The One Night(10)

His razor-sharp gaze lands on me. “My back was toward them. That doesn’t count.”

“Okay.” I smile.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, presses some buttons, and then holds the phone up to his ear. After a few seconds, he says, “Mom, where the hell are you two?” Silence. “What? Do you even know how to get to my apartment? I know you’re not invalids, but it’s dark. Do you have your glasses? What about a key?” He pats his pocket. “When did you take it from my pocket? Mom, I don’t—can you—okay, yeah. Text me when you get there safely.” Another moment of silence and then through gritted teeth, “She’s my ex-wife’s best friend. That’s not happening.” I feel my cheeks heat up. I can only imagine what Peggy just said to him. “I’m not talking about this. I love you. Text me when you’re there. Bye.” He hangs up the phone, places it on the bar top, and then slouches into the hold he has on his tumbler. He lifts the glass to his lips and slowly drains it again.

From the pace he’s set, he’s probably going to wish his parents had stayed so he’d have someone to help him back to his place.

“Are your parents good?” I ask.

“Yeah. They say bye, by the way. Mom said it was a pleasure seeing you again.”

“Aw, I love your parents. They’ve always been so kind. Apple fell pretty far from the tree, huh?”

His eyes flash to mine. “I’m having a night.”

“I see.” I twist my lips to the side. “You know, you could turn that around. Instead of focusing on the negative, you can choose to make fun of the given situation.”

He thinks on that and turns in his seat again, facing me. “All right, Nora, how exactly would you make fun of the situation I’m in?”

“Glad you asked.” I smile and turn to Earl. “Earl, would I be able to borrow a piece of paper and a pen from you?”

“Of course, darlin’,” he says before grabbing from the register a pencil with teeth marks in the wood and a pad of paper that’s full of scribbled-on pages flipped over the binding.

With a smile of thanks, I flip over to a brand-new sheet.

“What do you plan on writing?” Cooper asks. “My biography?”

“Would you edit it?” I ask, knowing Cooper edits nonfiction for a living.

“After tonight, that might be more of a riveting read than what I’m currently working on.”

I chuckle. “Working on something bland?”

“I fell asleep three times in an hour the last time I opened my computer.”

“What are you editing?”

“A memoir featuring blimps.”

“What?” I laugh. “From whose point of view? If you say the blimps’, I can’t possibly see how that would be boring.”

“If it was from the blimps’ point of view, I would be absolutely captivated. Unfortunately, it’s from an avid viewer and observer.”

“Ah, well, everyone has something they’re passionate about. But no, I’m not writing your biography—I want to assess your situation so I can show you how to make it more fun.” Pen poised, I say, “Please describe your problematic situation in great detail.”

“Great detail seems extreme.”

“Okay, then do the best you can.”

Sighing, he moves his hand over the back of his neck. “It’s the holidays.”

“Yes, I was reminded of that by the Christmas plaid on your dad’s pants and the way your mom jingled her bells in my face.”

The smallest of smirks crosses his face. Oooh, look at that—he does have a sense of humor.

“There’s a romanticism to the holidays that I feel is projected onto us.”

“I can agree to that. It’s like the holidays roll around, and all of a sudden single people morph into neon signs for all their coupled-up friends. They take it upon themselves to either try to hook you up so you’re not alone on the holidays, or make you feel about two feet tall because you’re alone.”

“Exactly,” Cooper says, some life popping into his expression. “Why can’t a single person just be . . . single? Can’t that be good enough? Why do they have to be coupled up during the holidays?”

“Very valid point. So, is that what the situation is? You’re single around the holidays?”

“I don’t have a problem with it, but my parents are the ones who are starting to freak out. It’s been over a year since Dealia and I were even together. Apparently, that’s too long. Mom and Dad are worried, which led to tonight’s events.”

“Your parents taking it upon themselves to find you a nice girl on the streets of Seattle.”

“Exactly. And are they doing it out of the kindness of their hearts? Sure. Do they think they’re actually helping? I think they do. I truly think they don’t see how the entire situation is so humiliating.”

“And why precisely is it humiliating?” I ask, tapping my pen on my piece of paper. When he doesn’t answer, I roll my eyes. “You know, Cooper, I can’t possibly figure out how to make this a fun night if you don’t dive deep into the situation. I’m going to need a little more from you.”

He lets out a heavy sigh, drains the rest of his drink, and asks for another. “You want honesty?”