Chapter Fourteen

Dawson

I've always thought Macy was beautiful. Ever since she first came through my door, looking for work, I've recognized her style and grace, not to mention her exquisite figure and perfect face. I was fairly sober when I interviewed her, although not as sober as I am now, and my opinion hasn't altered. She's still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

There's something different about her today, though.

And I wonder if that's because I'm looking at her through my own eyes, not ones that have been blurred by bourbon and vodka.

She seems brighter, even more alluring, and although I wasn't expecting her to come in early, I'm pleased she did. Just knowing she's here feels incredible. It's like this is where she belongs… and I like that. A lot.

Was that why I suggested we should eat together this afternoon? I can't be sure. It was something that occurred to me when she went into the break room, and I thought about the prospect of going upstairs by myself… and that if she belongs here, then I belong here with her. She was right, though, when she said we can't both absent ourselves. Not in the middle of the day. Then I remembered Stevie and I used to eat down here and I thought, why not? Why shouldn't I ask Macy to join me? Did I mean to tell her I'd rather stay down here with her than go upstairs? Probably not. But I liked her reaction. I liked the way she gasped and stared at me, and my only regret is that our moment had to be interrupted… by Maggie and Vanessa leaving for the day.

It didn't occur to me, until they were all standing around, looking at each other, that they'd never met. Maggie and Vanessa are usually long gone by the time Macy arrives, so I made all the introductions. They seemed to get along okay, although Maggie kept shooting me glances, which was probably because she'd overheard me asking Karl to fix the sandwiches, and I imagined she'd have put two and two together, and made four. Vanessa was busy talking to Ned while I was in the kitchen, and I'm grateful for that. Vanessa's much more of a gossip than Maggie, so at least my secret is safe for now. Not that I really care about keeping secrets. In fact, I don't care who knows about my feelings for Macy. It's just that I'd rather tell Macy about them myself before anyone else does.

Maybe that was why I asked her to join me… not so I could reveal how much she means to me. I'm not sure that would be wise. Not yet. But it would be good to talk, and maybe to finish the conversation we started this morning.

That was cut short by the arrival of her cab, and I regretted that. I didn't get the chance to thank her like I wanted… even though I hadn't worked out exactly what I was going to say. Something needed to be said, though. Just like I needed to be told I was wallowing.

I thought about that after she'd gone. It wasn't the first time I'd been told it, after all. But it was the first time I'd really heard the words… and paid attention.

Whether that was because I was sober, or because it was Macy talking to me, I still couldn't be sure. And to be honest, it didn't matter. What mattered was that I'd listened.

And when I sat down with my second cup of coffee – minus the bourbon – and thought through everything she'd said to me, I realized my future was in my hands. It was right in front of me, and for the first time in a very long time, it seemed worth grasping hold of… and never letting go.

It was a weird sensation, that made me more lightheaded than any amount of vodka ever could, and I regretted Macy's departure more than ever, because I wanted to tell someone. I wanted to describe how good it felt not to be overshadowed by the burdens of the past, and while I was desperate to share that, there were other things I needed to explain, too… not to Macy, but to someone else.

So, I called Tanner.

He answered promptly, and I opened the conversation with an overdue apology.

"Why are you saying sorry?" he said, which was hardly a surprise. I hadn't even bothered with a ‘hello'.

"Because…" I couldn't think what to say. Words that had come easily with Macy were stuck in my throat, so I said the first thing that came into my head. "Because it's not long until your wedding. I'm sure you've got better things to do than talk to me at this time of the morning."

"Not at all. The wedding's pretty much set, thanks to Peony, and the shop isn't exactly overloaded with customers either, thanks to the weather."

"It's bad, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but they're saying we're due for something warmer over the weekend."

"I hadn't heard that."

Probably because I've had other things to think about.

"Anyway, you don't need to apologize," he said. "If anything, you're doing me a favor. You're saving me from paperwork."

