One Last Shot (Pub Fiction #3) (6 page)

“You’re right!
That’s
where I’ve seen them before. They so need to go,” I laugh.

“So have you? Decided?” she asks again, annoyance lacing her tone now.

“How do you think I should position the chaise? Do you think it’s better against the kitchen wall or in front of the window?” I point to both locations before pouring Pinot Noir into our glasses.

“Claire,” Kat deadpans, “I can do this with you all night,” she says, huffy over my shitty tactic, especially when we both know she’s right. Kat Rollins doesn’t give up easily. “Now, one last time. Have you thought about when you’re going to make a point to see Matt?”

“Nope. And I’m not in a rush, either.” I hand her a glass.

“You’re annoying. That’s not even a valid response. It’s Matty. You know you can’t ignore him, Claire Bear.”

“We’re not talking about this. I’ve been here all of five minutes and I don’t want to think about what I’m doing with Matt right now. He has not even crossed my mind.”
Liar.
“You need to get over this fairytale notion you have of us. It’s not happening. I love you, Kat, but I’m not you. I don’t want the same ever after as you. I love the way my life is. I’m happy. Now, let’s have a drink and finish unpacking this bee-yotch,” I smile, doing my best to believe my own words.

“Whatever you say, Claire. I call liar. But okay,” she says, eyeing me warily.

“Thank you. Now a toast.” I place my hand on my chin, contemplating my words, once again ignoring hers. “Got it.” I raise my glass to meet Kat’s. “Here’s to you and here’s to me. The best of friends we’ll ever be. And if we ever disagree…well, fuck you, and here’s to me.” I take a large sip, stifling a giggle.

“Ha!” Kat belts out. “I’d totally forgotten that one, and I loved that toast. Seems so long ago now.” We both laugh at the memory of when Kat first shared it back in university one drunken night with all of our roommates, catching us by total surprise. None of us ever expected it to fall from her mouth, it was completely out of character for her.

“Thank you for all your help, Kitty Kat. It’s so nice to be back here like this with you, even if you’re on my case. I’ve missed you.” I place my glass on the countertop before giving her a tight squeeze.

“Aww, thanks, lady. You too. I’m so happy I’ve got you back.”

“Soon we’ll be working together, too. I still can’t believe I managed to get hired at your school,” I say, leading us to the living room to tackle the next mountain of boxes.

“Yes, I’m so excited. It’s going to be perfect. Oh, and just so you know, while we’re still on the subject, Mat—”

I stop her. “Kat, jeez, we’re not even on that subject. We left it in the kitchen. We boxed it back up.”

“Well, he knows you’re here,” she says anyway, ignoring me as if she can’t hear me. “You know that, right? You literally dodged that bullet by five minutes earlier tonight. He came in all: ‘Me smell Claire! Where be my Claire?’” she imitates, in her best caveman voice. I die laughing on the outside at her terrible impression, while on the inside I feel my heart shuddering to life at her revelation.

Maybe he does really want to see me as much as I want to see him?

I sigh so Kat won’t hear my heart thundering.

I’m such a hot, hot mess.

Claire

P
ulling out my
Macbook now that Kat’s gone, I figure I’ll lose myself in social media on the couch for a while rather than going off to toss and turn all alone in my new bedroom.

After Kat left, I replayed her comments about Matt over and over in my mind to the point where I almost called him. I’ve been thinking about what to say to him, but I keep coming up empty.
Do I apologize? Do I call or simply show up? Text and invite him for coffee?

“Ugh, Felix. Why does this have to be so hard?” I scratch behind his ears, knowing it’s his fave. Poor guy didn’t dare come out from under the bed until hours after the movers and Kat had left. I think now that he sees our stuff unpacked, Felix is starting to see that it’s all right here, that he can relax a little bit.
Purr, purr.

I’d lost myself creeping Facebook, but now my hand moves of its own volition to the Gmail icon instead. “Don’t do it. Don’t do it to yourself.” I try to avoid the torture I know is coming, but of course we be stubborn so it’s to the draft box we go.

