The Coffee Girl

“Oh, Patrick,” I sighed, letting my bag fall from my shoulder and land on the pavement, “what did you do?” He sluggishly tilted his head up to look at me, the expression on his face mimicking that of a child. He flashed a grin then raised the bottle of vodka to his lips before taking a sloppy sip. I cringed as the liquid fell down the sides of his mouth, staining his shirt, then sat down beside him.

Our legs were stretched out from the curb and the street was so deserted at this time that I didn’t think there would be any cars passing by.

“Give me that,” I mumbled, reaching for the bottle and plucking it effortlessly from his limp hands. He frowned at me then reached for it before falling against my lap. I sighed again and pulled him up by the shoulders the way a ventriloquist would lift up his dummy, trying to make it look like a real human and not a lump of dead wood. However, Patrick was 10 times heavier than any dummy and as soon as I had his back straight he would just slump to the other side.

He leaned against my shoulder, the reeking smell of vodka surrounding me with every breath. “I knew you had a thing for me,” he mumbled against my collar bone.

I had woken up this morning with all the intention of setting Patrick straight. To tell him that what he was going through had to be solved in another way than just hitting on me, but I would be glad to listen if he needed to talk. And now, as all of his body weight pushed against my side, threatening to bring me down with him if he just so happened to fall back, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t turn to him and say, “I don’t like you in that way”, not when he was trying to heal rejection with a bottle of alcohol.

I had seen this happen so many times that I had become acute to what might set it off. Specific words, gestures, or phrases that would make the other person reach for more.

Instead of pushing it I said, “Jonathan isn’t going to be happy.”

Patrick scoffed. “Fuck Jonathan.”

“I’d rather not,” I mumbled. Just like I had expected, Patrick hadn’t heard me. The last thing I needed was him sobering up and telling his slightly scary captain that I didn’t find him sexually appealing. He just reached his hand over once again, searching for the bottle. I slapped his hand away and he grumbled.

“It’s no fun without the vodka.”

I rolled my eyes and shifted my body so that my arm wasn’t being crushed under him. “Is it really fun, Patrick? You could have dealt with this in so many different ways and you choose the most destructive.”

He smiled against my shoulder and forced his eyes open. “It would be constructive if I had the bottle.” He reached again and I pushed his hand away with an aggravated sigh. His smile fell. “I didn’t want it to turn out like this.”

I listened.

He looked at my face to see if I was interested. Once he noticed my gaze focused on him he licked his lips. “I loved her. I would have done anything for her and she just fucked me over for some college frat boy.” Reflexively, I raised my hand to his other shoulder and rubbed it soothingly. I may not have been his captain, but I knew that this was what Patrick wanted. To let it all out verbally instead of physically.

“Look,” I began, “I don’t know you that well, but I can tell that you’re a good guy.” I looked down at him and noticed a small smile grace his lips. “Whoever this girl is, she’s an idiot for dumping you.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

I paused for a moment. “Have you told this to Jonathan?”

Again Patrick scoffed as though my question was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “I can’t tell this stuff to Tazer. He’s my best friend and captain and all, but this isn’t a conversation to have with him. We might as well just bring out the nail polish and gossip about boys while we’re at it.”

I didn’t expect anything less. Jonathan didn’t really seem like the guy to pick sharing feelings over physical contact.

“Well, Kaner,” He smiled at my use of his nickname, “you can talk to me about it.”

He laughed. “I’ll hold you to that.” Just then he turned to his left and dry heaved. I scrunched my face in disgust.

“Okay, I should probably get you home,” I said as I stood up and tried to lift him to his feet. After a few good pulls I finally managed to get him up and relatively steady. “Where do you live?”

He stared out at the skyline blankly. “I don’t know.”

I rolled my eyes. “Great.” Slowly we began walking to my car, his arm slung around my shoulders for support, though I doubted I would really be able to do anything if his legs gave out. One gust of wind and the two of us would be on the ground in seconds. Once we reached my car, I opened the passenger door with my free hand and shoved him in, accidentally hitting his head on the door frame. Luckily, he was too wasted to notice, but it was definitely a bruise he’d be feeling in the morning. I moved over to the driver’s side and reached into his pocket to pull out his cell phone.

