“One is the loneliest number.”
I spent a better part of a decade by myself in the mountains of Colorado. Of course, I had my protégé Clyde Warner and my Russian mail-order bride Elizaveta, but…at best, they were the help. At worst, they were continually changing decorative pieces that at least freshened up a joint that I spent every second of my life in.
Maybe that’s harsh. So many lonely people would have been grateful for someone like Clyde, who urged me to try to wrestle once again while I was stuck in the mindset that it would mean my untimely death. Or Elizaveta, who…well, she was nice, I guess. Despite her only learning a handful of words in the English language over our time together, there was a literal unspoken bond between us. Not entirely sure what it was, but it was there. Maybe I missed them. I don’t know.
Regardless, I couldn’t care less what a typical lonely person thinks, because what matters is what I feel.
Speaking as someone who had only just been engaged and had a building number of followers in a cult that I’m really trying not to call a cult, I’ll tell you: feeling lonely in a sea of people that care for you might be worse than feeling lonely on your own. It’s something that doesn’t really make that much sense, so it’s hard to process. How can I begin to fix it if I don’t even know what it really is?
At least when you’re the “one,” there’s a reason for that loneliness. There’s a solution. Mental health movements have taught us to reach out and get in touch with others. It’s easier to get out of the abyss when you have people pulling you up.
But when you’re surrounded by people and still can’t pull yourself up, what the hell does that mean? You have what everyone tells you to have. Friends, family, a fulfilling career, a purpose. Yet, you still can’t shake the feeling. It makes you wonder if there’s something seriously wrong with you.
Then again, I already know there’s something seriously wrong with me, don’t I?
I was reminded of that as I looked into the eyes of what was probably one of my greatest catches in the aforementioned sea of people, Asher Hayes. To catch and release is an act of conservation. Was that what I was doing here?
“Glad you could make it,” Asher sighed, taking a seat across from me inside his kitchen. “Hell, and in person. Couldn’t get a hold of you this whole time, I figured the next time you saw me, I’d be in the ol’ orange jumpsuit.”
I forced out some laughter. I’m not even sure if he was trying to be funny or not, considering said orange jumpsuit was probably more likely than not to actually find its place on what was supposed to be my best friend.
It was all because of me. A few phone calls was all it took. Unfortunately, I didn’t know shit about weed or laws in Chicago, I guess, because what I thought was going to serve as a public wake up call that would force Asher to go away for awhile to rehab or something was apparently a major crime. It was extremely possible that Asher was going to spend the next couple of decades in prison. I just wanted him to reevaluate some things, get some help, and maybe go away for a little bit. It was to help him!
He told me it was legal, damn it. And, you know, apparently it is, just…not like that.
2,400 grams.
I don’t know. I just told the guy, “he’ll be here at this time, plant as much weed as you possibly can in the trunk, then I’ll take care of the rest,” which included making sure Asher was on his way to LAX with the Housewives camera crew filming every moment of what would end up being his undoing.
Anyway, apparently, my instructions were taken as literally as possible. There was so much weed, the vehicle was more weed than car.
Asher and I hadn’t actually spoken since then. Here I was, just a couple of days before Thanksgiving, finally having gotten the nerve to face the man I betrayed some weeks prior. The holiday was meant to be spent with family. Hearing that bullshit spewed enough times made me realize that I have to at least pay Asher a visit, even if I knew it’d make me miserable.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” I said while rubbing the back of my neck, trying to avoid eye contact. Thankfully, that was natural enough to me that I doubt Asher picked up on how uncomfortable I actually was. Our entire relationship, he’d known me to be timid and anti-social. He didn’t realize how much I’d changed. “It’s just been super busy at the compound, plus I got World Champion duties, and I’m trying to get some people on my side on both accounts, and—”
“You got engaged,” he cut in.
“Right, yes, of course,” I muttered back.
Strangely enough, that part kind of slipped my mind, which made me feel bad. It sounds horrible, but the whole proposal was made during a moment of weakness, fresh off of framing Asher and then being rejected by Selena Frost and her wife Deanna after having offered them both a place at the compound with Deanna basically being the mother of my alien child. It was all pretty surreal. Enough to make a man propose to the first ditzy, vulnerable girl he’d stumbled upon. It was an attempt to cope with the hard reality of the situation by doing something that was extremely easy.
