Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

OLIVER

I t’s been awkward, to say the least. The storm has worsened as the hours have passed. We ate dinner and are currently watching TV. No one has spoken much.

Simon is lounging on the loveseat nearby and Kent is propped up in the recliner. Melanie occupies the sofa with me, but we’re sitting on opposite sides of it. I don’t want to crowd her. We’re in a tough spot with what happened last night. Kent, Simon, and I are antsy to know how Melanie feels about us, but she’s probably struggling the most.

Even though my relationship with my ex-wife wasn’t as love-filled as I’m sure hers was, it was still hard for me to adjust to starting over.

The lights flicker in the room. With night upon us, I can no longer see outside, but I can hear it. Wind whistles against the house; branches scratch the windows. We haven’t started the fireplace yet, but it’s ready to go when we need it.

Melanie sighs.

Frowning, I ask, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Her response is quick and obviously done on reflex.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“We’re going to have to discuss it eventually,” Simon chimes in.

I cringe. I wasn’t sure if she was stressed about the storm or last night, but Simon’s definitely referring to the latter. Pushing her, especially when there’s nowhere to escape, isn’t the best idea. It could cause Melanie to make a hasty decision, one that isn’t in our favor.

“I understand that,” Melanie says. “But I’m not interested in doing it right now.”

Simon sits up. “Then when?”

“Simon,” I warn. He needs to let it go for now.

“No,” he insists. “We’re adults, and I want to know why this can’t be discussed now. Putting it off isn’t going to help.”

It might.

Melanie narrows her eyes. “Since when do you care about discussing your feelings? In high school, you were voted most likely to die a bachelor because of your innate ability to avoid emotional attachment to anyone you fucked.”

“Oh, damn,” Kent mutters.

I wince. This is not good.

“Now!” Simon says. “I want to discuss them now.”

I rub a hand down my face. Simon isn’t one to mince his words with us, but it’s obvious, his desire for her hasn’t waned in the last twenty years. If anything, it’s gotten worse, making him impulsive.

“Well, I don’t,” she says.

The lights flicker one last time before shutting off completely. I sigh. This is going to be a long night.

“Simon, can you and Kent get the fire going?” I ask. “Melanie and I will get the blankets.”

“Blankets for what?” She turns her phone’s flashlight on.

“It will be too cold to sleep anywhere else. This is the only room with a fireplace.” I get to my feet and put a hand out to her. “You can take the couch. We’ll sleep everywhere else in here.”

She’s silent for a while, but eventually puts her hand in mine. “Fine.”

We walk to the hallway using her flashlight to see. The tension surrounding us is even thicker than before. I hate pushing her, but things won’t get better if we leave it how it is.

Opening the closet door, I say, “I know it’s weird for you after what we did, and if you want to forget about it, we will, but you need to voice it so Simon will understand. This is hard on him.”

“What do you mean ‘for me’? Isn’t this weird to you?” she asks.

I pass her a few blankets. “Not really. We were okay with it last night, and we’re okay with it now.”

“But why? I mean, I really don’t understand how that’s possible. I’ve been gone for two decades. We don’t know each other anymore.”

“It doesn’t matter if we don’t know you now. We can learn. What matters is we knew you then, and what we felt before hasn’t changed simply because we’ve been separated. Drunk or not, you wouldn’t have slept with us if you didn’t feel something too, right?”

She doesn’t reply, just glances away. I don’t want to upset or confuse her more than she already is, but Melanie couldn’t have changed so much that she’d do something so reckless without being drawn to us.

I grab more covers before following Melanie back to the living room.

I’m partially hoping we’ll need the added comfort of body heat to keep us warm, but Melanie doesn’t seem too keen on that idea. Kent and Simon have the fireplace burning well on our return. Melanie shuts off her flashlight.

We move the seats back a bit and put the coffee table against the wall out of the way. With how uncomfortable our conversation got earlier, no one has said a word except to communicate how to set up the living room.

Once we’re done, Kent tries to break up the tension by asking, “Anyone want a drink? Not anything crazy like last night because even I’m too old to handle that shit again, but I could use a beer, and Melanie, Oliver got you wine.”

Melanie furrows her eyebrows. “How did you know I like wine?”

“Your mom told me once when we ran into each other at the store. We were both buying beer,” I say.

Melanie scoffs with a smile. “That probably started with, ‘Melanie likes wine more than beer. I don’t know where she gets it from.’”

“Yep. That was it.” I chuckle. “So, you want some?”

“Sure.”

Kent and I head into the kitchen. We use the flashlights on our phones to see. He fills a cooler with all the ice in the freezer and a large case of beer while I pour Melanie a glass of moscato. I put the rest of the bottled wine in the cooler before we carry everything back to the living room.

“Let’s play a game,” Kent suggests as I pass Melanie her drink.

“No drinking games.” Melanie groans. “I can’t handle that tonight.”

“Strip poker, then?” Simon asks from his spot on the loveseat.

Melanie’s eyes widen. “Okay. A small drinking game.”

“Nice save.” I snort, opening a beer and taking a seat on the couch with her.

“Shut up,” she grumbles.

“What are we playing?” I ask Kent.

“Two truths and a lie.” He tosses Simon a beer and grabs his own before sitting back in the recliner. “I’ll go first. If you guess it correctly, I have to drink. If you’re wrong, everyone else has to drink. I know the number of women I’ve slept with. My favorite color is brown, and I have only fallen in love once.”

“You? Fall in love?” Melanie snickers.

Simon and I share a look, but keep quiet. We know the answer. Not because he’s told us anything specific in recent years, but because we know his personality and past. Melanie glances at us. We shrug.

“Only one person can answer?” she asks.

“Yes.” Kent smiles.

She sighs, knowing we’re not going to help her. “All three sound like lies, to be honest. But one is more absurd than the others. Why would anyone’s favorite color be brown? It’s the color of shit.”

We laugh at her logic.

“You have to pick one,” Kent says.

“Fine.” She giggles. “Then I pick the second one to be the lie.”

He shakes his head as Simon and I groan.

“How is brown your favorite color?” Melanie’s voice rises.

“It’s been his favorite color since he met you,” I clarify.

She whips around to look at me, then at Kent. “Why?”

Kent’s smile softens. “It’s the color of your eyes.”

Melanie’s jaw slackens. She glances down at her wineglass. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

Simon releases a heavy breath. “How do you not? We told you we’ve always liked you, but you don’t believe us. My favorite color used to be pink because you wore it all the time.”

Melanie’s chest rises with her deep intake of breath. It deflated as she releases it. “Pink was my favorite color in high school.”

“We know!” the three of us chime.