Page 37 of Until Next Time
“Birdie. I walked away from that crash with a few scars. But my mom—she lost her life. My father lost the love of his. Because of my mess. And to make it even worse, the drunk driver that hit us was one of the drunks at the bar that I picked a fight with that night.”
He rubs his thumb and forefinger over his brows. And I feel wet leaking from my eyes. I remove my hand from his knee to wipe away a few escaped tears. It’s gone quiet and I don’t wantto say the wrong thing, but I’m not even sure there’s a right thing to say.
“That girl at the bar. What happened with her?” I press for another piece of information.
He glances at me quickly with an unreadable expression, “The bartender was made aware of the situation because of the fight, so he made sure she got home safely.”
“Everything that happened was shit, Dawsen. You don’t deserve what happened, but she’s so lucky you were there. You protected her, Dawsen.” I say, feeling heartbroken for him.
He does a quick sniffle, sits up a bit straighter and huffs out, “Ha, well, I don’t know about that. But yeah, that’s the story of how I fucked up our lives.” He says in a self deprecating tone, where I can tell he’s trying to shift the mood into something a bit lighter. Dark humor. I know it well.
There’s a silence in the cab of the truck that is saying so much. I know that he wants to talk about anything other than this, so I respect that and move along.
I reach down and unzip the snack bag and see that he packed pretzels, salt and vinegar chips, some beef jerky and one box of Mike and Ikes. Oh, and one pack of Reese’s peanut butter cups. Which I know are for him. Those are his favorite.
Without saying anything, I pull out the peanut butter cups, tear open the wrapper and lean over the bench seat. I playfully bring the peanut butter cup to his mouth and touch it to his lips. He smirks, and pops it into his mouth. I stay there for a minute, mere inches from him so that he can feel the seriousness in my tone.
“For the record, You fucked nothing up. Life can be shit sometimes, and your mom would be so proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished, and your mom would be proud of you for what you did for that girl at the bar too. I know I am.” Idon’t want him to rebuttal or say anything back, so I quickly grab my phone and say, “Okay, It’s time for a new playlist.”
He looks over at me and just smiles. Not with his mouth, but with his eyes. I know those eyes. His smiling eyes are my favorite.
26
Dawsen
We’ve made it almost all the way through Birdie’s “Unlikely Friends” playlist, just as we’re approaching a coffee shop that I mapped ahead of time. We’re only about fifteen minutes away from our destination, but if I know anything about Birdie, it’s that she always wants a coffee, and I know she’s going to love this place particularly.
It’s new to Munsen, and it’s been getting a lot of attention because they give back to different charities each month. They’re also into all that hipster coffee bullshit that I know she loves.
Birdie has her feet pulled up with her on the seat, and she’s tapping her fingers to the beat of the music on her knees, humming while staring out the window.
What I wouldn’t give to know what’s going through that brain of hers.
I veer off to the right, heading towards the exit.
“Where are we going?” Birdie rearranges her feet on the seat and turns her body towards me, knowing that we’re most definitely taking a detour.
I can’t help but just smirk, knowing she hates not knowing what’s going on.
“You’ll see.” I say, eyes on the road. I hear her scoff in frustration. “Dawsen. Are you kidnapping me? Where are we going?”
I glance over at her and roll my eyes.
“Yeah Birdie. I’m kidnapping you and taking you to your new favorite place. Just relax, would you?”
She crosses her arms like she’s pouting. “Ooh, my new favorite place you say? And what makes you an expert on my favorite places?” She says playfully, readjusting in her seat—again.
God, she’s distracting.
“I’ve known you since you were a kid, Birdie. I think I know a little bit about you.” I say, somewhat boastfully. Birdie makes enough comments to me about not really knowing her, which makes me so frustrated, because I know her. Fuck, I mean, I’ve tried not knowing her. I’ve tried to forget her crazy outfits, her coffee order, her weird nervous habits and I’ve definitely tried to forget the way she always smells like a damn cupcake. It feels like she tries so damn hard to convince me that we’re strangers, when I’ve known her the better part of my life. I mean yeah, she’s been away for a few years, but my heart has never not raced at the mention of her name. So yeah, I know Birdie Banks. She’s my favorite thing to know. And it might be the death of me when someone guy claims her as his own. And I wish to God that I could be that guy. And it fucking kills me knowing I won’t be. Cause God, what I wouldn’t do for this woman.
“Hmm, fair point. Okay, well let’s see what you got, Jones.” She slides her sunglasses onto her face from the top of her head.She pulls down the visor of my truck and pops open the mirror. She takes herself in, messing with her hair and makeup. She reaches into her bag and grabs a tube of chap stick and swipes it across her lips. It’s in that moment that I realize how much of a hazard it is to drive with this woman.
So distracting.
* * *
I pull into the small parking lot of the coffee shop. It’s a small white brick building that stands alone on the outskirts of an old downtown area. The building is worn and old, but you can tell it’s well maintained. They have green vines growing on the side of it, with beautiful rich bricks paving the lot. There are large pots filled with plants around the entire perimeter of the building and quaint bistro tables placed aesthetically on their outdoor patio. There are locals reading newspapers and sipping from blue ceramic mugs, and there are dogs laying nearby their owners, and a water dish set out by the cafe doors.
