Beautiful Accidents

by Erin Zak

  “You are an asshole.” She sipped on the Blue Moon beer she ordered. There was something calming about the orange slice floating around the top. It never sank to the bottom. Maybe she wished she was as resilient as that orange. “It was fun to laugh, though, so thank you.”

  “Good.” Paul belched loudly. “And you’re welcome.”

  “Paul!” Bernadette slapped his leg, and he laughed. “You are so much like Dad sometimes. You need to be more like him. He was a lot cooler than you.”

  He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You need to stop saying exactly what’s on your mind.”

  “I know.”

  “I do miss him, though.”

  “I miss him so much.”

  “Oh, I’m sure. You were his favorite.” Paul smoothed his hands over his face. He was growing a beard, and it didn’t look half-bad on him. He got the blue eyes, though, which pissed Bernadette off every time she thought about it. Of course she had to get the one DNA strand from their ancestors who had brown eyes. Of fucking course. Paul had received the shorter end of the stick when it came to the rest of the looks, though, which he made up for with his overabundance of charm. Growing up as his older sister hadn’t been as much of a burden as Bernadette liked to make it seem. She truly loved him and hated that the death of their father came between them. It wasn’t her fault their dad liked her the most. It wasn’t her fault he trusted her with the money, with the medical decisions, with their mother. And Paul resented her for it every day of his life. “I’ve tried to move past that.”

  Bernadette laughed. It was loud, and the bartender glared at them from the opposite end of the bar top. She raised her hand to apologize before she narrowed her eyes at her brother. “You have?”

  “Yeah, I have.”

  “Um, no. You have not.” Bernadette looked at her beer, ran her finger along the condensation to the bottom of the glass, and sighed. “You’ve hated me forever for it.”

  Paul leaned in to her shoulder. “You have never been hated for anything you do, Bernie.”

  “Did you hate Dad, then?”

  “A little,” Paul said and then let out a deep breath. “That’s the first time I have ever admitted that.” He picked his beer up and stared at it. “Wow.”

  “Well, can you try to let it go?” Bernadette was trying her hardest to not let the tears stinging her eyes win. The best piece of advice their dad taught her was if you were going to cry, don’t do it while drinking, especially at a bar. Not only does it make you look drunk, it makes you look weak. And you are not weak.

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Everybody’s working on something,” Bernadette said over the rising volume of the jukebox.

  “Ain’t that the truth.”

  Bernadette raised her glass at her brother. “To family.”

  “No, no,” he said with a smile. “To you. You’re why we’re still a family.”

  “Paul,” Bernadette whispered. “Don’t you fucking make me cry.”

  “No crying at bars.”

  “Dad told you that, too?” She placed her hand over her mouth.

  Paul nodded and drank his beer after he clinked the glass against hers. He held the half-empty glass toward the ceiling, toward the sky, and smiled. “So, anyway, tell me about this very apparent crush you have on the girl onstage.”

  Bernadette stared at Paul. How the fuck did he know? “What? Whatever do you mean?”

  “You heard me.” He swiveled on the barstool and rubbed his palms on his corduroy-covered knees. “You did get all the looks and none of the charm, didn’t you? You are so not smooth when it comes to women. We gotta work on that.”

  “I think it’s a little late. I’m pushing fifty. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

  “Bernie, come on. It’s not hard. You’re beautiful. You’ve always been beautiful. Why don’t you believe it?”

  Bernadette shrugged. She had no idea. It was the one thing she never believed about herself. She knew she wasn’t ugly, but she rarely looked in the mirror and thought she was beautiful or pretty or even cute. She saw old and not worth it and a messy version of someone trying hard to survive. It was why she kept Sarah waiting in the rafters—because there was no one else who would want to take a chance on her. And if there was, Bernadette knew she would end up pushing the person away.