“Your mama is stupid, Felix. You know this, right?”
Purr, purr.

I sigh and open up the first message in a folder dated August, two years ago…

From:
Claire Knox
[email protected]

To:
Matty Bishop
[email protected]

Date:
Sat, Aug 25 2013 at 1:17 am

Subject:
Words

Matty,

I don’t have the words to say to make what I did okay. Know I am sorry.

X,

Me

As I pour over the hundreds of draft letters I’ve written to Matty over the last two years, I wonder if he’d be pissed if I sent them all now, instead of continuing to hoard them, keeping them as some sort of eTorture chamber. Unsent emails covering every holiday, remembering special days we’d shared, breakdowns I’d had, memories I felt the need to reminisce about with him, and most of all, a ton of letters expressing my regret. Letters all patiently waiting in chronological order, sitting in limbo, waiting to be claimed by their rightful owner.
Kind of like me, I guess. Jeez, I really am in need of some serious therapy.

From:
Claire Knox
[email protected]

To:
Matty Bishop
[email protected]

Date:
Thurs, Oct 31 2013 at 11:27 pm

Subject:
Halloween

Matty,

Thought about our first Halloween party today. God, I miss you.

Xox,

Me

From:
Claire Knox
[email protected]

To:
Matty Bishop
[email protected]

Date:
Sun, Aug 24 2014 at 2:45 am

Subject:
you

Matty,

It’s been a year since I’ve been gone. I love my job, but hate myself without you. I creep you on Facebook and wonder if you think of me. I’ve dated a few nice guys, but it’s never you. I wish I was able to call you and talk. But I know you’d break me. Know I miss you.

Xox,

Me

I should have sent these to him over the years. He deserved better; at least he would have known I was thinking of him. Maybe I could print them all and then he’d see that I didn’t just up and leave him without a second thought? He could at least see that he never entirely left my mind, my heart, so unlike the way I can only imagine he must feel: that I left him. Instead of sending or printing, I curl up for what seems like hours with regrets, wine—and the occasional purr—nearby, re-reading the letters I never sent. Then I type:

From:
Claire Knox
[email protected]

To:
Matty Bishop
[email protected]

Date:
Sat, July 11 2015 at 1:15am

Subject:
I’m home

Matt,

I’m home, and I’m scared to see you. I need to see you so much it hurts. I just don’t know what to say. My biggest fear is you’ll hate me, even though deep down I know you wouldn’t.

X,

Me

With this one last draft—the one I contemplate sending most of all, but don’t—I close my laptop and grab Felix before heading to bed.

As I lie there rehashing everything I’ve felt and thought over the last few years, I think I’m coming up with a bit more perspective. I never want to have to restore a broken heart again. I barely made it through the last renovations. Being on my own for two years was hard, it took a long time to adjust but in the end I proved to myself that I’m stronger than I think, that I can handle solitude, that I don’t need to depend on anyone else. This time around, I know I can’t take the risk of losing the solid ground I’ve found since I’ve left. I won’t survive loving and being with Matty. If anything I need to keep the walls up, maybe allow just casual sex or a platonic relationship while we get through the wedding.

’Cause Lord knows, Matt Bishop is the biggest force of nature that pulls at the barbwire structure that is my heart, and he has been since the day he strolled up to me.

What I wouldn’t give to be able to pull off a casual fling with him. Maybe I actually could now? Maybe with my wall of resistance in place, I could. Maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to let my foundation to be shaken a bit? As long as I don’t let him have my heart again, I should be still intact when the dust settles.

That’s the key—don’t give him my heart…

And with that final thought, I drift off to sleep.

Claire

W
hoever said: “there’s
no place like home” sure knew what the hell they were talking about. It’s been almost a week since I’ve been back in St. Catharines and I’m feeling well-rested, relaxed, and caught up with everyone I’ve missed. Well, everyone except the boy I’ve missed the most.

