Meant For Me (7 page)

“A few days.” Then in a clear dismissal I turned to Chloe. “Want to grab a table while I wait for the drinks?”

“I’ll bring them out to you,” Emily said. “Go ahead and sit down.”

“Great, thanks.” I followed Chloe to a table and sat down across from her. “You friends with her?” I asked in a low voice.

She shook her head.

“She seems kind of snarky or something. Or maybe I’m just imagining that.”

Another head shake. Chloe pulled her phone out. She typed then held it out for me.

Bully.

“Ah, that makes sense. She has that look about her. Grade school or later?”

She nodded.

“All of it?”

A thumbs up.

“Charming.” I glanced over at Emily. Pick on the mute girl. Nice. But I couldn’t ask Chloe to tell me about it. Being with her was both oddly comforting and frustrating as hell. I felt like I’d met the first girl in years I was actually interested in getting to know and she couldn’t tell what was in her head. That was ironic, to say the least.

Chloe shrugged. Then she typed again.

Were you ever picked on?

I shook my head. “No, not really. Though I wasn’t a bully either. I was the guy who got along with everyone. I have no complaints about my childhood at all.”

So what went wrong?

She didn’t type that or ask it but I could see the question on her face.

“Maybe when I realized that wanting something wasn’t enough to be able to have it,” I said, as if she’d actually asked the question. “But now that I even say that out loud it doesn’t feel true. I don’t know.” I had fallen in love and for the first time ever I’d been well and truly gutted. It would have been easier to deal with if it had been something like not getting in to the law school I wanted. Instead it had been my stupid sad sack of a heart that had been stomped and I had felt… small. Like a loser. I had offered everything and it hadn’t been enough and for the guy who had really never failed in any major way, it had sent me reeling.

“I know, poor Ethan, right?” I scoffed. “It has not been a rough life. So why am I such a fuck up? I don’t have that answer either, Chloe.” I gazed at her. “You’re wasting your time hanging out with me. I have nothing to offer.”

Chloe pursed her lips.

Emily came over to us and put our drinks on the table. She was swinging her hips and she tossed her hair and gave me a smile. I gave her an absentminded, “Thanks,” wondering what Chloe had been about to say. Then being unnerved to realize it mattered to me. I wanted her approval for some reason.

When Emily turned and left, Chloe pushed her phone to me. Her typing speed was unreal. I guess it was out of necessity.

Friendship isn’t about what’s in it for me. I like talking to you. And you have more to offer the world than you give yourself credit for.

“How do you know?” I asked, feeling moody and melancholy. The craving for a shot of whisky was strong and unbidden.

Chloe just smiled.

It was a confident, peaceful smile.

For someone Aubrey claimed was riddled with anxiety causing her to be unable to speak, Chloe seemed to me one of the most at peace people I’d ever met. She was shy, but she looked me in the eye, and she seemed happy. At the least content with who and what she was. Her role in the world.

I didn’t know what my role was.

“Do you actually like playing the piano?” I asked, the question randomly popping into my head.

She nodded.

“I don’t like anything,” I said. “Nothing matters.”

That was the root of all my problems. I didn’t give enough of a shit about anything to make any sort of effort anymore. I was used up at twenty-five.

Chloe typed.

You matter.

As I read the words on the screen she thrust at me, they hit me like a semi-truck speeding down the highway. My gut clenched.

Did I?

I wasn’t even sure.

“Thanks for coming out with me,” I said, avoiding her comment. “I’m a night owl because of my job. I can’t go to bed this early. And I’m kind of an insomniac anyway.” When I wasn’t drinking, that is. I slept like the dead when I was drinking. Which probably was technically called passing out.

Chloe nodded then made like she was passing her hands over the piano keys.

“You play to fall asleep?” When she nodded I grinned. “I bet that thrills your parents, and your sister, right?”

She smiled back.

My little sister hates it, but my dad doesn’t mind.

I’d seen her father’s protectiveness. That was a man who loved his daughter. He probably worried a lot about her future. Maybe he liked the piano playing and maybe he didn’t, but he probably wasn’t about to stop her from doing something she enjoyed.