  “Let’s consider this.” Paul exchanged his empty glass for a full glass of Guinness from the bartender. He took a long drink, set the glass down, then wiped the foam from the whiskers on his lip with the back of his hand. “You look like a goddamn model. You have the great skin. I got the acne. You have the supermodel lips. I got the Reba McEntire lips.” Bernadette laughed at his Reba impression. “You have Mom’s smile. I was the one who never wanted braces.” He pointed at the gap on the side of his teeth.

  “The gap everyone loves.”

  “Yes, exactly,” Paul said as they laughed together. He was acting so insanely out of character. “And you have hair.” He fluffed her curls, and Bernadette wanted to laugh at him, but she held it in. He was being kind. And with not a single idea as to why, she decided to go with it. He pointed to his scalp. “Again, male pattern baldness is alive and well over here.” Another drink of his beer, wipe of the foam, and then a belch. Bernadette rolled her eyes. “You have got to start realizing that all of you is worthy of affection. And you need to start liking yourself.”

  “Are you a fucking self-help author or something?”

  “I wish.”

  Bernadette picked up her beer and drank the rest of the cold liquid. The orange now sat at the bottom of the empty glass. “I don’t know how to be okay.”

  “You are okay, though. You’ve given so much of your life to our parents. You’ve forgotten to keep some for yourself. To live your own life. You get so mad at me when I say I can’t help, or I have plans, or I need to be there for my kids. Do you have any idea how fucked up that is?” Paul crossed his arms and looked around the now very crowded bar. “You get mad at me because I have a life, and you don’t. And you hate it.”

  Bernadette sighed. She wanted to be irritated with him, but he was right.

  “Stop hating yourself. You’re pretty fucking amazing. And I know you have something great that someone will want to love.”

  “Sarah loves me now.”

  “Sarah is not your type at all. Also, she’s a little too lovesick-asshole for you.”

  “Wow.”

  “Would you rather I lie to you?” Paul looked at her with his eyebrows raised to his receding hairline.

  “Of course not.”

  “Then?”

  “It sucks hearing what a fuckup I am.”

  “You’re not a fuckup. You take care of everyone else instead of taking care of yourself. It’s different.” Paul hiccuped. “So, anyway. Tell me about this crush.”

  “I do not have a crush.” Bernadette drank a few sips from her fresh beer. “I like her, though.”

  “How do you know her? Tell me everything.”

  “I can’t tell you how I met her.”

  “Why?” Paul asked before he drank.

  “Because. I can’t.”

  “Did you meet her at the shop? Did she come in for a reading?”

  Should she talk about it? It was only her brother, after all. It wasn’t as if he’d tell anyone or ridicule her for being so fucking unprofessional. Would he? Oh God… She was being so very unprofessional. Connie would be outraged if she ever found out. Not only was it against Bernadette’s code of ethics as an interpreter, but it was against Connie’s code of ethics as a psychic.

  She wasn’t doing it on purpose, though. She didn’t mean to bump into Stevie again. Every time they saw each other it was purely by accident. She couldn’t help that she was attracted to Stevie…and that Stevie seemed very attracted to her.

  Sometimes, she wondered if she was allowed to have any other friends because Connie was so territorial. It was like the minute Bernadette wasn’t completely focused on her,
Connie would throw a fit, and Bernadette would have to come crawling back. She’d never told Connie about Sarah, either, because Heaven forbid she had any sort of feelings for someone else. That’d throw Connie into another year-long depression like when they were living together in DC. Bernadette never understood it, but she never questioned it, either. She let it happen. “I’m going to plead the fifth.”

  Paul nodded. “I see.”

  “Let’s say I met her by accident,” Bernadette said. “Either way, you cannot tell a soul. Not even Marci. I know she has a big mouth, and I shouldn’t even be thinking about this woman, let alone…”

  “Let alone what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No,” Paul said as he set his glass on the bar. “Let alone what?”

  “It’s nothing.” Bernadette smiled. “We ran into each other at the Arts Foundation fundraiser, and we had a wonderful conversation. I don’t know why, but I like her. She seems like such a genuine person.” Bernadette stopped and took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to describe it. Maybe it’s fate.”