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks, we’re super excited about it,” I said, hopefully sounding more convincing than I actually felt. “So, what’s up, man? You’re not behind bars, that’s awesome. Is it all, uh…sorted out then?”
“It’s complicated,” he said, sinking into his chair.
The man looked broken. Gone was the brash Asher Hayes, smoothly sailing down the river of life. In his place, a wilted and withered little man. It wasn’t the suspension that broke him. It wasn’t the losing streak. It was me.
“Oh, yeah? What’s going on?” I asked. A part of me hoped that it was the worst case scenario, just so he could never figure out what I did as he spent years trapped behind bars. The same part of me felt horrible for even thinking that up.
“Well, I was able to cut a sort of deal, but it wasn’t enough to get off scot-free. It was enough, at least, to get me a few weeks to get my shit in order. Damn house arrest.”
“So your sentence is gonna be served at your house? That’s great! That’s fuckin’ easy! Finally, being white and wealthy has paid off!”
“Not quite,” he confessed. “They just gave me a few weeks, and that was…well, a few weeks ago. My time’s almost up. After that, I go to prison for thirty days, followed by a three-week stay in a substance abuse rehabilitation program.”
“So, wait, you went from potentially decades of prison…to a month and a few weeks at some drug-free country club? Jesus Christ, what the hell did you give ‘em?”
“Pretty much burnt every bridge to my little side business,” he told me, referring to his time as the head of some sort marijuana empire. He didn’t sound regretful. He almost seemed relieved. “Fuck it. It’s only ever brought me trouble. I needed to leave it behind.”
“Totally. I mean, it got you into jail, so…”
“That’s the thing, though,” he said, suddenly sitting up straight and putting his hands on the table. The look in his eye tied a knot in my stomach. “All that weed, that shit wasn’t mine.”
“Of course not, it was for your clients,” I laughed nervously. He wasn’t amused. “I mean, I didn’t expect you to smoke that all by yourself! Ha!”
“That’s not what I mean. I’m saying, I wasn’t gonna sell it. It wasn’t mine. Someone put it in my trunk. Someone framed me, dude.”
I swallowed hard. As it stood, I had yet to lie to Asher. Luckily, he had yet to ask, “Hey, best friend, did you frame me and almost put me behind bars for over a decade because I was becoming too hard to handle?” I was going to try my best not to lie. Asher deserved better than that.
So, instead, I just tried the old gaslighting method, which I’d picked up along my way to becoming a stronger person.
“Ash,” I started, leaning forward and trying to paint my best look of concern, “do you think that you don’t remember putting all that dank kush in your trunk because you were so extremely stoned that it just fell out of your mind once you fell out of your weed-induced fugue state?”
He just stared at me blankly. “My man, that’s not how weed works.”
Damn it, I thought. I didn’t know shit about drugs, unless you counted the pharmies I took. “Listen, are you stoned right now?” I asked bluntly.
“Damn it, Cid, no! I haven’t touched anything since my arrest! Not even myself.”
“Wow. You really are on the straight and narrow.”
“I’m done with weed,” he maintained, “I’m done with the business, I’m done with it all. I’m done, man. I’m clear of mind, and I’m telling you, someone set me up.”
“But who?!” I asked in my most desperate voice. Before he could even answer the question, I kept going. “I mean, I’m racking my brain here, Ash, and I can’t think of any reason why you’d be set up!”
“You mean besides the fact that both businesses that I’m—well, was a part of are notorious for deceit, betrayal, and major criminal acts?”
“Gotta say, I think we roll with the fact that you were severely stoned and now you’re getting the help you need,” I said with a reluctant sigh. “Shame about the prison time, though. Plus the record. At least we know SCW welcomes back criminals with open arms. You’ll always have a home there.”
“Prison time,” echoed Asher.
He relaxed his defensive stance and just leaned back in his chair, staring off into space. Probably thinking of all the rapes that occur in prisons. At least, that’s what I’d be thinking about. Hell, I had been thinking about it. Asher was a beautiful man. Thanks to me, he’d probably leave that facility after thirty days with an asshole that resembled a chewed up orange rather than the little pink shining star I imagined it always was, especially ever since we started following Holly’s life coaching mandated grooming practices.
