Dying Forever (Waking Forever Book 3) (12 page)

Alison picked up a
thick, blue book that lay on top of the stack. “
Personal Identity
?” She opened the textbook and began thumbing through it. “Another class?”

Bryce pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose with her middle finger. “Existentialist Metaphysics
. I’m only a few weeks in, but I’m very interested in memory as the defining characteristic of personality and how as we make new memories, we become different people.”

“Do you want to be a different person?” The question had been more direct than Alison had intended. Bryce lowered her head, and even with the sunglasses, Alison could see
her brow was furrowed. “Hey, sorry - stupid and ridiculously personal question.” She squelched the urge to take the woman’s hand and comfort her, knowing that would only lead to more awkwardness.

“No. It’s fine.” Bryce b
egan gathering her books into her backpack.

Alison chewed nervously on the inside of her cheek. She was making a fool out of herself and embarrassing Bryce in the process. “
Do you have to go?”

Zipping her bag, Bryce looked at Alison for what seemed an eternity before answering. “No, but I’m sure you have better things to do.”

Alison internally cringed at the uncertainty in Bryce’s tone and words, but managed a smile when she spoke. “I am remarkably unattached for the afternoon and thought we might have another go at that drink.”

The corner of Bryce
’s mouth turned up slightly. “That would be nice, but I walked over, so can I meet you somewhere?”

Alison laughed before she could think better of it. “
Ha! I’ve heard that one before, and you’ll forgive me, but I think I’ll drive us
both
this time.”

Sighing heavily, Bryce rubbed the back of her neck nervously. “Right. Perfectly understandable
.”

The two women stood
up, and Alison had to stifle the urge to skip as a sudden wave of euphoria washed over her at the prospect of spending the afternoon with the beautiful woman. “Consider me a built in DD.”

Bryce stopped
, her backpack slung over her right shoulder, and cocked her head to the left. “DD?”

Alison nodded. “You know, designated driver. I’m your gal if you decide to tie one on this afternoon.”

Bryce pulled the other backpack strap over her left shoulder. “Are you making fun of the Irish thing again?”

“Oh, god, no. I was just-” Alison
felt heat rise to her cheeks as she stumbled to explain, but seeing the smirk on Bryce’s face, smiled. “I guess I had that coming.”

Bryce shrugged. “Glad I’m not the only one keeping score.”

Alison grinned. “Let’s go. We can check out Esquire for real this time?”

Bryce nodded
, and as the two women walked, Alison wondered now that she finally had her date with Bryce, what in the hell they were going to talk about.

The awkward silences were starting to wear on Alison.

“
So, ah, you’re originally from Galway County? Am I remembering that correctly?” Alison took a drink of her Jameson whiskey double, the ice clinking against the glass as the smoky wood and nut flavors coated her tongue and throat.

Bryce nodded as she repeatedly
rotated the half empty glass of Bushmill whiskey around between her hands. “Yes. Good memory.”

Alison smiled. “I’ve never been to Ireland, but it’s on my bucket list.”

Bryce took a drink and after a few seconds, nodded. “It’s lovely.”

The long pauses in their conversation were accentuated by the fact it was the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, and with the exception of two men sitting near the back of the bar, the place was empty and quiet.

Alison leaned back in the booth. The worn, wooded benches reminded her of church pews circa 1890, and she wondered if, in spite of her atheism, she should pray - or maybe chant and burn incense - for an easier ebb and flow of conversation with the woman across from her.

“How long have you been in the States?” Alison finished the last of her whiskey
double, and feeling she might need another to get her through what was rapidly starting to feel like a job interview, she waved the bartender over for another round.

“A few years, and you?” Bryce flinched. “I mean, how long have you lived in San Antonio?”

Alison handed the bartender, an Asian gentleman in his late thirties with what looked like a barcode tattooed on the right side of his neck, her empty glass. “Would you like another?”

Bryce refused to make eye contact as she threw back the last of her Bushmill and handed the glass to the amused bartender, who clearly was enjoying the awkward exchange. “Yes, please.”

“To answer your question, all of my life. Except for college, and when I was ten we lived in Houston for a few years.” Though Bryce’s slip a moment ago tickled Alison, she managed not to laugh because the woman was clearly embarrassed.

Bryce hesitantly looked up at Alison. “Did you like Houston?”

“I’ll tell you Houston is a great city to be
from
.” Alison grinned. “And that’s all I have to say about that.”

The bartender returned with the
drinks. Alison picked up her glass and raised it. “Know any good Irish toasts?”

Bryce’s eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips as she raised her glass. “May you live to be a hundred years, with one extra year to repent.”

Alison chuckled as she took a drink. The toast had triggered a question regarding Bryce’s religious background, and though Alison usually considered such topics taboo, particularly when she hardly knew someone, she was getting desperate and couldn’t imagine things going any worse.

“Repent? Are you Catholic?” Alison watched Bryce’s face carefully for signs the question had offended her.

“I’m Irish.” Bryce stared intently at Alison, a subtle smile slowly forming on her lips.

Shaking her head, Alison took another drink. “Nope, I’m not being suckered into another Irish ster
eotype. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.”

Bryce laughed, and the melodic sound filled the bar. Alison
couldn’t decide how she felt about this woman. Even though she was guarded, and sometimes she seemed uncomfortable in her own skin, she had interested Alison at first sight. 

“I am
not
Catholic.” Bryce was still smiling as she looked at Alison.

“Religious at all then?” Alison felt a shift in the conversation, an easing into it that she hoped would continue.

Shaking her head, Bryce emptied her glass. “No. I’m an atheist.”

