Whiskey & Charlie

by Annabel Smith

  Charlie had heard about self-help books in which you were encouraged to wake up in the morning and think, Today is the first day of the rest of my life! But that is not what Charlie had thought when he woke up the day after the play. What he thought was, Today is the first day of what might be my last two months with Juliet. He had to make it count, make every day count.

  He went out and bought a bunch of pink and orange tulips, had them extravagantly wrapped in tissue and silk ribbon. Juliet thanked him and arranged them in a vase, but she did not say they were beautiful or hesitate over where to put them. Two days later, Charlie bought her irises, left them on the bench when he went out, with a note saying Love Charlie x. When he came home, the irises were in a vase on the dining table, but Juliet didn’t mention them. Two days after that, a day he thought of as the fifth day, he bought her antique lilies. She looked pained when he gave them to her.

  “Charlie,” she said, and then stopped.

  Charlie thought she was going to say she shouldn’t have agreed to the two months, that she couldn’t do it. He leaned against the bench to stop his legs shaking.

  “We’ve only got two vases,” she said. “And they’re both full.”

  On another day, this might have been funny. They would have laughed together about it, stuck some of the flowers into a bucket. But it was only the fifth day, and nothing was funny.

  Charlie tried anyway, even as he was waiting for the blow to fall. “I’ll get another vase,” he said.

  Juliet smiled a little, but it was a small, sad, awkward smile. “It’s not that, Charlie.” She looked away from him. “You don’t have to keep buying me flowers.”

  She paused, and Charlie could see her casting about for the right words. She was trying to spare him. He didn’t deserve it, but that was her way.

  “You said you were sorry,” she said eventually. “There’s no need to try so hard. It’s making me…nervous.”

  She didn’t mean nervous. She meant sad. Charlie was making her sad.

  “Let’s just try to get on with things,” she said. “Act normal. Okay?”

  But Charlie didn’t know what normal was anymore. They kissed each other hello and good-bye, they ate meals together, they slept in the same bed. But they made love without speaking, and afterward, Juliet spent a long time in the bathroom, blowing her nose, slept with her face turned away from Charlie on the pillow.

  x x x

  Charlie and Juliet usually had dinner at Charlie’s mother’s every second Thursday. Elaine had initiated the dinners a year or so before, hoping to get him and Whiskey talking, Charlie supposed. After the lies Whiskey had told his mother about Juliet, Charlie thought she should understand that it would take more than two hours over a couple weeks to sort out their differences, but Juliet, who still did not know the real reason behind their rift, had asked him to go to the dinners and do his best. So they had gone. Charlie had talked to Rosa, Whiskey had talked to Juliet, and Charlie and Whiskey had perfected the art of sitting together at a table and completely ignoring each other.

  After Whiskey’s accident, they had kept the dinners up, the three of them for a while, and sometimes Mike and the girls too.

  The dinner at his mother’s fell in the second week of what Charlie came to think of as his probation.

  “Do you still want to go?” he asked Juliet that morning.

  “There’s no reason not to,” Juliet said. “It would look funny if we didn’t.” She hesitated. “I’d rather you didn’t tell your mum about the…situation though. Better to wait until we’ve made a decision,” she said carefully.

  When they arrived at dinner, Charlie’s mother looked pleased with herself.

  “I’ve got something for you,” she said, giving Juliet a book-size parcel.

  Juliet unwrapped it in the kitchen, with the two of them watching. It was the photo of Charlie in his first school uniform, in a wooden frame. She looked at it without speaking.

  “Sorry it’s taken me so long,” Elaine said. “I meant to copy it months ago, after you first saw it, but then Whiskey had his accident…” She looked at Juliet uncertainly, waiting for her to say something. “It was the one you wanted, wasn’t it?”

  Juliet nodded. Charlie could see she was trying hard not to cry.

  “Thank you,” she said eventually, but her voice was barely audible. She smiled awkwardly, at no one in particular, and excused herself to go to the bathroom.

  “What was all that about?”

  Charlie swallowed. “I suppose she’s thinking about Rosa,” he said quickly, “and the photo you were going to copy for her.”

  “I know she feels for Rosa. But you two have still got each other. You should be happy about that.”

  Charlie tried to smile but found himself only capable of a grimace.

  x x x

  Though Juliet had asked him not to tell his mother, she hadn’t asked him not to talk about it with anyone else. Charlie told first Mike and then Marco about the incident with the flowers. There was a time when he would rather have died than share such a confidence. But if there was one thing Charlie had learned in the last year it was that there was nothing to be gained by hiding feelings, keeping secrets.

  Mike told Charlie just to be himself, that Juliet would see all the changes he was making in his life, would know he had changed.

  Marco said it was about more than just showing Juliet he had changed; he also had to prove he loved her, prove he had meant it when he said he wanted to marry her.

  “But that’s what the flowers were for,” Charlie protested. “How can I prove it if I’m not allowed to try too hard?”

  “Of course you have to try hard,” Marco said. “You have to try harder than you’ve ever tried at anything before. But you have to do it without appearing to try at all. The art of fighting without fighting.”