“Yeah,” I muttered softly, “hard times, my friend. Stupid pigs, am I right?!”
I held a hand up for a high five. He wasn’t into it. The following sentence shed light on his subdued reaction.
“Well, my dad was a detective,” he let me know.
I slowly lowered my hand. “Oh.”
“You have a valid point, however,” he quietly laughed. Again, staring off into space. “Still, I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately. I’ve actually been to jail before, you know?”
“Right, you bailed me out that one time after I illegally punched CHBK in the face,” I reminded him.
I’d say that those were better days, but considering every one of those days consisted of constant mental and physical anguish that made me wonder what a reprieve a moving train turning me into a hairy, blubbery sort of paste would prove to be, then I’d be lying not only to you, but myself.
“No, not that,” he said, looking down at his twiddling fingers on the table. “God, over a year now, huh? We’ve been through a lot. Anyway, no, I mean I was actually in the clink.”
“You do have that ex-con glow about you.”
“Nothing big,” he went on. “Weed, funnily enough. Not 2,000 grams of weed, but, y’know, weed. Half an ounce. Different times. Anyway, I was 18, it wasn’t a big thing. I just remember though, my folks were pissed. Mom slapped me when I got home, at least having the decency to ask if I was all right before she tagged me.”
“Ha. Physical abuse. Classic.”
“Truthfully, I expected even worse from my dad. I thought he’d straight up kill me. Instead, he just let me know how disappointed he was that I found myself on that slippery slope,” he finished, still looking at his fingers as he twiddled away. Weakly, he shrugged. “Wonder what he’d think now.”
So I not only ruined Asher’s reputation in the real world, but in the afterlife as well. His dad was looking down at us right now, just broken that his son turned half an ounce into 2,400 fucking grams.
I made a mental note to say a prayer that night, just in case we were actually able to get through to these people. If I wasn’t going to come clean with Asher, the least I could do is let the ghost of his dad know that his son isn’t that bad.
I cleared my throat. “Hey, listen, I’m not trying to ditch you or anything, but I do have to fly to Denver in just a few hours for this Thanksgiving dinner thing. Really, the only reason I was able to fit you in was just because I don’t have as many commitments as usual because of the holiday,” I lied. “Of course, they’ll still work us to the bone on the day itself, but, uh…well, you know how it is.”
“You know you’re the first person to visit me this whole time?”
For fuck’s sake. “Hmm. People are busy, I guess.”
“I thought I’d spend this time before prison just making amends with people and maybe finding out just who the hell put me here,” Asher continued. He’d been so angry over the previous few months. There wasn’t any anger on that day. He couldn’t even bring himself to be angry anymore. “Instead, I’ve just sat here by myself and really started to wonder if it’s me who put myself here.”
I looked around for a clock. On the wall, on the microwave, on a fucking TV – anything. Any sort of clock that I could point to and say, “Ah, shit, I’m late, gotta go!” Maybe through the power of desperate prayer, Asher granted me the release I was looking for.
“Anyway, I’ll let you go,” he said, getting up out of the chair. I followed suit, trying to resist bolting as fast as I could to the door. “Hey, I go in on the first of December.”
Just let me leave, damn it.
“Oh, yeah? Christmas in the clink,” I joked, though I guess it wasn’t actually. “Sounds like an SCW pay-per-view. Maybe we could hook that up.”
“Could you swing by the day before?” he asked, a quiet plea. “I’m having a little get together. A send off, I guess. It’d mean a lot if you could come.”
“Of course,” I replied. I meant it, too, even though I would’ve said anything to get out of that kitchen at the time.
I gave an awkward nod and went to head out, but he gently grabbed me by the arm. I turned back to him.
“I just wanted to say, man,” he began, getting quiet all of a sudden. Or at least quieter than he’d been, which was notable. “I’m proud of you.”
“Huh?”
“Sometimes it’s slipped away from me, maybe been misplaced, but I seriously hold a lot of pride for you. You’re getting your life together,” he went on. Was this part of the “making amends” he’d mentioned? “Y’know, you’ve come so far.” Please, don’t. “You’re getting married, you got a kid.” I can’t take it. “You’re kicking ass in the ring.” Please. “You’re World Champion.” I’m begging you. “And forget all that co-champion bullshit, you’re the champion.” Stop this. “I’m so damn proud of what you’ve done and I’m honored to have even played a part in your rise.” I don’t deserve it. “A/C Unit for life, brother.”