“
Hey, like speaks to like.” Alison raised her glass and grinned. “Cheers.”

“How did you decide?” Bryce asked earnestly.

“When I was thirteen, I had a friend named Hunter.” Alison was surprised she was telling this story to a practical stranger. “He was a year older than me, but we knew each other from the neighborhood. In fact, he had been one of the first friends I made when we moved back from Houston.” She took a deep breath. “He was sweet, and I liked him. Thinking about it now, I guess he might have been gay.” Her friend’s sexuality hadn’t occurred to her until she was imagining him, in this moment, from an adult’s perspective.

“Anyway, I came home from school, and there was an ambulance in Hunter’s driveway.” Alison swallowed the lump in her throat. “It would seem Hunter and a friend of his had found his father’s rifle and thought it wasn’t loaded. His friend accidently shot Hunter in the head, and that was it - he was dead.”

Alison wiped at her eyes, the tears catching her off
-guard. “Crap. Sorry. Total downer.” She grabbed her napkin. “I don’t know why that story occurred to me.”

“Because since then you haven’t been able to
reconcile the infinite contradictions of a God who loves you, but punishes you at the slightest provocation.” Bryce unexpectedly laid her cool hand on top of Alison’s warm one. “An omnipotent God who either can’t, or simply doesn’t choose to, stop the death of a child. How can you make sense of that - or worse, condone it?”

“Exactly.” Alison was acutely aware of Bryce
touching her and fought the urge to turn her hand over and entwine their fingers. “Not godlike at all, but more like a sociopathic, bipolar ex-girlfriend who loses her shit, burns all your jeans, and then blames you for making her do it.”

For the second time
Bryce laughed. “I hope you’re not speaking from experience.” She leaned back and took the reassurance of her hand with her, leaving Alison feeling sad again for an altogether different reason.

“I’m happy to say I am
not
speaking from experience.” Alison waved the bartender over for another round. Handing the man her and Bryce’s empty glasses, she frowned. “Oh, maybe I shouldn’t. What is that, two or three?”

Bryce shrugged. “I usually keep the glasses. That way I don’t lose count.”

The bartender chuckled. “That was round three, ladies.”

Alison felt relaxed and didn’t want the outing to end. “No fair, you keep a tab.” She laughe
d at her own joke and thought she might be getting drunk.

“Maybe
you should eat something?” Bryce suggested, an amused look on her face. “May we have a menu, please?”

“Sure.” The bartender smirked as he left the table.

“Are you going to eat?” Alison looked worried.

“I ate
earlier.” Bryce shifted in the booth.

“Let’s share an appetizer then. I’m not really that hungry.” Alison was starting to get the tunnel vision she knew proceeded her being full on drunk, and Bryce looked like she was at the farthest end, but the idea of food made her stomach sour.

“I’m a vegan, so I’m not sure there’s anything for me to eat here.” Bryce took the menu from the bartender and began looking over it.

“Really? Vegan?” Alison was intrigued. “Was that a moral decision for you, or something to do with your health?”

Without looking up from the menu, Bryce answered matter-of-factly. “Both.”

Alison
sat back and realized she was practically lying down in the booth. Forcing herself upright, she leaned her elbows on the table to help steady herself. “I can’t believe this.”

Bryce put the menu down. “Believe what?”

“I’m drunk and you’re - well, you’re fine.” Alison opened her eyes wide in an effort to focus them.

“So much for you being
my
designated driver.” Bryce spun the menu around and slid it over to Alison. “What do you feel like?”

The rectangular shaped, laminated menu was a blur of words and pictures to Alison, but she managed to focus long enough to read the first item on the appetizer list. “Fried pickles
, please.” She turned to hand the menu back to the bartender, pleased with her order, but confused where the man went.

“He’ll be back, and
then
you place your order.” Bryce was clearly trying not to laugh at her friend.

“Of course
, that’s how it works.” Alison rubbed her face.

Bryce frowned. “Hawareya doing?”

Alison grinned. “I love your accent. Very sexy.” A twinge of embarrassment washed over her.
Was that out loud?

“T
hanks.” Bryce bit her lower lip nervously as the bartender returned.

“Ladies, have we decided?”

Realizing Alison wasn’t going to answer, Bryce handed the bartender the menu. “Fried pickles, and water - no ice.”

Turning her head side to side, Alison took several deep breaths.
“Christ, how did this sneak up on me so fast?”

“You weigh what, one
thirty, you’re maybe 5’6”?” Bryce glanced down and then back up at Alison. “Three whiskies in the span of an hour - and you get what we’ve got here.”

“A failure to communicate.” Alison
randomly rattled off the famous line from the film
Cool Hand Luke
.

Resting her chin on her hand, Bryce looked confused. “I don’t understand.”

Alison waved her hand dismissively. “Movie reference, and I know - you don’t watch a lot of movies.”

A broad smile spread across Bryce’s lips. “No, I don’t, but look.” She reached into her back pocket and pulled a black iPhone out. “I purchased a phone.”

Alison clapped, got up, pulled her phone out of her back pocket and quickly slid into the booth next to Bryce. Their thighs touching, Alison leaned in to look at the shocked redhead’s phone. “What’s your number, so I can put you in my contacts?”

When Bryce didn’t answer, Alison looked up from the phone. In her drunken state, she couldn’t interpret the expression on her friend’s face. Bryce was sitting perfectly still, her jaw set, and her eyes seemed to be glowing in the dim light of the bar.

“What?” Alison asked. “Don’t you know the number?” After several seconds, Bryce cleared her throat, and quickly spoke the nine digit number. Alison’s fingers weren’t working properly. “Hold on. One more time.”