I knew how he felt, but I hadn't called to shoot the breeze. Far from it. I'd called for a reason.

"Even so," I said, swallowing down a gulp of coffee. "I owe you an apology."

"What for?"

The time had come to stop skirting around the truth.

"For being an asshole."

"When?"

"Since Stevie left. I've realized I've been wasting my life, when I should have been living it," I said, practically quoting Macy's words at him. "I've been a pain in the ass, to you, and just about everyone else I know… and I think I'd better practice saying sorry, and get good at it, because there are a lot of people out there who I need to say it to."

"I'm not one of them," he said. "You haven't been that bad."

"Yeah, I have."

"Well… we've all been there."

"Not like this." I decided I might as well come clean. "I—I've been drinking."

"We've all been there too," he said with a chuckle. "Hell, I've lost count of the number of times I've staggered back from your place and barely made it to my bed."

That comment was a little too close to home, but I sucked in a breath, needing to tell him how bad it had been, even if I couldn't reveal the worst of my humiliation.

"This is different," I said. "You're talking about coming here on a Sunday night to drown your sorrows after you've taken Nash back to Sabrina's place. I'm talking about my first drink of the day being the shot of bourbon in my morning coffee."

"The what?"

I ignored his interruption because I knew he'd heard me. The shock in his voice gave that away, and he still didn't know the worst. "By lunchtime, I'd switch to vodka. Neat. It looks like water, so I knew no-one would guess, although sometimes I used to add tonic, if I couldn't sneak any vodka into my glass… because I knew someone like you might have been watching."

"And you didn't think that someone like me could have helped you?" he said, sounding angry. "You didn't think of coming to me, instead of turning to the bottle in the first place?"

"Why do you think I'm having this conversation over the phone, and not face-to-face? It's hard to admit what I was doing, even to you. And I didn't feel I could trouble you with my problems when you were going through the same things with Sabrina – only worse – and yet handling it so much better."

"You think?" he said. "I wasn't handling it very well at all… not at the beginning. And besides, it's not a contest in dealing with break-ups."

"I guess."

He let out a long sigh, and I imagined him shaking his head. "You're talking in the past tense, like this is something you used to do. Does that, and the fact that we're having this conversation, mean you've stopped?"

"Yeah, it does, although stopping isn't as easy as I thought it might be. Today is my first day of sobriety, and to be honest, my head hurts, my stomach feels really weird, and the surface of my tongue feels like sand."

"I think that's called withdrawal."

"I don't care what it's called. It sucks."

"You'll stick with it, though, won't you?"

"Of course."

"Glad to hear it," he said, and I half expected him to threaten me with something hideous if I didn't. After a brief pause, he surprised me by saying, "So, what's changed?"

"Nothing's changed."

"Really? You've just given up drinking and put yourself through the torture of withdrawal for no reason?"

"I wouldn't call it torture. It's—"

"Stick to the topic, Dawson. Why are you doing this?"

"Do I need a reason?"

"Yes. If it's gonna work. Yes, you do. You need a purpose, a goal… something to focus on when the need to reach for the bottle gets too much."

"You don't think waking up to myself is enough?"

"It is, but why have you woken up to yourself all of a sudden?" he said, and then the line went quiet before he murmured. "Oh… have you met someone?"

I pushed my cup away, wondering how he'd worked it out, although I wasn't going to admit to anything. Not yet. "What on earth would make you think that?"

"Nothing," he said. "I was just wondering. But if you say you haven't, then…"

"I didn't say that."

"So you have?"

"I don't know. I'm still trying to work it out."

"With her, or with yourself?"

"Mostly with her."

"Okay," he said. "What's holding you back as far as you're concerned? Is it your trust issues?"

I shook my head, a smile touching at my lips for the first time in ages. It was an odd sensation, but I liked it, and I sat forward. "Do you know, I haven't even thought about trust."

"Then that means she's right. If you don't need to think about trusting her, she's the one."