Despite constant wavering thoughts about seeing Matt, I’ve not been able to bring myself to do it. One minute, the need to see him will consume me, forcing me to reach for my phone to text him. I tap out a few lines, only to delete them because by the time I’m done I’ve decided it’s still too soon. Then the feeling takes over again and I boot up my laptop. I write him the email he deserves, but of course never hit send because I manage to convince myself it’s not the right time, which finally leads me to deduce that I am basically just being a big huge chickenshit.

I owe it to him to seek him out, but I can’t. I don’t know what to say or do or even what I might want from him when I do finally see him. The thought of his reaction to me is what scares me the most. What if he can’t stand the sight of me? I know he may like my smell, but the sight of me, that’s different, especially after everything I’ve done. And haven’t done. I can’t fathom that he’d give me anything more than what I deserve: his back, as he stalks away from me and my stupid apologies and no-good reasons. I know what Kat told me last night over wine and reminiscing at my place, but it’s been two years of radio silence on my end. Despite what she said, I still worry he’s going to hate me.

Kat let it slip that Matty’s been keeping tabs on me and that he wants to see me, too. She also admitted to having helped him over the past couple of years by feeding him tidbits of information about me, before dropping the biggest bomb: apparently Mr. Matt Bishop is my new neighbour—living only a street over—another result of the scheming and plotting by this newly formed dynamic duo of “Katty & Matty”, a duo that I want to throat punch. I almost revoked Kat’s laminated Best Friends Forever card after hearing that snippet of information, let me tell you.

After mulling over this new info awhile, I decided it didn’t matter. If anything, the idea of him living so close by excited me a bit. The thought that he wanted me close has to mean something good—I hope. Maybe it means he’ll be able to forgive me, maybe he doesn’t hate me for running away like a brat, maybe we can move forward? As friends, of course, nothing more.
Because that’s all I want. Right?

Maybe if I sucked it up and went to see him, reached out and communicated like the grown ass woman I am, I could stop all of these stupid what-if scenarios and find out for myself.

But I’m also not a stupid girl. I know if I hold out long enough it will only be a matter of time before our paths cross naturally, especially with the wedding next weekend and all of the get-togethers leading up to it.

Avoid.

“Avoid”
should seriously be my middle name.
Avoid, avoid, avoid.

Ridding my brain of Matt for the moment, I head into Pub Fiction, noting the “Closed for a Private Event” sign hanging on the door. Perfect, no public or significant others allowed.

Matty pops back in my thoughts for a split second. Shaking my head, I open the door. I have a lot of things to do before Kat’s big bachelorette party tonight and I need a Matt-less mind.

Walking into Pub Fiction feels like stepping back in time. I loved this place from the moment I first entered and met Levi. It’s a kind of homecoming again, that smell of leather and lemons with the hint of stale beer wafting in the air serves as a reminder of how much I love this place and the people I’ve met here.

“Well, well. Look what the cat’s dragged in,” a familiar voice calls from behind the stick as I walk across the dance floor to the main bar. Luke’s standing behind the bar, his brown hair cut in the same short style, his vibrant blue eyes welcoming.

“I knew you’d be back, baby, knew you couldn’t get enough of all this.” He gestures to his rugby player build, the movement highlighting his broad shoulders. “Dreams can’t make up for the real thing, eh?” Luke laughs while rubbing his hands up and down his body like some kind of animal having a seizure. I stop to take him in, in all his glory.
Yeah, there really is no place like home.

“Honestly, Lukey, I couldn’t stay away any longer. I need you in my life, big boy,” I reply. The next thing I know, he has hopped over the bar and lifted me up, twirling me around in circles.

“Fuck, I missed you, Claire. How the hell are you? You’re looking good.” Laughing, he finally puts me down.

“Aww, thanks, you big player, you. You’re looking pretty hot yourself,” I blink up at him.

“‘Big player’, that hurts,” he says, resting his hand on his chest as if I’ve wounded him. Then he smiles brightly. “I’ll have you know that I’m officially out of the game.”