Watching Jess leave the kitchen, he picked up a cup and poured himself a hot, black coffee. Surprise, surprise, Walt Miller had lived up to his own reputation and once again disappeared in the middle of the night. Jess just didn't understand; she honestly thought that getting father and son to talk would have made a difference. It was maddening to him that she was always looking for the best in people.
As he walked back to his room, he shook his head: her optimism, her positivity - he could never understand it. People were the worst. If his dad had taught him anything in life it was that almost everyone is selfish and unreliable and, no matter how much you care about them, they will probably let you down, time and time again.
When he had found her in the kitchen, trying to break the sink pipes, he thought she had got it. Thought she finally understood what it was like to have people disappoint you over and over. "People don't change - if someone's broken, they just stay broken," he'd told her as he tried to explain that this was what he expected from his father; he didn't need to get angry about it this time.
She sat back down and looked up at him sadly, with her large blue eyes, "You're not broken," she told him.
"I'm a little broken," he replied, with a small smile - wondering how she could not think that he was a mess of a man.
Walking into his room he quickly closed the door, trying to ignore the accumulated mess of dirty laundry, used cups and other items that were scattered around. The musky scent of the unaired space assaulted his nostrils and he briefly considered opening a window until he decided he couldn't be bothered and retreated back to his bed.
One of the last things she said rang in his ears as he sank into the lumpy mattress, "I don't know how you made it out, but you're good," he chuckled as the words turned over in his mind. He wasn't good, far from it. Maybe on the surface he seemed fine, but scratch a little deeper and you found someone who was not a successful adult.
Stretching back on his bed, he interlaced his fingers behind his head and focused on the small imperfections on the ceiling above him. In a way, it was a lot like him. Sure, from a distance it seems all peachy; flat, all one color, watertight. But if you take a close look you see it - the water stains, the chipped paint, the bumpy plaster work. The result of neglect and misuse over many years which would probably be overlooked until the day the ceiling came crashing down on top of their heads.
Yep, that was a perfect analogy- Nick Miller, a disaster waiting to happen, a mess of a man who was a work in progress; hurtling towards inevitable failure at life. Hell, he was almost there already. Law school drop-out, living on tips, borderline alcoholic, never achieving anything in his adult life - plus so emotionally stunted he was incapable of having a real relationship that didn't end in disaster.
Pulling himself up, he walked over to his desk and reached for the bottom drawer. At first it wouldn't open and he had to yank it; the ancient wood was warped and swollen (he'd have to remember to fix that later). Finally it released itself and he removed a wooden frame from inside. Turning it over in his hands, he studied the picture beneath the cracked glass. It was of him and Caroline, taken on the fourth of July, the year they first started dating. Their arms were wrapped around each other and their faces held large smiles as behind them fireworks peppered the sky above. Rubbing his face he tried to remember what had happened between them: why had he been sucked into something doomed to failure? Was it his fault?
Reaching out he ran a finger over the photograph. With a heavy heart, he remembered how much he had wanted things to work out with her. He had projected all his hopes and dreams onto this woman, believing perhaps she might be able to rescue him, and his life, from the chaos he had been existing in.
He wracked his brain, trying to remember where it all had gone wrong, how he had messed it all up. When they broke up, she had told him she never knew how he felt. And he had to admit it was true; sharing what he felt was pointless and scary, what if he were rejected? What if the other person didn't feel the same way? Scrunching up his face he realised it was time to accept that Nick Miller was not the kind of guy who was going to get the girl. Taking one last look he tossed the frame into the waste paper basket beside his desk and, lying back on the bed, closed his eyes, willing himself a few more hours sleep.
"Schmidt, leave him alone, I think he's a little upset about his dad leaving," came the hushed voice of Jess from outside his door, rousing Nick from his slumber.
"Jess, he's used to it, his dad has been in and out of his life since he was a kid," replied Schmidt.
"Seriously Schmidt, you can ask him for the $20 he owes you later, actually, here - I'll give it to you. Just leave him alone," he heard the pleading tone in Jess's voice. It bothered him how she was always trying to look out for him - he could take care of his self. Irritated, he rose from the bed and began to walk towards the door.
"Fine," Schmidt replied reluctantly, "You know Jess, I'm worried. If we're not careful, Nick's gonna turn into Outside Nick one of these days." Nick paused mid-step, wondering what Schmidt meant.