“My parents have washed their hands of me,” I said. “They figure I’m old enough to figure my own shit out and I don’t even see them that often. I probably should make more of an effort.” I sipped my coffee and stared down at my hand. My thoughts were jumping from one thing to another. Being with Chloe was like a weird stream of consciousness thinking out loud. I had bursts of verbal vomit, then I’d become aware of it and try to ask her questions, draw out information about her. It took more thought, effort to be with her. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Everything had been too easy for me. “I thought about getting another tattoo the other day,” I said randomly.

Her eyes widened.

“I have one on my calf, which maybe you saw, and a couple on my chest, my bicep. Got them all in the last year, but none are visible when I’m wearing a shirt, even a T-shirt. I thought this week that maybe I should just accept that this is what I am, this is what I’m doing. I’m a bartender. I can show a tattoo, hell, it’s almost expected. I shouldn’t be holding off because in the back of my head I’m thinking that I’m still going to get some kind of corporate job.”

Yet I wasn’t ready to give that up. I knew that. I wasn’t ready to close the doors entirely on any white collar job. Yet I wasn’t doing anything to change a damn thing. All I knew for sure was that I was a walking disaster. A hot fucking mess.

Why don’t you know what you want?

Chloe’s latest typed words were so stark, so obvious. Maybe her inability to speak let her cut through all the bullshit and politeness and small talk and just ask flat out straight up, what in the fucking hell do you want?

“Maybe I haven’t seen what I want yet,” I said, eyeing her.

She tucked her hair behind her ear. Her mouth opened and for a second I expected words to come out. They didn’t.

“What does your voice sound like?” I asked, before I could stop myself. It felt like I was seeing only half of who she was. Would her voice be high, low, soft, melodic? Sexy? The curiosity was only growing the more time I spent with her.

She should have been offended. It was a rude question, even if I hadn’t intended to be rude. But Chloe just shrugged.

Normal. Even if I’m not normal.

I didn’t like that every time she typed her thoughts her head had to drop down to view the keyboard on her screen so I hadn’t seen her eyes when she articulated her feelings. Then when I read them I still wasn’t looking at her. It was an odd screen between me and her that I’d never experienced. Maybe with someone else I wouldn’t have cared, but it seemed to matter with Chloe.

“You’re normal. Or maybe you’re not. But who wants to be normal? Normal people are petty and selfish and generally shitty. Like me.”

Without warning, Chloe shoved her chair back and stood up. Stomping over to the trashcan I watched in astonishment as she tossed her drink, which was still half full out, then went and stood at the door to the coffee shop. Apparently we were leaving. She looked pissed off, and I wondered what I had said that had honked her off. Slowly, I rose too and picked up my cup. I was taking mine with me. Though caffeine wasn’t going to help my sleep issues.

“Is something wrong?” I asked. “I thought you didn’t have a curfew.”

She wrinkled her nose at me. Then surprising me even further she made a fist with her small hand and punched me in the bicep.

“What?” I asked in astonishment. “I don’t understand.”

Chloe made a sound in the back of her throat that was pure exasperation. But then she whirled and shoved the door open and strode out onto Main Street, letting the door slam in my face. I glanced around to see if anyone had noticed her odd behavior. Emily was watching with a smirk on her face. I raised my eyebrows in her direction. She shrugged. “Good night,” she called out. “Tell Crazy Chloe there’s a bonfire down at the beach Friday and she’s welcome to come, but only if she brings you.”

I frowned at her in disgust, then shoved the door even harder than Chloe had. She was sitting on the window ledge in front of the shop. Her hair was falling forward, hiding her face. “We going home?” I asked.

She nodded.

“I’m sorry if I offended you in some way.”

She shook her head.

God, I’d never realized how irritating body language could be. I wanted to shake her and make her talk. Like if I rattled her shoulders the words would jar loose and she could tell me what the fucking hell was going on in her head.

But she couldn’t. And I wouldn’t. So I held my hand out to her, breathing deeply to calm my suddenly jagged nerves. “I want a drink,” I said flatly. “And I’m probably an alcoholic. I feel like I suddenly want to stick my face in a mixing bowl full of vodka and suck it up like its Jell-O. That is fucked up, isn’t it?”

She nodded.