“For life,” I weakly echoed back. For months, I’d been wanting him to get his head on straight. I guess it finally happened. All it took was me forever putting a secret strain on our relationship.
He pulled me in for a hug. Given the type of person he was, it could have even been the first time he initiated such a thing. Of course, I’d hugged the man countless times after everything he’d done for me, but I was always the one initiating. Still…he never denied me.
As he gave me a pat on the back while holding the embrace, I closed my eyes and thought of those times. The before times. Maybe those really were better days.
“Your turn.”
I opened my eyes and saw my fiancée walk by me while my ex-wife’s fiancé stared at me with glazed eyes, cheeks a rosy sort of red.
“Your turn, mate,” repeated David, the handsome Australian bastard that stole Elizabeth from me. Sure, I hadn’t seen Liz in almost a decade when he proposed to her, and yeah, I myself was engaged now, but still. Stole. “I’m six voddies deep, you gotta gimme an advantage.”
Voddy was apparently short for vodka, if I had to take an educated guess, because he had indeed sunk six vodka shots down. He’d bragged about how strong this particular vodka was. Homemade or some shit. I don’t know.
We were playing some stupid drinking game. The alcoholic’s version of Russian roulette. Six glasses. One with vodka, the others with water. You draw one of six numbered cards and drink the corresponding drink laid out in front of you. Through six rounds, I had yet to have a single sip of vodka.
Recalling David’s behavior at my post-Apocalypse celebration, I just assumed that he always got hammered in honor of any sort of occasion. I also assumed that he’d been drinking before I even got to Liz’s place because he was naïve enough to not only let me shuffle the deck of six cards, but also let my fiancée pour the drinks.
“Isn’t that, like, against the spirit of the game?” wondered my lovely Candi Hart after the first time I told her to line up the vodka shot as I had instructed. She was innocent enough to wonder, as well as innocent enough to just shrug her shoulders and carry on after I told her, “No, it’s not.”
So I’d shuffle the deck with my eyes closed as Candi poured the drinks. I always made sure to recall where the vodka card was before I shuffled, however. Then I’d place it wherever I like on the table and just not choose it. David had yet to catch on, and the more drunk he got, the less likely he was to ever even come close to doing so.
“I guess giving you an advantage is only fair at this point,” I said as I laid the cards out again. I acted like I was deep in thought, just tormenting over this agonizing decision of which card to pick. When I got bored, I chose the card that I knew wasn’t loaded, then drank the shot of yummy tap water. Slamming the shot glass down, I let loose a sigh of content. “Delicious water again.”
“Fuck sake. All right.”
David ran his fingers across a few of the cards as if to sense the faces beneath. Poor guy, he’s definitely way smarter than me, but he apparently didn’t know that I can be a dirty son of a bitch when I want to be.
David continued to ponder his choice while I leaned back in my chair, turning my head towards Candi.
While Liz slaved away in the kitchen and the men – or “blokes,” as David had unfortunately referred to us as several times – got wasted, Candi was on babysitting duty, playing around in the living room with my daughter Sydney. They giggled with one another while looking down at a tablet together.
Jealousy reverberated through my entire body. Candi handled Sydney way better than I ever had and she’d literally known her for less than half a day. Then again, she accepted my proposal on our first date. This was just the way she moved. A social butterfly, ripping through life without a care in the world, blessing everyone with the wind of her touch.
After I met Sydney, I actually thought I might get on pretty well with her. I see myself as a completely hopeless child most of the time, so I figured I’d relate more to my seven-year old than I would any adult. My entire life people have called me childish, the girl’s mother included.
I guess the difference is that I was a lot happier, say, ten or so years ago. Now, I’m just an anxious and depressed wreck. Getting better, sure, but just like someone like David would always like a little drink, I’d always like a little fear and self-loathing.
I think that’s where I lost the ability to relate to a child. Candi, on the other hand, still carried that childlike innocence. Along with that innocence…naïvety, maybe. Stupidity, very possibly. But still, that innocence is something that I wish I never lost. Maybe then my daughter wouldn’t prefer a stranger over me.