"I thought Stevie was the one," I said. It was an automatic reaction, but I felt it needed to be said. I may have decided to grasp my future, but I was still confused about my past and I thought putting that out there might help. Tanner understood what it felt like to start again. I hoped maybe he could help me understand it, too.

"I thought you said you'd woken up to yourself about her," he said, which was just what I needed. Someone to make me question myself.

"I have, but that doesn't mean I understand what happened, or what I did wrong."

"Who said you did anything wrong? Even Stevie admitted it wasn't your fault."

"I know she did. But how can it not be my fault? She left me. How can I be sure I won't make the same mistakes again?" With Macy.

"Why do you think the mistakes must have been yours?" he said. "And who even says there were any mistakes in the first place? This is the problem with Stevie having left you with so many unanswered questions."

"I know. I can't help thinking it might have been easier if she'd just explained."

"Maybe she couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Well… has it occurred to you that maybe the relationship had run its course for her? You'd been together since you were kids, and maybe she'd just reached the end of the road with you."

"Thanks."

"It's not a bad thing, man. It could mean that what's happening to you now is that you're getting to the same place. You've realized the relationship with Stevie has run its course too… and maybe that's why you've opened yourself up to meeting someone else."

"I told you, I'm not sure I have met someone else."

"Okay, but you've decided to put the past behind you, right?"

"Yes."

"Thank fuck for that… because I promise you, the future is a lot brighter. My relationship with Sabrina became toxic by the end, but it wasn't always that way. You know that. We were happy once. But I can honestly say that nothing I ever had with her compares to what I've got with Zara. Not one thing."

"So it's better the second time around?"

"I can't speak for everyone, but it certainly is for me."

"You don't regret it?"

"I regret the way things ended between me and Sabrina, and I wish we could get along better… for Nash's sake, if nothing else. But as for everything else? No, I don't regret a damn thing. I'm happier with Zara than I've ever been before. Why? Do you regret what happened with Stevie?"

I remembered Macy asking me the same question, and I gave Tanner the same answer. "I used to, but not anymore."

"Because you've met someone else?"

"You keep saying that, and I'll keep repeating, I'm not sure I have. Not yet."

"Well, don't take too long making your mind up."

"Why not?"

"Because you're not getting any younger."

We both laughed. I couldn't remember the last time I'd done that, but it felt good, and we ended our call on a high, him promising to come into the bar sometime soon. I didn't tell him that would give him an opportunity to meet ‘the one'. I knew he'd work it out for himself the moment he saw her.

Our conversation helped. It reminded me that working out the past isn't always what counts. Sometimes you just have to let it go, and deal with the present… and the future.

And at least I actually have a future… or the chance at one. One worth holding on to.

Talking to him also reminded me that, even though I've contemplated his wedding night, and what I want to do about it, I haven't come up with any ideas yet. That's mostly because I've been too drunk to think straight, although that's not a problem anymore, so I need to sit down and think it through.

But not today.

Today, I've got other things on my mind.

Like taking a break this afternoon with Macy, and what we're going to talk about when we do. I know we could continue our conversation from this morning. I think we need to. Just not right now. I don't want her to think I can't talk about anything other than the past. Sure, we need to finish what we started, but there are other things to life, and it would be nice just to talk, to get to know her and let her see the real me… not the guy who's spent too long hiding from himself.

I wait for Macy to sit in the booth right at the back of the bar, then take a seat opposite her. Karl's made one of my favorites… his speciality pulled pork sandwich, with cheddar cheese, lettuce, onion, pickles and a spicy mayonnaise, which he's served with a salad on the side. I wasn't expecting anything so lavish, which I guess means Maggie wasn't the only one to hazard a guess that something might be going on between Macy and me.

Not that it is… yet.

I've poured us both a mineral water, but Macy was in the restroom when I did that and I notice her studying my glass, presumably wondering how much of it is vodka.