  “I don’t believe in that shit.”

  “Oh, I know.” Bernadette rolled her eyes. “You’ve made that abundantly clear. Without telling you the details, I can say we have a strange connection.”

  “This is too deep for me.”

  “Paul, people can have connections. Soul mates? Ever heard of it?” Bernadette laughed. “I know you don’t have a soul, but isn’t it possible other people might?”

  “Below the belt.”

  “Sorry.” She sighed. “I can tell you this: There was this moment right when we first met, when our hands touched, and, Paul”—she shook her head as she tried to come up with the right words to describe the feeling, but her efforts were futile—“there was something there. A spark? A connection? I realize how crazy it sounds and how it doesn’t make sense, but it was crazy, and I have not been able to stop thinking about it or her.” She reached up and massaged her temples. “My one and only real conversation with her was lovely. And afterward, all I could see and think about was Connie. I’m so sick of that…” Paul’s eyes were wide as he sat there, presumably taking it all in and digesting the onslaught of information she was spewing at him. “Come on, Paul. You have to know about my feelings for Connie.”

  “Well, yeah, but this is the first time you’ve admitted it out loud.” Paul swiveled toward her. “I do have one piece of advice for you.”

  “Only one? Gee. Thanks.”

  Paul chuckled as he shook his head. “Who gives a fuck if Connie is mad?”

  “That’s your advice?”

  “I’m being serious, though,” Paul explained. He was raising his voice a little because of the music in the bar, and he sounded very passionate. Much more so than normal. “You have got to stop living your life to make other people happy. Have you ever tried to make yourself happy? I mean, really make yourself happy? I like Connie a lot. I always have. She’s a nice person. But there has got to be a time when you’ve finally had enough. Who cares if Constance Russo, the anchor on your lifeboat, gets mad?”

  “The anchor on my lifeboat?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “I know you don’t understand this because, again, you don’t have a soul, but Connie is my best friend.”

  Paul laughed. “Don’t you think you’ve been in love with her long enough? Maybe it’s time for you to finally get past it.”

  Bernadette raised her hand and pointed at him. She wanted to protest because fuck him. How dare he call her out like that? But instead she lowered her hand and stared at him, because he was right. Again.

  “Go for it,” he said softly before he downed the rest of his beer and exchanged it again for a full one. “Um…” He seemed about to say something else but stopped abruptly.

  “What?” She laughed. His eyes were focused on something behind her. “What’s wrong?”

  “So, the girl.”

  “What about her?”

  “Does she frequent this bar?”

  Bernadette’s stomach plummeted toward the very dirty, very worn wood floor. “Are you serious right now?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  “Oh my God,” she said under her breath as she glanced over her shoulder. He wasn’t lying. Stevie was standing at the entrance to the small bar with her cast mates, all smiley and beautiful in the same outfit she had on for the performance. Her hair was still curled, but she had pulled up the sides so her face was completely unhidden. Bernadette turned back toward her brother, picked up her beer, and started downing it. “Pay the tab. Let’s go,” she said between gulps of Blue Moon.

  Paul reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Oh no, no, no. We aren’t going anywhere. We are staying right here. We’ll stay here all night if we have to.”

  “I feel sorry your daughters are being raised by such an asshole.”

  “Below the belt again,” he said with a small smile that started to spread across his face into a giant grin. “Well, shit, here she comes.”

  Bernadette swiveled toward the bar and waited for Stevie to pass them. She breathed a sigh of relief when she thought she was in the clear. Then all of a sudden, she heard Paul say, “Oh, hey—you’re from the show tonight. You guys did such a great job.” If there was ever a moment when she wished she could murder someone and get away with it, it was right then and there. She closed her eyes and prayed as hard as she could to whatever higher power was listening to please, please, please not let Stevie notice her.

  And she thought it worked.

  Until she heard Stevie’s smooth as silk voice say, “Bernadette?” And her heart joined her stomach on the dirty, disgusting floor.

