix. To make sure she was doing okay. That’s when I saw her carrying a box to her car with a smile on her face. As long as she’s happy.

Me:Of course I want you there. Can’t wait…

Short and simple. Was it too simple? Should I ask her how she is?

I scroll up to our last conversation. It was us making plans for the St. Patrick’s Day Festival. That night was going to beeverything. I wanted to ask her to be mine, officially. I wanted to make love to her, something I can honestly say I’ve never done before with any woman.

The beer bottle reaches my lips before I down what’s left of it. “If she’s coming to the party, I guess it’s time for me to rip off the Band-Aid with Patrick,” I admit to the moon.

Here we are.Staring at each other like we haven’t been related our entire lives.

I’m nervous as hell as Patrick pours us glasses of whiskey. His welcome was anything but warm and brotherly, but that’s my own fault. “Welcome toCasa de Paddy,wanna drink?” were the only seven words he’s said to me since I’d been here.

I peruse his new apartment. It’s small with little to no furniture, bare walls, and a partially stocked mini bar in the corner, smelling of fresh paint and Burberry cologne. It’s very…him.

He stalks toward me, holding out my drink. The hollow look in his eyes takes away from the smile he’s wearing. Except it’s a fake smile. He’s showing me teeth in a lazy way. Dentists everywhere would be disappointed.

“Thanks, man.” I take a sip and welcome the burning in my throat. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” I offer, holding out my drink for a cheers.Small talk.I hate it more than I hate not talking to Waverly. And that is a-fucking-lot.

“Yeah, thanks. Have a seat,” He gestures to a green chair, and I do as he says, which makes it even more awkward because usually if he ever told me to do something, I did the opposite. I sit and wait for him to say something, because lately more than ever, I find it hard to render words.

Thank the Lord, he starts. “I’m not getting back together with Waverly, or technically, we never called it quits. So maybe I should say, I’m going to call it quits with her…” The brown liquid gets drained down his throat in one gulp.

I bring the glass to my lips, taking a small sip. One of us must be coherent during this conversation. “O-kay.” Simple. Still unable to form words.

He reaches to grab the bottle, pours himself another, and sets it between us. “I don’t want to get into it before I have the chance to talk to her first, but I did need to tell you.”

I nod and take another sip. “So, why have you been avoiding me, little brother?”

It’s time for me to chug. I put the glass down with a little more force than intended, and sit back, taking a deep breath in. “I felt like a shitty human, I guess.”

“Why’s that?” His eyes narrow and his eyebrows dip in confusion.

“Because as much as I wanted you back… Would give anything to golf with you again, or sail with you, I was pissed you showed up. It’s always been her for me. You know that.” Words pour out of me like vomit, and I’m fearful of the look on his face. “I’m sorry.” I let out a deep breath and he winces at my words. It feels good getting it off my shoulders, but I know my words cut him deeply. Patrick puts on a tough exterior, and most of it’s not a facade, but he has a good heart.

“You’re sorry you’re dating my fiancée?”

Those words sit in my head for a few minutes while I ponder over them. I think back to our night under the stars. Our dance at Two Balls and A Bull. Us cuddled up together on the plane on the way to Italy. Our first kiss in the rain.

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