"They tried not to fight in front of me." She takes a long sip of her coffee. Stares at the empty mug for a moment. Then reaches for the French press. Refills both our cups.
"They tried not to fight in front of me and Daisy too. But that was almost worse. It was obvious something was there. But they pretended like it wasn't. And I… fuck, I didn't know how to handle the tension."
"But you were still drawing?"
"Yeah. It kept me sane. And when I started hanging out with Holden—"
"And his older brother was already a working tattoo artist?"
I nod exactly. "It became an obsession pretty fast. And it was an escape too. I'd go to their house after school. Avoid the fucking war zone."
"I always wondered how you two became friends. He acts like he doesn't care about anything. Like everything is light and easy. And you're… the same, but the opposite. You sit on the sidelines, like you can't be bothered to deal with anyone. But it seems like everything is so… heavy, I guess."
"It is."
"Is that why you started drinking?" she asks.
"Trying to make this story coherent."
She half-smiles. "Life isn't coherent."
"It all blurs together. My parents fighting. Then trying not to fight. Trying to take care of Daisy and Mom. Then rebelling and avoiding everyone. Trying to find an alliance with Daisy. But she went the other way. Wanted to be the good girl. So she didn't cause any more conflict for them. So shit wasn't harder for anyone else."
"You both decided to shoulder everything on your own."
"Yeah. And then they announced the divorce to us. They'd already started the legal process, but it got ugly. All these lawyers. And the same arguments over whether or not Mom could really handle taking care of us. In the end, a judge agreed with Dad. Gave him full custody. And Mom… I don't know. She proved him right, I guess. I can't remember the last time I saw her sober."
"You see her a lot now?"
I shake my head. "Holidays, mostly. Every so often she calls. To meet for coffee or dinner or whatever. Sometimes, she's doing better. Sometimes, she's not. I… I don't know. I guess, when I was still drinking, I thought I knew better. I thought I had it together. That I'd found a way to self-medicate in moderation. So why the fuck couldn't she get with the program?" I run my hand through my hair. "Fuck, I was an asshole. I am an asshole."
"That is true."
My laugh erases the tightness in my chest. Fuck, she's funny. And she's trying. She really is. "Hey."
"Was I supposed to argue?"
I nudge her.
She nudges back. "You did hide it well. Sometimes… I guess I thought you just liked to party."
"Yeah."
"It's not like you'd be the first twenty-year-old guy who drank too much for a while. Got over it. Grew up."
"That's what I thought too."
"Did you know you were self-medicating?" she asks.
"Maybe not in those terms. But I knew… shit was hard, and I needed it to be easier. I needed to stop feeling so heavy. And it worked. Food tasted better, music sounded catchier, even the air smelled sweeter."
"It was easier?"
"Yeah. At first, that was it. I drank a little. At parties. Just enough to make it easier. Then enough to stop caring my life was out of control. Enough to feel less lonely."
"Is that why you fucked everything that moved?"
"Only women."
Again, she laughs. "High standards."
"Yeah."
Her voice softens. "Is that different now?"
"Sex?"
"Is it… less?"
"Fuck no." There's no way to put it into words, but I try. "Maybe if I'd tried to keep up with my old routine. To find women who were just as lonely and empty. To fill a few hours—"
"A few hours?"
"You don't think I'm good for it?" I ask.
"No, I just mean—"
"From seduction to satisfaction."
"Still."
Fuck, she makes me laugh. I can't help it. "Angel, you have a one-track mind."
"I know. Just… that's a long time."
"It is."
"You've never given me a few hours," she says.
"You want me to?"
Her nod is coy. "Later… when things are less complicated."
If things are less complicated.
"But, uh, you were saying."
Right. "Maybe if I'd kept that casual shit up. But with you… it's different. I guess it's always different. Now that I'm sober. Food is more bitter, yeah, but it's more everything. I can taste all the notes of the coffee. The bitter. And the nutty, rich toffee."
"So… it's more?"
"More of everything."
"Oh." Her eyes meet mine. "And that's good?"
"Angel, are you asking me if more intense is better?"
"I guess I am," she says.
"If anyone should know, it's you."
"So I… with your newfound sobriety, you're basically a virgin."
I chuckle. "Basically."
"So I popped your cherry."
"Don't get ideas about it."
She shakes her head. "I have all the ideas about it." Her fingers brush my wrist. "But, uh, you still didn't answer the question."
"About tattoos?"
"Yeah… how you really started. And why you're sober. What happened? I'm not stupid, Oliver. I know you didn't wake up one day and decide to quit drinking?"
"I didn't."
"So… what was it? Was it really that bad?"
Chapter Thirty-Six
Luna
Oliver motions to my car, parked on the street. "If you want to run the fuck away from me after this, you can. But I'll go. You stay. Wait until you're calm to drive."
"It's that bad?"
"I don't know. I don't have a sense of it anymore." He places his hand over mine. His fingers curl around mine. "Come here." He pulls me closer.
His eyes flutter closed.
Then mine.
Then it's his mouth against mine.
His kiss is hard and rushed. Like he's trying to soak in everything he can get. Like it might be the last time.
Is it really that bad?
That's hard to imagine.
But I can't stand the thought of this being the last time. So I knot my hand in his hair and I pull him close.
I kiss him back with everything I have.
I inhale every ounce of him. The taste of coffee on his lips. The smell of his shampoo. The warmth of his fingers on my skin.
When he pulls back, I'm dizzy.
He pours the last few drops of coffee into my mug. Motions to the counter. "One more?"
"Sure." More coffee is always a good idea. And as much as I want to know, I want to wait too. To stay here. In this beautiful, clean, white space where he's pouring his heart out.
Where I understand him and he understands me.