God, I guess I’m just a stranger to her, aren’t I? Seven years without me and I just expect her to care for me like I was always there.
“Water,” David called out, sliding the empty shot glass across the table. His closed fist hung in the air, a symbol of what was going to be a very short-lived victory. “Fuckin’ oath.”
“Lucky you,” I remarked flatly as I drew another card. I looked at it, saw the number, then flicked it back onto the table before grabbing a shot of what I knew was water
“Can you feel the rush?” asked David as I held the shot in my hand.
“The rush?”
“Of adrenaline,” he clarified, nodding in excitement. “Russian roulette. Not a gun, obviously, but—”
“Considering I’ve actually almost died, I take no pleasure from flirting with death, so, no,” I replied before throwing the drink back. Clicking my tongue, I slid the glass back on the table. “I’m perfectly content with this water though.”
“Well, shit,” he laughed with a shake of the head. Another card was drawn and I stifled a smile as he chose the loaded one. His hand brought the drink up to his nose with apprehension. He took a light whiff and jolted back a bit, cringing. “Ah, fuck.”
“Rush of adrenaline?”
“Down she goes,” he quipped before sinking the vodka. After a hard swallow, he let out a satisfied exhale. “Burns so good, don’t it?”
“Honestly, I wouldn’t know.”
“Let’s go another round. I feel I’m due, aren’t I?”
“For sure,” I agreed despite knowing that he very much was not due.
I wasn’t even sure why I was doing this, or even what it was supposed to lead to in my mind. I guess there was just something nice about seeing someone that seemed so above me come right down to my level. It was sad that I only felt measured up to David after I made him a bumbling drunk, but I guess that paints a pretty good picture of my self-esteem.
Maybe it was just because he had something that I wanted. Something physical, in this case. Someone. Everyone else seemed to have something mental that I just couldn’t obtain. A sense of normalcy. They all seemed to have it together, which included David, despite him becoming a mess at parties. I guess that’s just another thing normal people do. Normal people get drunk, damaged people rig the game so they don’t have to partake, especially not if they’re loaded on antidepressants.
There was a sense of that yearning to be normal in my attempt to recruit people. If I could surround myself with enough people that worshipped me, maybe I’d be like everyone else with friends. Part of that was fully committing to the thought of being with Selena and Deanna. Maybe some of Selena’s shine would rub off on me, you know? I’m not terribly fond of her, but she certainly gave off an aura. That aura brought her praise and happiness. I wanted that. Maybe I also wanted Selena to join a group where I’m worshipped, just so I could feel above her in some way. These people made me feel so small sometimes.
“Have you two been doing this the whole time?” my ex-wife Elizabeth asked from the doorway to the kitchen.
“Oop, uh oh,” David quietly uttered before taking a quick sip straight from the bottle. Quickly screwing the cap on as Liz made her way towards us, he looked back. “Just a quick bit o’ fun!”
Liz took the bottle from him and looked at it, lightly swirling its remaining contents around. There wasn’t much left, really.
“You two certainly put in the work, didn’t you?” she scolded before looking directly at me. “Cid, you don’t even drink!”
“You’re right, I’ve won every single game,” I told her with a confident smile. “Haven’t had a drop!”
“The man is gifted,” giggled David, shooting a finger gun my way.
Liz looked down at her fiancé. “Bit loose now, are we?” she asked disapprovingly. Maybe there was actually something there that I wasn’t aware of. Again, she looked at me. “You, of all people? Encouraging drinking? I—” She stopped, looking back at Candi and Sydney playing before turning back to me with a whisper. “I show up to one show of yours stoned and you act like I’m the devil.”
“Liz, that was, like, twenty years ago,” I barked back. “People change! Also I didn’t know David was an alcoholic, I thought we were just having fun, so I apologize.”
“What? He—David is not an alcoholic.”
“It’s true, mate,” David agreed with a lazy nod. “Getting smashed is just part of my culture.”
“You’re not helping.”
I mean, I was just joking, but it made sense. He was pretty lax at my birthday party some time back, then tipsy at my celebration dinner, and now on his way to being hammered on Thanksgiving, a holiday I don’t think his people even celebrated. Hell, it wasn’t even the actual day of the holiday yet. The man was just drinking on a regular Tuesday.
