Ten Below Zero(17)

I walked to the table to clear the plates and found a $50 bill under Everett’s plate. Under the bill was a note, torn from what looked like a notebook.

PARKER,

I’M SORRY ABOUT YESTERDAY. SOME OF US HAVE SCARS THAT AREN’T MEANT TO BE SEEN.

DINNER TONIGHT. MY HOUSE. SIX.

EVERETT

My stomach flip flopped as I read that. “Some of us have scars that aren’t meant to be seen.” That part was honest, heartbreakingly so. And those words touched me with their truth.

I tucked the note away and finished my shift, unable to keep my thoughts from straying to Everett.





That night, I sat in my bedroom, staring at the note sitting on my desk. My eyes strayed to the clock several times as I debated what to do. Jasmine and Carly had already left for the evening. It was their understanding that I would pick them up from whatever mess they’d fallen into. I hadn’t been asked. But Jasmine had laughed at me on her way out. “See you at one! Or two, or three, or whenever we’re ready.”

I hadn’t corrected her, but I hadn’t acknowledged her either. I had two choices: sit in the apartment until I received Jasmine’s text or go to Everett’s.

My eyes strayed to the clock again. 5:45. I was really pushing it.

At 6:00, my phone vibrated across my desk. I picked it up.

Everett: Fashionably late is still late. And late is, well...rude.

I had never been so completely undecided in my entire life. Stay or go?

Ten minutes later I was standing on his doorstep. Before I could knock, the door swung open. Everett had changed from his earlier clothing. He was wearing black jeans and a black tee shirt. My eyes traveled to his arms unwillingly before I looked back up at him.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said as we sized each other up.

“No you’re not,” he replied, stepping aside and holding a hand out for me to come in.

“How do you know?”

Everett closed the door behind me before gesturing me to follow him down the dark hallway into the bright kitchen that waited through a doorway.

“Because I don’t think you were planning on coming.”

I swallowed. “I wasn’t.”

Everett nodded and walked to the fridge while I took in his kitchen. It was warmly colored, lots of reds and golds, with splashes of modern influence in the stainless appliances and the small lights that hung over the kitchen island. I took a seat at one of the bar stools while Everett pulled a bottle of white wine from the fridge.

He held it towards me and I nodded. He poured two glasses before handing one to me. I watched him hold his glass and couldn’t stop the words that spilled out.

“Should you be drinking that?”

Everett raised an eyebrow and proceeded to sip. “Just did,” he replied after swallowing.

I played with the stem of my glass. “But you said you’re an alcoholic.”

“I did. And I am.”

I looked at him, confused.

“I’m not a recovering alcoholic, Parker. I know what I am. A lot of alcoholics are in denial. I’m not. I know it’s one my many weaknesses.”

I was still confused. And my face must have made that clear. Everett sighed and set his glass down, on the other side of the island from me.

“I’m an alcoholic, but I’ve no desire to be otherwise.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t fall into alcoholism the way some people do, the people who are desperate to get out but feel themselves slipping away. I am completely in control of myself.”

“Except when you’re drunk.” The words were bitter on my tongue and I pushed the wine glass away. It was a small move, but one that Everett noticed.

“Yes. Fortunately, I don’t make a habit of getting drunk in the company of others. I get drunk at home, alone, so the only danger I am is to myself.”

“You were drunk yesterday. I had to drive you home.”

Everett looked down into his glass. “Yes, I was. I’d say I’m sorry for that, but then I’d be lying.”

“And you don’t lie?”

“No.”

We were staring at each other now.

“Ever?”

He shook his head and stared me in the eyes.

“Why not?” I took a large swallow of my wine. I was tiptoeing into dangerous territory.

“You’ve told me that I’m rude, Parker.” I nodded, confirming that. “I am. I’m rude because I don’t conform to society’s standards that white lies are inconsequential. I don’t believe in hiding behind words that aren’t truthful. I’m an impatient man. I don’t beat around the bush. If you ask me something, I won’t lie to you.”

I let that sink in. “You lied to the bartender. You told him you were my boyfriend.”

Everett looked surprised. “You’re right, I did. I guess you’re a bad influence on me.”

“I don’t believe I influence you at all.”

“Oh, but you do,” he insisted.

“How?”

“You bring out something in me.”

“Is that something rudeness? Because if so, then I agree.”

He nodded. “I’m rude, yes, because I don’t say things I don’t mean.” He took a sip of his wine, finishing it off. “Take this wine glass for example. If I had poured milk into it and told you it was wine, would you be upset when you took the first sip, expecting the bite of fermented grapes and getting milk instead?”