The answer would be none of it, but I don't want to just tell her that. I'd rather she found out for herself. I think it'll mean so much more

At least, I hope it will.

"It's good that it hasn't snowed anymore," she says, taking a sip from her glass.

"No, but it's due to tonight, I believe. Although I've heard the weather is supposed to warm up over the weekend."

"That's good. Hopefully, business will pick up."

She glances around the deserted bar, and I follow her gaze. "I'm not worried. This time of the year is always pretty slow. But it'll be okay. It always is."

She nods her head and picks up her sandwich, taking a bite and then pulling a face, wrinkling her nose and shuddering slightly as she chews.

"Is something wrong?" I ask, watching as she puts the sandwich down again and takes off the top slice of bread.

"No. It's just that I hate pickles."

I smile. "Oh. Sorry."

"Why? You weren't to know."

She pulls them out of the sandwich and seems unsure what to do with them, when I open up mine and hold out my plate. "I'll have them."

She chuckles, and loads up my sandwich, shaking her head. "That's a wrong thing."

"Why?"

"They're so overpowering. You won't be able to taste anything else."

"Then it's just as well I like pickles."

She nods her head, her lips twisting upward, as she rebuilds her sandwich and takes a second bite.

"That's better," she says.

"Is there anything else you don't like eating?" I ask, keen to keep our conversation going, and to learn something about her, even if it's only trivia.

"Not really… although I wouldn't care if I never saw banana bread again."

"Banana bread?" I say, taking a bite of my sandwich. "Is that because you don't like bananas?"

"No. It's because my mom made it once when I was younger… and it was the worst thing I've ever eaten."

"Why? What was wrong with it?"

"She used salt instead of sugar."

"That sounds disgusting."

"Yeah. My mom's never had the same culinary skills as Aunt Bernie, but she tries, bless her." She rolls her eyes, and I have to smile… again. Macy tips her head to one side, like she's surprised my lips are capable of turning upward. I can't blame her for that, though. She's never seen me smile before today.

"Bernie's cakes are legendary," I say, sticking to our topic.

"They are." She puts down her sandwich and takes another sip of water. "What about you?" she says. "Do you have any foods you really hate to eat?"

"Only mac and cheese."

"Mac and cheese? But that's one of the best creations in the world."

"I know. My dislike of it is purely psychological."

Her brow furrows, although she's still smiling. "Why?"

I realize I've talked myself into a corner, and even though I don't want to mention the past – at least not mine – I've left myself with no option.

"It was on the day Stevie and I first moved here. As you know, we had to live in what is now my bedroom, but I managed to lay some wood over the holes in the floor of the main room so we could at least use the kitchen… such as it was. There was a sink, and a few cabinets, with the doors hanging off, and a stove that was as old as time. What we didn't realize, though, was that the whole damn thing used to get boiling hot, even if you just lit a burner. I offered to cook because Stevie was exhausted, and I thought I'd keep it simple and make us some mac and cheese. I'd just taken a shower, and I—I wasn't wearing anything at the time, and…" I stop talking, wondering how she'll react to that, but all she does is smile, and try not to laugh.

"W—What happened?" she says, still struggling.

"Let's just say I wound up with a blister in a very painful place."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. I've never been able to look at mac and cheese in the same way since."

She laughs, and I stare at her beautiful face and feel my body relax. Not just because Macy didn't make that awkward, but because I think that might have been the first time I've mentioned Stevie's name and not thought about her leaving me… and that feels good. It's certainly different. And different is definitely good.

"What about if someone else makes it for you?" she asks.

I shake my head, finishing the last bite of my sandwich. "The associations are still there, and they're enough to make my eyes water."

She laughs again, and I'm tempted to join in, although at that moment, the door opens and three people walk in. They're wrapped up against the cold, and take a moment undoing scarves, and pulling off hats.

"I'll go," Macy says, sliding to the edge of her seat.

"No." I reach over and grab her hand, halting her, and we stare at each other for a moment. "Finish your sandwich. I'll go."