While Liz and David quietly chatted amongst each other, Candi entered the room, hand-in-hand with Sydney.
“Oh, everyone’s, like, here!” Candi noted with excitement. “Is dinner, like, ready?”
Liz pulled away and turned to Candi with a pained smile. “Yes, hon,” she said in a tone I wasn’t terribly fond of. Ever since Candi walked through the door, Liz spoke down to her like she was a child, and yes, okay, I just spent time saying how childlike Candi is, but that doesn’t mean that someone other than me is allowed to demean her! “Now that the boys are done drinking, I mean.”
“Damn it, stop hounding me,” I snapped, “I said I didn’t know he was an alcoholic!”
“Stop saying that!”
“Don’t, like, mind Cidnay,” Candi said as she took a seat at the table, bringing Sydney up on her lap. Truthfully, Syd looked too big to be sitting on someone’s lap, but maybe I just hate children. Liz grabbed the bottle of vodka and went to put it away. “He’s just, like, upset because he went to, like, visit his drug smoking friend or whatever.”
“He wasn’t smoking, Candi,” I corrected her, “he was trafficking. Big difference. I mean, he was smoking the stuff too, but…that’s besides the point!”
“What, it didn’t go well?” asked Liz after putting away the bottle, much to David’s dismay.
“It was one of the worst experiences of my life.”
“Why’s that?”
Because everything is my fault.
“Just sucks to see him that way,” I answered, which was still the truth. “He’s a good guy. Not counting the whole thing where he tried to kill Syren. Then he threatened to maybe do the same to Deanna. Then, y’know, all that dank kush in his trunk. Still, though, he’s a good egg, that Asher.”
“I don’t know any of those people, but your friend sounds like quite the catch,” Liz shot back sarcastically.
“Should’ve brought him over, mate,” David suggested. I could see Liz instinctively shake her head. “Plenty o’ room here!”
“I would have, but if we were able to actually sneak him onto the plane despite him being marked a flight risk, his ankle bracelet probably would’ve complicated things.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Shame,” Liz said as she started arranging plates on the table. “Candi, could you help me set up?”
“Like, of course!” Candi cried happily. Sydney hopped off her knee and walked over to David, who looked longingly at the alcohol cabinet. “I’m, like, so happy you guys let me, like, come over to your family dinner with Cidnay.”
“Well, Cidnay is family, isn’t he?” Liz said, shooting me a look, presumably over the fact that my fiancée refers to me as my Holly Adams Brand, trademarked, moniker. “So, now you are too.”
“That’s so, like, sweet! I’m just, like, super excited for a real, like, turkey.”
“Real turkey?”
“Yeah, like, last year, DeShaun and I, like, had our own little, like, gathering at our, like, apartment, but our turkey was, like, from a can.”
Liz stopped setting up and took a moment to just stare blankly at Candi after the glimpse she provided us into her life. She then looked at me. I shrugged. I saw her eyes go next to me and I turned my head to see Sydney standing next to me, just staring up at me. I couldn’t help but jolt back a little, the little child snuck up on me.
“Um…hello, daughter.”
“Hello, father,” she replied, just staring at me and my beard.
An awkward silence ensued. I coughed, hoping to give Syd the go ahead to maybe continue the conversation. I wasn’t good at starting conversations. Couldn’t really carry one, either.
Apparently, Syd adopted that trait from me, because instead of helping me out, she just stared up at me in silence. I turned to Liz, who had shaken off Candi’s disturbing anecdote and was setting up the table.
“I’m going to quickly go to the shitter,” I informed everyone.
Liz rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Cid…”
The entire family watched me pee.
Who the hell hangs up a framed family photo right next to the toilet? Who in their right mind wants the family – or anyone, really – watching over them as they evacuate?
Happily families, maybe. I suppose it was possible that I was the weird one, what with not wanting eyes on me under such circumstances. I swear to God, the eyes on the picture wandered.
While I finally felt safe coming out of the bathroom and closing the door behind me, that safety left me quicker than the aforementioned evacuation when I turned right into Liz, the surprise knocking me back into the closed door. To my even greater surprise, she crowded me, trapping me in the doorway with narrowed eyes peering into my soul.
