“Because two people is hardly a party.” I glanced over at him and shot him a quick smile. I knew that his friendship withSimon was still on the rocks for some reason and was taking its toll.
“What?”
“It’s just you and me tonight, baby brother. We’re going to go to The Anchor so you can kick my ass at pool, we’ll throw some darts, and we’re going to have a couple drinks. We’re not going to get loaded. At least, I’m not. But you do you.”
“Sometimes I don’t hate you.” Nigel’s voice was full of warmth and his features relaxed as relief washed through him.
“Sometimes I tolerate you too.”
We were quiet all the way to the bar. Nigel seemed to need a few minutes to gather his thoughts, and I let him have them. There was something wrong, and I would bet it had to do with Simon’s absence from his life. I hoped that tonight we could talk about that a little, and maybe I could help him get to the bottom of it.
The Anchor wasn’t packed, but it wasn’t empty either. Which was good because the atmosphere of an empty bar wasn’t going to help Nigel feel like he could open up to me. An empty bar was worse than a full one because there were only so many things to keep your attention when there weren’t any other people around. You couldn’t disappear in a crowd when there was no crowd to begin with.
We found an empty table tucked in the corner away from the bathrooms. I swung by the bar and grabbed a couple of beers for us. Nigel still didn’t look any happier when I gave him his drink. Sliding into the chair across from him, I took a sip of my beer.
“What’s going on, Nigh?” I asked, shortening his name like I did when we were kids.
“It’s just—nothing.” Nigel took a sip of his beer, then another one. And a third larger swallow. By the time he was done, his beer was half gone.
“Thirsty?” My gaze flicked to his drink then back up to his face. In not so many words, I was calling him on his shit. His lie was obvious. There was something bothering him.
“It’s a party, right? I’m doing party things. People drink at parties.”
“Nigel, this party can quickly turn into an intervention if you don’t stop acting like a buttface.”
“I’m sorry.” Nigel sat back and glared at me incredulously. “Did you just call me a buttface?”
“If the buttface fits.”
“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.” He tried to sound all serious, but he was smiling now, so that was something. “Are you twelve?”
“Talk to me, buttface,” I said, ignoring his question.
Nigel looked down at his drink. He picked at the label on the bottle like he might find the answers he was looking for on the back of it.
“I love my fiancé, but I miss Simon so much I can’t breathe sometimes. And I can’t figure out what that means because Simon’s the one who left. He’s the one who put an axe in my chest. I shouldn’t miss him the way I do.”
In my opinion, it was clear Nigel and Simon had feelings for each other, and they were being stupid about it. Nigel, by pretending that he could keep Simon as a friend by keeping him as only a friend. And Simon, by not knocking my brother over the head and dragging him to some secret, remote cave somewhere.
It had to be hell for Simon to watch Nigel jump into relationship after relationship like he was trying to find the person who could perfectly mend all the cracks inside of him.
“It’s normal to miss someone. Especially when they used to have such a big role in your life, and now that’s different. That’s a lot of change to get used to.”
He heaved a sigh and I decided that a change of topic might be the best course of action. He didn’t seem to want to talk about Simon, or his fiancé, or the upcoming wedding.
“I’ll have you know that after years and years of sporadic practice, I’m still shit at pool. So if you wanted to play me, you’d have to accept the fact that I am going to lose. I probably won't even be good competition.”
For the first time that night, Nigel cracked a smile. “You’re on, old man. I don’t suppose you want to put any money on this game?”
“You’d be right about that. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
The first game was a massacre. Nigel let me break, and I managed to sink a lucky shot, but I missed my next one. He sank a couple of his striped balls before missing a shot, and that next turn was my last. Nigel systematically cleared the table.
“Eight ball, corner pocket.” He took the shot but it looked like he didn’t hit the cue ball hard enough so when it tapped the eight ball, it almost didn’t hit it hard enough to make it go in. It slowly rolled to the pocket and teetered on the edge before gravity won out and the eight ball disappeared into the pocket. Game over.
“How about darts? I’m not quite as horrible at darts, and you’re not quite as good at darts as you are at pool. I might stand half a chance.”
“Just for that, I’m going to stop holding back.”