  “But what does that mean?” Charlie asked. “What can I actually do?”

  “You’ll have to get creative. No more flowers, no candlelit dinners. You have to be cunning like a fox.”

  “I don’t know how to do that,” Charlie said desperately.

  “Well, I don’t know,” Marco said. “Juliet’s your girlfriend. You should know what pleases her. You’ll think of something.”

  x x x

  At first Charlie couldn’t think of anything much. He turned his socks the right way around before he threw them in the wash, made sure he emptied the kitchen trash before it was overflowing, fixed the broken door handle on the cupboard in the study. He had to resist the urge to cook every night and clean up as well. That wouldn’t have been normal. Normal was that they took turns, and whoever cooked was spared the washing up. But Charlie went to extra trouble with the meals he made, tried some new recipes, cooked some of Juliet’s favorites.

  He remembered it was Mike’s birthday and suggested they host a dinner for their mother, Audrey, Mike, and the girls. He enlarged and framed a photo of Holly and Chloe in their uniforms that he had taken on their first day at school so that when Juliet asked him if he had any ideas for a present, he could say he had already taken care of it.

  He and Juliet ate at the restaurants they had always eaten at, saw movies, caught up with friends, took Chester for walks in Alma Park. They did the things they had always done, but they were going through the motions. They didn’t laugh together. They didn’t really talk. Juliet had closed herself against him, and he couldn’t find a way back in. It reminded Charlie of his own parents’ relationship, and Charlie understood for the first time how his father might have felt being married to his mother, always waiting for the blow to fall.

  Four weeks passed like this. The halfway mark came and went. Charlie began to doubt the advice Mike and Marco had given him, but he didn’t know who else to ask. One afternoon, sitting alone with Whiskey at the hospital, he tried to imagine what Whiskey would do if he found himself in Char
lie’s position. He thought about it for a long time, and eventually he hatched a plan.

  Despite the bank’s promises to the contrary, it took five business days to get a loan approved, a week more to choose the ring, and then another to have it made. By then there were only six days left in Charlie and Juliet’s agreement. The following Friday would be exactly two months since the night of the play. But Charlie couldn’t wait another six days to know what Juliet wanted. The bomb was ticking. It was do or die. He had to cut one of the wires, even if it was the wrong one.

  He arranged the deliveries for the Monday when he knew Juliet would be home all day. The first flowers—poppies—were to be delivered at nine o’clock with a note from Charlie saying just I love you. The second flowers were arranged to arrive at ten—ranunculus, with a card that said I still love you. At eleven, the courier was to deliver the parcels from David Jones—five vases of all shapes and sizes, individually gift wrapped. At twelve, a barbershop quartet would ring the doorbell and serenade Juliet with “Always on My Mind” before presenting her with a bunch of daffodils.

  At one, the yellow irises would arrive—Did I mention that I love you?; at two, the oriental lilies—I’m nothing without you; at three, the gladioli—I know I’m trying too hard, but I can’t help myself; and at four, the roses—I meant it when I said I wanted to marry you.

  At five o’clock, Charlie arrived home from work. He was shaking when he rang the doorbell. Juliet opened the door cautiously. Charlie waited for her to say something, but she turned away and walked back toward the kitchen.

  So this was how it ended. He and Juliet were finished, which meant that already, this was no longer his home, that he should wait to be invited before following her into the kitchen. Charlie stood inside the front door, turned the ring box over in his pocket, wondering what to do. He could walk out now, come back to collect his things, and say good-bye to Chester at a time when he knew she wouldn’t be there. But as he considered this option, he heard Whiskey’s voice in his head. Don’t be so gutless, Charlie. You can do better than that. You’ve been with Juliet for five years. If it has to end, end it properly.

  Charlie didn’t know why, after all these years, he had suddenly started taking his brother’s advice. He couldn’t explain it. But he shut the door and went down the hallway into the kitchen. The flowers were in a bucket of water by the sink, the vases on the benchtop, all but one still in their gift wrapping. Juliet was standing in front of the window, already in tears. She took a clean tea towel out of a drawer and pressed it against her eyes.

  “I wish you hadn’t, Charlie,” she began, gesturing toward the gifts.

  She was right, of course. It was a ridiculous idea; he could see it now.

  “I already told you I didn’t want flowers. You can’t change a relationship with flowers, Charlie, not with all the flowers in the world.” She shook her head. “Surely you know me better than to think this would change my feelings. I don’t understand it. I can’t even begin to think of what would make you do something like this. It’s like something Whiskey would do.”

  Charlie laughed, a short bitter laugh. “It’s funny you should say that.”

  “What’s funny about it?”

  “It was Whiskey’s idea, in a way.”

  Juliet looked at Charlie strangely. “What do you mean?”

  Charlie hesitated. Probably it would sound crazy, but what did it matter now? The thing that mattered to him most was lost. There was nothing else to lose.

  “I mean, I wondered what Whiskey would do if he was in my position. I sort of asked him.”

  “I don’t understand. You talked to Whiskey?”

