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Allison returns and places a large tumbler of brown alcohol nectar on the table in front of me, just as the silence between Mark and me begins to feel awkward. “A triple, just like the doctor ordered,” she says. “Can I get you anything?” she continues, looking at Mark.
“No, thanks. I’m fine,” he answers.
I thank Allison for the drink, and we share a mutual smile as she turns to find another table in need, her hips swaying as she leaves. I can’t help but stare at her ass.
Finally, a slight sign of life from Mark as he raises an eyebrow. “Liking what you see?”
I shake my head. “Man, I wish I had less morals sometimes. She’s like eighteen.”
“That used to be your type.”
I quiver at the thought. “Just feels dirty now.”
“Look at you.” A small grin grows on Mark’s face. “Maybe mister All Star will settle down after all.”
“Meh, doubtful.” My lips pucker as I take a sip of the whiskey. It’s hot and comfortingly smooth at the same time.
“How’s Julie?” I ask, setting the glass down on the table.
Mark leans back into the opposite corner of the booth and shrugs. “More likely to approve of us hanging out if you had a girl on your arm.”
“Right. Like that’s ever going to happen.”
“You know how she is. She just doesn’t like the strip club scene.”
What he means is that she just doesn’t like me. I can’t blame her, really. When Mark and Julie got married, I was in a bad way. I was hanging around with the wrong people. Doing cocaine. Drinking way too much. Pretty much on a downward death spiral. Giving the best man’s speech in a drunken stupor at their wedding was the clincher, I’m sure.
I’ve pulled myself out of that hole over the past year, but she still doesn’t forgive. I get it.
Another beat of silence passes between us, this one heavier, accentuated by a tension that never existed between Mark and me. Mostly, he didn’t bother me with Julie’s ill feelings toward me, even if he had to deal with it at home.
“Oh, before I forget.” The envelope is folded inside my jacket pocket, and as usual, I’m subtle as I remove it, keeping it tucked beneath my palm as I slide it across the table.
He straightens up, his jaw clenching, eyes honing in on the envelope, not blinking.
Why does he always look like I’ve slapped him in the face or like I’m serving him with divorce papers? Like this is a penalty and not something I sincerely want to do, or something that’s beneficial to him.
He snatches the envelope from the table and glances around the bar, eyes darting side to side as if he’s afraid of getting caught. Anyone watching Mark’s reaction would think they had just witnessed a drug deal, and it’s so amusing I have to stifle a laugh.
Mark tucks the envelope into his jacket. “Thank you, man. Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Mark. You’re my best friend.”
Unlike the last time, his gaze lands on mine and I can’t look away. Sorrow and embarrassment play out a battle on his face. “No. Seriously, Jamie. Really. Thank you.”
It hurts to feel the weight in his voice. It sounds so different from the Mark I grew up with. All the joy and excitement drained from his aura. My money helps to ease some of his stress, but it doesn’t even touch the immensity of the anguish he must be going through. I can’t fix that, and confronting it head on feels like bugs skittering under my skin.
I like it better when he doesn’t look at me.
My next gulp of whiskey goes down the wrong pipe and nearly makes me gag. “Enough. Don’t say it.”
The following silence is too heavy to ignore. Of all the people who have passed through my life, Mark is the one I will always help. No questions asked. In many ways, he saved me, and offering him financial support is the right thing to do. Giving him money isn’t what bothers me… I’d give him more if he would take it.
But he won’t.
Because things have changed over the past few years between us. We’re no longer two friends reconnecting, helping each other out. This is a business transaction, one defined by a white envelope that contains the tension of things unsaid.
There’s an emptiness in my life, and it’s a shallow space filled with relationships that only skim the surface. Part of me hopes every time I see Mark that we’ll rewind time, back to when being together felt less formal, back to a time when it was more than just money that connected us, when we had a deep bond that only brothers share.
