My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and I don’t have to take it out to know who it is. The device vibrates to the beat of “Backwoods Barbie” by Dolly Parton. She set it two years ago after she went through yet another hard breakup when I didn’t answer the call on her first try. Hence the special ringtone so I always know it’s her calling and can pick up.
And I’ll pick up.
Every time.
Because she’s my best friend, and I’ll always be there for Hadley Dawson. Even if I am a zombie fromThe Walking Dead.
“Braxton! Did you make it home?” she asks as soon as I answer the phone. Her breathy voice sends shivers down my spine. I’ve learned to control the reaction, for the most part. But I’m dead tired and have lost my will to restrain myself.
“Hey.” I clear my throat. It’s scratchy like when I first wake up in the morning. Must have been the energy drinks. That six-hour drive from the port back to Juniper Grove, Mississippi, was a doozy. “Walking into my house now, Bully,” I say, using the childhood nickname I gave her because she has the attitude of a feisty female bulldog. She was rightfully offended the first time I said it. But now, I think she secretly likes it. At the very least, she no longer scowls and attempts to beat me up when I use it.
“Oh, you probably want to go to sleep,” she begins. The typical argument goes like this—she’ll apologize for calling at ten o’clock at night. I’ll tell her it's okay because I’ll be up for a while anyway (even though that’s not true). Hadley will make a second attempt to apologize by asking, “Are you sure?” and then I’ll say, “I’m sure.” We will stay on the phone for an hour, maybe two, while she tells me everything that happened while I was gone for the month as if she hadn’t been texting and calling me the entire time I was on the hitch.
I don’t mind it.
Because I’m in love with her.
I’m a fool who is completely enamored by his complicated, unavailable best friend.
The conversation goes as expected, though I can’t help but feel like she is holding something back from me by the way she’s being extra sweet. Hadley, though one of the kindest, most generous people I know, likes to let her fighter side out with me. When she’s sweet, I get suspicious, but I was too tired to pry tonight. We hang up after only twenty minutes this time. I wish I can say that I drifted off into sleep, but the reality?
I dive straight into dreamland where Hadley looks at me less as her loyal dog-like best friend and more like her Fabio-esque lover. A place where her kisses bring me to my knees in worship to God for the creation in front of me.
People say a man and woman can’t be best friends without wanting more…
They’re right.
Thecupofblackcoffee warms my soul and brings light back to my eyes after sleeping in after a long night. It’s eleven in the morning, and I woke up an hour ago to someone banging on my front door. My dad, Braxton Lane Rawls Sr., the notorious door-banger, sits across from me sipping on his own black coffee. I reflect on the similarities between Dad and me. We both sport dark, thick hair, though his has thinned and has the salt and pepper look now. He keeps a trimmed beard covering his cheeks and lips, as do I when I’m off the rig. We even sit the same way—leaned back in our respective chairs, legs splayed out. My height and body build come from him, but my lips, ears, and facial structure belong to my mom. A pinch of sadness always pricks me when I look in the mirror and see her features staring back. It’s been two grief-filled years of not having her around. Cancer takes even the good ones.
“Well, son. How was your hitch?” Dad asks, one dark eyebrow raising as his green eyes search mine. I inwardly groan because I know exactly where this is going. He has been on me since Mom died to get a job that will keep me home more. One that doesn’t take me out on the ocean for a month at a time. One that secures my safety…in his mind.
“Hard work as always,” I state.
“You know, you could do well in a job that keeps you home. Maybe an office job. Or a political career. You’ve got the brains for it.” I don’t argue anymore. I sit back in my chair, prepared to deliver the usual line.
“I know, Dad. But I like hands-on work. You and Mom taught me that. And it pays well.” Not a whole lie. It does pay well, and I enjoy hands-on work. But I don’t enjoy offshore life per se. I would go madder than a hatter if I was stuck in an office all day, and though I stay tuned into politics, I would never throw myself into the lion’s den of the political arena.
“I’m just saying, son.” He throws his hands up in defense. “Look, Patton Harrison told me the other day that NAVO was hiring for—“
“Dad,” I warn, giving him the look that saysyou-won’t-win-this. When will he realize this is my life and not his? “I don’t want a desk job in the oceanographic field.”
“What about taking Michael up on his offer to join his construction company?” I think back to my brother-in-law’s offer prior to this month’s hitch. Honestly, it was enticing. He would hire me to be the architect of a line of log houses, similar to my own. I would have to go back to school for a degree though. I’m not opposed to school. I’m actually an avid learner, but it wouldn’t be feasible to go back to school at the age of twenty-nine. I’ll be thirty in a few months, so I need to remain settled… Stick to life’s current direction.
I sigh, letting my head fall toward my chest before answering Dad. “I’m happy where I’m at.” Again, not a full lie, but just enough to get him off my case for now.
“Just be safe out there, son.” He shakes his head once, picking up his black coffee for another sip. I join him and redirect the conversation to Thursday Night Football while we make bets on the final score of the game tonight. The New Orleans Saints have it in the bag against Detroit.
While talking about past games, my phone buzzes with Hadley’s text pattern. It’s a series of vibrations in quick three-toned beats. I have no idea what it is supposed to be, but when it comes to Hadley Dawson, it’s easier to just roll with things.
Bully:Wanna watch thegame tonight at my place?
Me:Dad is over. My place?
Bully:Sure. I’ll make that limeade punch you like!
Me:Great. I got the *taco emoji* stuff
Bully:*zany face emoji*