“I’m flattered, Liz, that you suddenly have the urge to do me in the shitter, but I’m engaged to be married,” I muttered somewhat nervously. Last time she had been this close to me, Sydney was created. Butterflies. “So are you, in fact.”
“Tell me why you’re marrying this girl,” Elizabeth demanded quietly.
“What, you don’t like her?”
“She’s a sweetheart,” she quickly and coldly shot back, to the point where I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not. “Are you stringing her along?”
“Love at first sight is a thing, you know!”
“She’s half your age.”
“She’s not half—”
“You two have absolutely nothing in common,” she went on.
“Hey, clearly, I’m young at heart,” I argued, giving her a guiding push away from me with my pointer finger to give me some space. “I mean, look at me, 41-years old and I’m the best wrestler in the biggest company in the world. The fountain of youth is apparently depression and anxiety.”
“Don’t downplay your issues like that.”
“I’m slinging facts, sister,” I boasted, chest pushed forward. “Why are you always trying to bring me down, huh? Here I am, a vegan watching everyone else eat turkey, and you’re here bringing me down. You know how lame Thanksgiving is as a vegan? I’m just sitting around celebrating old massacres without even getting to indulge in the delicious, comforting shame of an innocent animal cooked to perfection.”
“I’m not trying to bring you down,” she said, her stance softening.
“There was the thing with David and the booze, the dinner after I won my title back where you got all judgy, now my engagement to my soulmate Candi—”
“What color are her eyes?”
“Is this jealousy?” I asked accusingly in lieu of actually answering her question because she likely knew the answer while I didn’t. Green, if I had to guess. I opted not to guess aloud. “Are you mad that I’m finally getting things right, even without you by my side?”
“I’m worried you’re getting things wrong and putting yourself at risk of falling down a very familiar path,” she hissed. I held my arms out to welcome further clarification. “Your confidence is slipping into arrogance and I don’t want you dragging that girl through your old bullshit. Speaking from personal experience, it sucks.”
The fact that she thought I sounded confident – no, arrogant – was one of the nicest things she’d ever said to me. It only served to prove that my mentality was slowly turning me into a success story. It was enough to make the barb about how much she hated married life with me not make me crumble on the spot.
“Are you afraid that if I get a cut and a shave, I’ll completely be my old self and you’ll fall in love with me again?” I asked, getting an annoyed groan in response before I could even finish the question. “Because that’d be very immature, Elizabeth. We’re supposed to be grown now.”
“Just keep an eye on yourself,” she commanded with a quiet anger. I was actually impressed at how well she composed herself, considering that I was intentionally needling her in an attempt to cover up the fact that maybe my engagement to Candi wasn’t the best thing I’d ever done. “Okay?”
“Always,” I beamed. “There’s no cure for my ailments, y’know? So I have to stay on top of ‘em. Always self-aware.”
“Just get downstairs, would you?”
“Bloody hell, she looks lovely,” David blurted out with a slight slur to his words, referring not to his wife, but to the turkey. The slurring told me that he probably went and finished the bottle of vodka while Liz and I were upstairs. Good for him. “I see now why you all celebrate this!”
“Do they, like, not have Thanksgiving in Australia?” asked Candi.
“What? No, of course not.”
“That’s, like, so sad,” Candi cried softly.
“David,” Liz called out, offering him a knife. “Care to do the honors?”
“Actually,” I interrupted, getting up out of my seat and calmly taking the knife from Liz. There was some resistance, but she thought better of trying to wrestle me over a sharpened knife. “Maybe we shouldn’t let David wield any knives in his current condition. I’ll gladly do it! Even though I’m basically just eating green beans and potatoes tonight.”
Liz conceded with a sigh and sat down next to David, who – for some reason – looked thrilled that I was taking over for this ceremony despite being a guest in his house. Vodka seemed pretty great, just based on his reaction to it all.
“Yay, Cidnay!” cheered Candi. It was the first time I’d heard her finish a sentence without shoving the word “like” in there somewhere. It really was a Thanksgiving miracle.
I went to do the first cut, but stopped myself and looked around the table. “Hey, before we carve, let’s all say what we’re thankful for, huh? David, you first.”