Hopefully, he would have his address listed somewhere. I searched through names and applications (damn those confusing iPhones) then landed on the name Jonathan Toews. I stopped scrolling and stared at it for a few moments. A few seconds ago, the last thing on my mind was calling up Jonathan and telling him to come collect his drunk friend who just so happened to be lying on the curb outside my work. But now...now I had to think of Patrick. Did I really want to leave him home all alone? Would he survive to morning if I did?

Without a second thought I pressed the call button and raised the phone to my ear as it rang.

“Kaner! Where the hell are you?! I’ve been looking for you all night!” I was left speechless at the complete urgency in Jonathan’s voice. “Hello?!”

“I—He’s here with me,” I sputtered.

“Calli?” his voice was still angry and urgent, but I could somewhat sense the relief creeping through, probably happy that Patrick was with someone he knew. “Where is he?”

I looked over at Patrick. “He’s sleeping in my car. I have your address on his phone. I’m bringing him to your place.”

There was the crackle of static on the other end. “Fine,” he said aggressively then hung up. I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. I really, really didn’t want to deal with Jonathan’s anger right now. I snapped my eyes open and stuck my key into the ignition. Next to me, Patrick was still fast asleep. I knew it would take more than my crappy engine revving to wake him.

☼☼☼☼☼☼

As soon as I pulled up in front Jonathan’s apartment building he came racing outside in only a pair of pyjama bottoms and slippers. I stepped out of the car to his massive, bare-chested form, coming towards me in a flurry of anger.

“I didn’t do anything,” I said hastily once he stopped in front of me. I thought I might as well get all the accusations out of the way. That was, after all, what Jonathan was thinking; that it was my fault Patrick left them and got piss drunk outside of Starbucks.

He rolled his eyes and moved towards the passenger door. “I’m surprised you called me. What? Weren’t the tabloids open this late at night?” I clenched my jaw, watching him circle the car, and then followed him.

“Dude, what’s your problem?” I demanded, stopping only a few steps behind him. He spun around, giving me a clear view of his muscular chest.

“Is it a cliché if I say that you’re my problem?” he asked in a husky voice.

“Yes...and pretty predictable,” I replied. “I get it, you don’t like me because you don’t know me. But I haven’t done anything to make you believe I’m a horrible person.”

Jonathan opened the passenger door and unbuckled Patrick who was still sleeping, oblivious to this fight going on. “Let me think; he meets you and stops coming to practice, stops listening to any of the team at all, and is now drunk out of his fucking mind in the passenger seat of your car.” I tightened my lips, not willing to argue because all of that was true. Though, it was completely out of context. He didn’t really know what was going on. “Kaner doesn’t need this shit right now.”

“Oh, and you know what he needs?” I asked viciously. Jonathan stood up straight to look at me, his eyes answering the question before any words came out of his mouth.

“Yeah, I do.”

“You don’t listen to him.” The sentence came out in a rush. “In 20 minutes he shared more with me than he said he does with you.” Jonathan rolled his jaw and glared at me. I sucked in a breath, trying to calm myself down. “I don’t want anything from Patrick,” I said in a whisper. “Or from you. I just—” I paused to look up at him and study his face. “I guess I’m a humanitarian at heart.”

Jonathan stared back at me, his eyes blazing into mine, and then turned back to Patrick. He pulled him out and wrapped his arm around his shoulder. Unlike me, he was easily able to pick him up and carry him to the side walk. I sighed, closing the passenger door before moving over to the driver’s side. This was just one more blemish on my relationship with Jonathan. What was with this compulsive need I had to make everyone like me?

I watched as he began pulling Patrick along to the doors of the apartment when, suddenly, he turned to face me. I straightened up, not used to the softness in his expression and not knowing what to make of it.

“Thanks,” he grumbled genuinely then turned back around and disappeared into the apartment. I guess this was the first step to proving that I wasn’t some money hungry, publicity whore.