She looks into my eyes for a heart-stopping second and then nods her head. "Okay. Thanks."

"You really don't have to thank me, Macy. I've had a great time."

"So have I," she says, although she bites on her lip as she says the last word, like she didn't mean to say that. Even so, it's out there now and I'm gonna make the most of that.

I get to my feet, leaning in to her. "Good," I whisper. "We'll have to do it again."

She looks up at me, and although she doesn't move, I can see a sparkle in her eyes, which has to be a good sign, doesn't it?

It's been an odd evening. It hasn't been busy, but we've had a steady flow of customers, which unfortunately, has meant Macy and I haven't been able to talk. Not for any great length of time, anyway.

That said, I'll admit, I've found it more difficult than I expected, just to get through the last few hours. Physically, I've been feeling progressively better all day. My tongue stopped feeling like sand by mid-morning, and my stomach ceased churning at around lunchtime. Even the headache has subsided, but the problem is I haven't been this sober for years, and I'm just not used to it. I've made a few mistakes with orders, and marveled at how I seem to be able to operate better when I'm drunk than I do when I'm sober.

Still, I'm sure I'll get used to it.

I wasn't always a drunk, after all.

"That was busier than I expected," Macy says as I lock the door, having seen out the last of our customers.

"It was." I turn to face her, noticing that she's wiping down the bar. We've stayed on top of most of the clearing up, and I grab the last stray glasses as I make my way back to her. "Do you wanna stay for coffee?" I ask, unable to conceal my disappointment when she shakes her head.

"I can't."

For someone who agreed that she'd had a great time with me earlier, she seems really keen to leave, and I wonder if I read that all wrong… if being sober has other disadvantages. Like not understanding what people are saying, even when their meaning seems clear.

She puts down the cloth she's been holding, and comes out from behind the bar, heading straight for the break room, and while I know I ought to let her go, I can't.

"Macy?"

She stops, hesitates for a second, and then turns around. "Yes?"

It's clear she's not gonna re-trace her steps, so I walk over to her, looking down into her upturned face. It's darker back here, but I can still make out that sparkle in her eyes, although I do my best not to read anything into it this time.

"I'm not looking to hold you up, but there are things I need to say."

"There are?" She looks confused, and I step closer.

"Yeah. We didn't finish our conversation this morning."

Despite the dim lighting, I can see a blush forming on her cheeks. "Didn't we? I thought we did. And we talked earlier, while we were eating."

It sounds like she's confused about why I didn't conclude our conversation over our meal… and I guess she has a point. Except I didn't want to talk about it then, and I need to now.

"I know we talked, Macy, but that wasn't about anything important."

"Maybe not, but I really should get home, and I don't want to interrupt the rest of your evening."

"If that's a subtle way of saying you don't want to stop me from drinking away the rest of the night, you don't need to worry. My drinking days are over."

She takes a half step back, tilting her head and studying my face. "Really?" she says, like she doesn't believe me.

"Yes, really."

"Okay." She shrugs her shoulders and turns to walk away, but I grab her arm, pulling her back.

"Why don't you believe me?"

"I do," she says, with so little conviction, it hurts. "And I'm pleased for you, if you mean it."

"I mean it." I stare into her eyes until she nods her head. "Why don't you wanna stay, Macy? I—I thought you liked me."

"I do," she says, raising her voice a little, which takes me by surprise. "I do like you, Dawson. But I can't stay."

"You can't?"

"No. It would be a really bad idea."

"Why?"

"Because… because it would."

That's not even an answer, but before I can say anything, she pulls her arm free and runs for the break room, bolting through the door and letting it slam closed behind her.

I know being sober is doing weird things to me, but I'm not sure any of that made sense. Why would spending time with me be such a bad idea? She just admitted she likes me, and that's good, not bad. It sure feels good to me. Except she ran away… again. She keeps doing that, and I don't care how much of a bad idea it is, I want to know why.