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I shouldn’t be surprised by Brooklyn’s reply. She loves history of every kind. I’ve learned that over the last month. She loves old TV shows (older than me), and she’s as likely to listen to big band music as she is contemporary hits. Why should movies be different? I love old movies. I spent more Sunday afternoons than I could count watching them with my Nana. There are few things I enjoy more than spending a chilly afternoon sipping a cup of hot cocoa underneath a warm blanket with a movie from the forties or fifties playing on the television.
“Are you sure you have the time?” I ask her.
“I don’t have anywhere to be until eight.”
Eight. I wonder what her plans are tonight? I don’t have to wait long to get the answer.
“My sister and her husband have a holiday party. I promised I would babysit.”
The sense of relief I feel is completely inappropriate. I hop from the couch. “Cocoa?”
“Another cup of cocoa?” Brooklyn asks playfully.
“Brooklyn,” I begin seriously. “There are three things in life you can never have too much of: Whiskey, cocoa, and—”
“Sex?”
“You mean with other people?” I quip.
A howl of laughter erupts from Brooklyn.
I shrug.
“You are too much, Carter,” she says. “What is the third?”
“Laughter.”
“Well, I guess I can thank you for keeping me stocked in all three.”
Her reply is warm and heartfelt. “Happy to do my part,” I tell her. It’s not the first moment I’ve been struck with an awareness that I’d do just about anything to see Brooklyn Brady smile. I won’t tell her that.
“And you do it well,” she says affectionately.
Somehow, I don’t think I’ll be able to hide my feelings behind whiskey, cocoa, humor, and old movies forever. There’s only one solution—step back. Not today. Call it my birthday present to myself. Today, I’m going to enjoy every moment with Brooklyn. “Not today,” I mutter. Not today.
***
December 21st
“Come on, Carter. You’ll have a good time.”
Dixon’s holiday parties are not my idea of a “good time.” Granted, the alcohol is free-flowing, and the food is always good. Ali is also always on the prowl for a girlfriend. Dixon is a lesbian magnet. I’m not joking. Eighty percent of his female friends are lesbians. And he wonders why he can’t get a date? The death of the lesbian bar has been resurrected in Jack Dixon’s living room. It’s a fact. I think some of it stems from his infatuation with Ali. Maybe I’m too hard on Dixon. It sucks—being in love with a person who doesn’t love you back. Not the way you want them to. That makes me think; maybe if Dixon and I combined our talents—mine for falling in love with straight women (done that a few times) and his for falling for lesbians, maybe we’d both find our match. Or not.
“I don’t know, Ali.”
“Why not? You’re not working on a deadline. You’re not working at all.”
I’m almost sorry I’m not facing a deadline. I could use an excuse to escape Dixon’s Annual Festivus Fiasco. I’m not in a celebratory mood this year. I’m not depressed either. I go through a period I call “funk time,” every time I finish a book. There’s a sense of relief and an emotional high when I submit my manuscript which is followed by a fast and furious plunge. The same thing happens after a book release. If I decline this invitation, Ali will assume it’s because of Brooklyn. It’s not. I haven’t seen Brooklyn since my birthday. We’ve had several long phone conversations, and we text a few times a day. I’m grateful for a bit of distance. I hated watching her leave last weekend. It filled me with a sense of loss and dread. I love spending time with Brooklyn. Knowing that she’s spending time with another woman enjoying whiskey, cocoa, laughter, and sex plagues my thoughts. Worse, I miss her. This is the first week I’ve gone without seeing Brooklyn in over a month. Pathetic. Maybe a little distance over the holidays will help me regain my perspective if not my heart. With any luck, my writer’s funk and my Brooklyn blues will pass at the same time.
“Okay, I’ll go,” I tell Ali.
“Good. You’ll have fun. You never want to go, and you always have a good time when you get there.”
Ali’s observation is neither completely accurate nor entirely false. I’ve always been able to make the best of situations. That often creates the illusion that I’m enjoying myself. I don’t mind attending Dixon’s gatherings. He does have interesting and outgoing friends. I would never deny that. Dixon has always been kind to me. I always feel a bit out of place at his parties. His friendship with Ali differs from the one Ali and I share. I know Ali isn’t interested in him romantically, but I confess I’ve wondered a few times if she should consider giving it a try with Jack Dixon. I know she will never do that. I understand. She likes to pretend all she wants is a sexy woman to take to bed. Ali is a romantic at heart. She wants a relationship—someone to come home to at night. And she’s always hoped for a family. I get it. Getting involved with Dixon would be the ultimate compromise. Ali would never do that—not to herself and not to Jack.
Ali’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “Out of curiosity—"
I know where this is going.