But then she took my hand and stood up. Chloe shifted into my space and her free hand came up to gently cup my cheek. No, she mouthed.

The silent entreaty made my gut twist.

When she drew her hand out of mine and wrapped her arms around my neck, I sank into the hug she was offering. I closed my eyes and breathed in her sweet scent. She felt lithe and fragile in my arms and I felt big, clunky, like I could crush her and there would be no fixing it. No repairing the damage.

But I didn’t pull away. I couldn’t pull away.

It was the first honest embrace I’d had in almost two years. “You’re right,” I said gruffly in her ear. “You’re not normal. Because if you were you’d run away from me as fast as possible, not hug my sorry ass.”

I could feel her smile, her breath tickling my skin with a soft sigh.

We walked back to her house, her hand back in mine. I hadn’t held hands with such innocence since I was seven.

Only I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to her. I was, but that attraction felt wrong. Dirty. Like I was doing the worst thing ever in the history of worst things if I turned our interaction into something sexual. It would be the ultimate dick move. So it was innocent. Sort of.

At her house, I squeezed her hand and said, “Goodnight, Chloe. Thanks for hanging out with me.” I didn’t know why she’d gotten angry or upset, but maybe it didn’t matter. She’d tell me if she wanted me to know. What I did know was I wanted to see her again. “That chick at the coffeeshop said there’s a bonfire at the beach Friday night. Want to go with me? I’m leaving Saturday.”

For a second, she stood in the doorway of her house, the lamplight of the living room framing her face, making her expression difficult to read. But then she nodded.

“Okay, cool.” I backed up on the porch.

She tapped her wrist, like she was wearing a watch then made a question mark in the air.

“I don’t know. Nine?” I didn’t have any actual details but maybe Aubrey would know. “And maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?” Because posing that as a question wasn’t even remotely pathetic. I mentally rolled my eyes. I usually had more game. So I touched the ends of her hair, flipping it upward. “I want you to play the piano for me. A private concert.”

She audibly sucked in a breath. Without responding with either a nod or a shake of her head, she just turned and shut the door behind her.

I was left alone on the porch.

My phone had been buzzing in my pocket nonstop. I pulled it out and glanced at it. Pictures from Lila. I could vaguely see her pursed lips in the tiny thumbnail size photo on my screen. I didn’t bother to enlarge it. I didn’t want to talk to Lila. It was after eleven so I didn’t expect Chloe to start playing the piano and she didn’t. The light in the living room went out.

Stepping off the porch I kicked a clump of grass with my sandal. I wanted to punch something. I wanted to shatter glass, scream. Drink. Heavily. Until nothing mattered.

But then I remembered Chloe’s words.

You matter
.

At Aubrey’s I unlocked the door and came in the kitchen to find her sitting there leafing through a magazine, Emma nursing. Both of them looked half-asleep and cracked out.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she said, glancing back at me with disapproval. “I don’t have to ask where you’ve been, do I? Seriously, Ethan? I have to live here, you know.”

My sister’s voice sounded sleepy and irritated.

“Whatever,” I said, and opened the fridge. My hand was outstretched for a beer when I realized what I was doing and caught myself. I spun around and sat down hard on the other kitchen chair. Emma was making little sounds of contentment. I reached out and petted the back of her head, wanting to feel her soft hair.

Then I realized how close I was to Aubrey’s nipple and really wanted that drink again.

“We went for coffee. I told you, I can’t go to bed this early. It’s impossible. What’s the big deal?” Even as I said it, I knew what the big deal was. I knew exactly what the problem was.

“Don’t play stupid, it’s lame.” She blew her hair out of her eyes. “But okay. You’re clearly going to do whatever you want. And I can’t really say much about that. I’ve been known to do that myself.”

“Thanks. I guess.” I rubbed my jaw. “I don’t want to hurt Chloe. And I swear I’m not playing with her for my own amusement. I’m just… drifting, Aub. I don’t know what I’m doing. Then I see someone like her and I think, she manages to figure her shit out, but I can’t? It’s stupid.”

“Ethan. No one has their shit figured out. This is a fact. Are you happy bartending? If you are, then fuck ‘em.”

“I don’t think happy is the right word for it. I’m managing.”