  Chapter Seven

  Stevie was riding the after-performance high like a professional surfer rides a wave, so when Bernadette swiveled on her stool and smiled, all she could think to do was hug the woman. So she put her arms around Bernadette’s neck and shoulders as she sat there, apparently stunned silent. She heard the breath leave Bernadette’s body in an oomph.

  “Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Stevie said when she released Bernadette, who smelled incredible, like almonds and cherries. “I’m completely surprised to see you.”

  “Do you hug everyone when you’re surprised?” Bernadette asked, her eyes still wide.

  She laughed and tried to act nonchalant. “Of course.” She wanted to kick herself. “You were at the show?” Stevie looked at the guy next to Bernadette and then did a double take. “Um…you must be Mr. Thompson?”

  “I am,” the guy said with a smile. “Paul Thompson.”

  “I had no idea you were married.” She hoped she came off as unaffected, even though she felt defeat creep into her heart.

  Bernadette rolled her eyes. “He is my brother. Not my husband.”

  “Oh, thank God.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Paul asked, clearly offended.

  Stevie started to laugh harder. “Wait, wait, no. I didn’t mean like that. I meant—”

  “It’s because she thinks Bernadette is hot and wants to date her,” came Ashley’s voice from behind where Stevie was standing near Bernadette at the bar.

  She felt her entire face flush. And she knew she wasn’t just a lovely shade of pink. Oh no. She could feel the splotches on her neck, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was beet red. “Well, guess the cat’s out of the bag.” She pursed her lips and took a breath in through her nose, then let it out slowly.

  Paul put his hand on Stevie’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sure the feeling is mutual,” he said after he leaned into her space. She couldn’t stop watching Bernadette, though, and she smiled when Bernadette bowed her head and groaned.

  Stevie looked at Paul. “So you’re saying I have a chance?”

  “No, that’s not at all what he’s saying,” Bernadette said as she waved her hands in front of her body. “I’m not availa—no. I have a…That’s not… No. I’m sorry.”

  Could Bernadette stumbling o
ver her words be any cuter? Stevie licked her lips before she said, “Come sit with us. Both of you.”

  “We couldn’t,” Bernadette protested.

  But Paul followed her to the cast’s table, and it made her think maybe she would get somewhere with Bernadette.

  Paul shouted at Bernadette before he took a seat. “Start living your life.”

  From the seat next to him, she watched Bernadette, watched her roll her eyes, watched her say something to the bartender, then watched as the bartender gave her a shot of Fireball. She couldn’t help but grin as Bernadette downed the shot and slid off the stool, beer in hand. She maneuvered through the crowd until she was next to Stevie. “Is this seat for me?”

  She nodded as Bernadette sat, her scent so strong as the air rushed around her. “Hi,” Stevie said softly when Bernadette’s eyes locked on to hers.

  “Hi,” she said back. “I gotta say…that was pretty smooth.”

  “What was?”

  “Getting on my brother’s good side.”

  “Well, I have been known to be smooth from time to time.”

  “I’m sure you have.”

  She tried to not watch Bernadette’s every move, but dammit, it was difficult. Everything about her was captivating. Her movements were so fluid, as if she’d missed her calling as a dancer. Even the way she brought her beer to her full red lips held Stevie’s attention. “How long have you been here?”

  “About an hour. I think?”

  Stevie checked everyone at the table, made sure they were all engaged in conversation, including Paul, who was now laughing with Noah about something. She brought her attention back to Bernadette, who was nervously tapping her fingers on the table. “You have a what now?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Earlier. You said I have a and never finished your sentence.”

  “Oh.” Bernadette crossed her left leg over her right. She was wearing dark blue skinny jeans with a black cable-knit sweater. It had brown leather elbow patches, and her brown booties matched perfectly. Her dark hair looked so soft as it fell around her face onto her shoulders in large, shiny curls.

  “If you have a boyfriend, I understand. You can tell me.”