  “Well, no, I didn’t talk to him, of course, not in the normal sense of the word. I just sat and thought about it, and after a while it seemed like I could hear his voice in my head. He was saying, ‘You’ve got to surprise her. Do something flamboyant, something over-the-top romantic, something she’d never expect from you.’ It was like he was answering my question.” Charlie shrugged, feeling embarrassed by how weak it sounded.

  Juliet was staring at him. “You went to the hospital to have this conversation?”

  “Well, yes. I mean, no. I didn’t go there specifically to have this conversation, if you could even call it a conversation. I was just there, and this is what I was thinking about.”

  “What do you mean, you were just there?”

  Charlie sighed. He didn’t want to do this with Juliet, this archaeological excavation of all their problems, to dig up every last bone and brush it off, to arrange them into some kind of shape. “It doesn’t matter,” he said.

  “It does matter, Charlie. Please.”

  “I don’t know what you’re asking exactly. What do you want to know?”

  “I don’t understand what made you go to the hospital and talk to Whiskey about this.”

  “I don’t really understand it myself, to be honest, Juliet. In the past, I never would have taken Whiskey’s advice, especially about relationships. But I’d run out of ideas. I’d asked Marco, I’d asked Mike…”

  “You asked Mike?”

  “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want other people to know about it. But I had to talk to someone.”

  “But why Mike of all people? You barely know him.”

  Charlie felt upset by this. He felt that in the past few weeks he was really beginning to know Mike.

  “Is that what he feels?” Charlie asked Juliet. “That we barely know each other? Is that what he said to you?”

  “Of course not. We’ve never discussed his relationship with you. He’s too tactful for that.”

  “Then why would you say we barely know each other?”

  “I’m stating the facts, Charlie. He came over here to meet you, and you didn’t want anything to do with him.”

  “I know I was like that in the beginning. I’m not proud of it. You don’t need to rub my face in it. I needed a bit of time to get used to it. Mike understands that. It’s totally different now.”

  “How is it different, Charlie? Since when have things changed so much that you would choose to talk to him about our relationship?”

  “Since the hospital, I suppose.”

  “What happened at the hospital?”

  Charlie felt like he was on trial. He couldn’t understand why Juliet was so fixated on the fact that he had talked to Mike about their relationship. In the overall scheme of things, he thought there were far worse things he had done. But maybe those things were too difficult to talk about. If this was the thing Juliet wanted to take issue with, perhaps it was her right to do so. Perhaps he deserved it.

  “Nothing happened,” he said. “We started talking, that’s all.”

  “You went to the hospital and talked to Mike?”

  “Yes, of course. Many times.”

  “Many times?”

  “Well, you know, two or three times a week.”

  “I don’t understand, Charlie. You’re telling me you go to the hospital two or three times a week and talk to Mike?”

  Charlie shrugged. “Sometimes I talk to Mike, sometimes to Rosa. Sometimes it’s just me and Whiskey.”

  “But what are you doing there?”

  “What am I doing there? I don’t know. Sitting and thinking mostly.”

  “But you go there to see Whiskey?”

  “Who else would I go there to see? What are you getting at?”

  “I didn’t know,” Juliet said quietly.

  “Didn’t know what?”

  “I didn’t know you’d been going to see Whiskey at the hospital.”

  “You didn’t know?”

  She shook her head.

  “What do you think I do all day when I’m not working?”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Why didn’t you ask me?”

  “Why didn’t you t
ell me?” she said defensively.

  “I assumed you knew, I guess. I thought maybe Mike or Rosa would have said something.”

  “So how long has this been going on?”

  “A couple of months, I guess. Since I finished at Sierra. What difference does it make?”

  “What do you mean, what difference does it make?”

  “I’d rather just get this over with, Juliet. I don’t want to argue with you. This stuff has got nothing to do with us.”

  “I can’t believe you’re saying that, Charlie. It’s got everything to do with us. Ever since I met you, you’ve had these issues with Whiskey, and you’ve never wanted to deal with them or even talk about them. You just turned away and tried to pretend he didn’t exist. That’s the way you respond to every problem, in all your relationships. There’s some part of you that switches off when things get difficult. And I didn’t think you could change, Charlie, I thought you’d gotten too set in your ways. To me, it seems like your relationship with Whiskey is at the heart of it. If you can fix that, maybe we can fix things between us too.”

  “I wouldn’t say I’ve fixed it, Juliet,” Charlie said. “Whiskey’s still in a coma. Going to visit him a few times doesn’t exactly wipe the slate clean. It probably won’t make any difference.”

  “Don’t think like that, Charlie,” Juliet said. She moved closer to him. “The fact that you’d go to see Whiskey willingly, the fact that you’d talk to him, ask his advice, I think it makes a world of difference. Even if you don’t believe Whiskey knows—and I like to believe he does—don’t you think it makes a difference to Rosa that you would make that effort, to your mother? It makes a difference to me.”

  “How, though?”

  “Because it says to me that you’re willing to change, that you’ve already changed. It gives me hope that we could work things out, if you wanted.”

  Charlie had thought it was over, and that thought had dried up all the hope in him. It felt painful to have Juliet standing so close to him and to think that he might never touch her again. He moved away from her. “It feels too late,” he said.