He looked at me in surprise, or maybe he had just been nodding off and his name woke him up. I don’t know. Either way, he tried to perk up. “Ah, well, uh…thankful for the feed, I’d say,” he mumbled. Liz gave him a light nudge. “Oh, and Elizabeth and little Sydney, of course. I’ll also say that I’m just chuffed as to have you here, Cid.” Chuffed as? Chuffed as what? He always did that, cutting himself off at “as.” “You too, Candi. Just a pleasure to meet ya.”
“Aw, like, thanks,” Candi giggled.
“Good stuff, Dave,” I stated bluntly before pointing the knife over to Candi. “Candi?”
“Well, just, like, I’m so happy that we’re getting, like, married and stuff!”
“Aww, so sweet,” I cooed, looking back at Liz. “Isn’t she so sweet? How about you, Liz? What’re you thankful for?”
I could feel her trying not to glare at me. “Well,” she began, putting a hand on Sydney’s back, “I’m grateful for my family. I’m so happy with you both.” I planned on clearing my throat to let her know that I was also there, but there was no need. “And Cid, I’m glad you’re back and that you can be part of Sydney’s life. I wish you and Candi nothing but the best and look forward to having you both around.”
“Okay, so what I’m thankful for is—”
“You forgot Sydney,” Liz chimed back in.
I looked over at Sydney, who was just staring at the knife in my hand. Creepy, if I’m being honest. “Okay, Syd. What are you thankful for?”
She just looked around the table silently. I was about ready to make a buzzer sound, but she finally spoke up. “I think we’re all very happy,” she said.
Speak for yourself, little one, I thought. “Right. So, you’d say you’re thankful for…”
“…being happy,” she finished quietly. Her mother smiled. I tried my best to follow suit.
“Excellent! That’s—well, that’s something!”
“What are you thankful for?” she asked, kind of catching me off guard. She mostly spoke in answers rather than questions.
“Um, well…I guess everyone else stole my thunder,” I joked with a small chuckle. “I’m thankful for the people around this table tonight. Syd, you’re the best daughter a guy can ask for. Liz, you’re the best ex-wife a guy can ask for. Candi, you’re the best fiancée a guy can ask for! David, you’re—” I stared at David, who looked up at me expectantly. “Well, you’re a swell guy, aren’t you? Let’s dig in!”
I got a small round of applause and was showered by little cheers from the family as I went back towards the turkey. Again, however, I stopped. Another look around the table. I shook my head and stood back up.
“I’m also thankful for myself,” I started again, getting a couple of furrowed brows directed at me. “I, uh…I think I’m starting to figure out exactly who I am. It was a long road I was lost on, but…I’m finding my way. I’m remembering the person that I used to be so long ago, and…I’m gonna build on that.” I looked at David. “I’m going to continue to be the best in my line of work while helping others.” Then Candi. “I’m gonna have the best marriage ever.” Then to Liz and Syd. “And I’m making my second chance at life even better than the first.” I could see Liz bite the inside of her mouth. “A year from now, all I can hope is that all of you will be as thankful for me as I am. That’s all I want. Amen.”
I stuck the knife into the turkey and began to carve. Not as much of a reaction as my previous thanks, but I did get a nice hand from Candi. “Amen,” she chirped happily while David awkwardly joined in on the applause. “What a wonderful, like, speech!”
It was mostly bullshit. With me pushing Asher away, I felt like a part of my life was suddenly missing. There were reasons that I could use to make myself feel better about the whole thing. He really did seem like he was getting his head on straight, but…I don’t know. I started to wonder if it was less about helping him and more about helping myself.
And probably through no fault of her own, Elizabeth always did a bang up job at making me feel alone in the world. She had some decent points about my approach with Candi, but I think the worst thing about it all was that I still felt like we were maybe wasting our time with the people we found ourselves paired with. Not because Candi’s terrible, because she isn’t. She’s wonderful. David, too – he’s a completely respectable gentleman that had only ever treated me like a legitimate friend.
No. I was just bitter that it wasn’t me and Liz. I just assume that I’ll always feel this way, for better or worse.
Really, though, who knows? My recent phoniness had gotten me pretty far in a short amount of time. I was genuinely looked upon as arrogant by Liz, if only for a moment. What a compliment. So, I just had to keep on trying to make all of the words I said into reality. Maybe one day I’d say how thankful I was to be around everyone, including myself, and actually mean it.
THE RISE OF THE FALLEN KING 