"Shhhh, he's going to hear you," Jess hissed.
Speaking a little more quietly, he continued, "Really - I worry he's gonna flip out one day and start living in a trash can. What if this tips him over the edge?"
"Look, we both care about Nick, but trust me, he's fine! Come on, move away from here before you wake him up."
He heard their footsteps slowly move away, as he stood with his hand paused near the door handle.
Is that what Schmidt really thought? That he was going to end up a homeless bum? Annoyed, he grabbed his hoody from the floor and stuffed his feet into his running shoes.
Grabbing the handle, he swung the door open and began to march towards the hallway.
"Nick!" Jess cried, upon seeing him finally emerge, "You're up - do you want some lunch?" She lifted up the plated sandwich she was currently making.
"No, I'm going out," he replied gruffly and Jess ran over to him, her high ponytail bobbing as she moved.
"Wait, Nick, are you okay? I mean about what happened earlier?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.
He screwed up his face and shook his head again, "Nah, I'm fine."
"Nick, I can see there is something wrong, your mouth is all twisted up like you ate a Sour Patch kid."
Turning to face her, he began to push up the sleeves of his burgundy hoody, "If you wanna know, I heard Schmidt comparing me to Outside Dave earlier and I'm a little pissed off that one of my best friends thinks that about me."
Jess reached and grabbed for his arm, "No, no, that's not what he meant. It's just, Nick, you know we worry about you..."
Licking his lips, he turned to give her a firm stare, "Look, I've told you a million times, I'm fine. My life is a mess, but it's my mess. Stop worrying about me and stop trying to look after me!" His voice became louder as he spoke and he finished by pulling his arm sharply from her grasp and turning and stalking out of the loft.
Jess stood, slightly stunned for a moment as she let the echoing sound of the door slamming dissipate. Slowly, she shook her head, "Oh Nick," she whispered.
As he exited the building, he could feel the pent up rage subside and the cool flood of realization flood through him. Maybe they were right? What if he were on some path to becoming the next Outside Dave? Living in a doorway and eating out of a dumpster? Hell, it wouldn't take a lot to lose his job; he'd come pretty close already a few times. Scanning the street outside the loft, he finally saw him, curled up on the hood of Jess's car, a sheet of newspaper blocking out the midday sun. Suddenly, Nick had an idea and turned back and headed to the coffee shop.
"Hey, wake up," Nick nudged Outside Dave with his elbow as he held a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, "I need to talk to you."
"Leave me alone," came the deadpan response.
"I got ya a two percent latte and a cookie - all I want is to ask you a question."
Dave sat upright at the prospect of coffee, yawning loudly and Nick pulled back as he was assaulted with the putrid breath of someone who didn't know what a toothbrush was. "I may be willing to negotiate," he sniffed as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his filthy, tattered coat, whose original color was no longer apparent.
"Coffee and cookie in exchange for five minutes of your time," Nick offered.
A thoughtful look passed over his face as Dave stroked his matted, grey flecked beard.
"What kind of cookie?" he asked, pushing up his taped up glasses as he spoke.
"Chocolate chip," Nick replied, pointing to the paper bag in his pocket.
"Okay," he replied, with a small nod, snatching the coffee from his hand and pulling the brown paper bag that held the cookie from Nick's pocket.
"Okay then," Nick nodded as he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, "My question is - how did you end up here? Living on the street, I mean."
He waited as Dave quickly demolished the cookie, leaving his coat and beard covered in small, brown crumbs before he pulled the lid from the latte and quickly gulped it down, finishing by licking his lips of the creamy residue.
"Well," he began, letting out a small belch, "I dropped out of college when I was 21. I got a job selling cars - started living with a few friends in a loft near here. Then I started dating Sarah, or should I call her by her proper name, the bitch whore from hell. I gave her everything and how did she repay me? She ripped out my heart with her bare hands, tore it in two and fed it to a pack of howling wolves," he began to breathe heavier as his voice became more animated, "And I went into this dark place for a while - the doctors called it a major episode, whatever that means. Anyhow, I decided enough Mr. Nice Dave, and I started telling people how it really is. Apparently, if you work in customer service you're supposed to be all nicey nicey and smile and stuff," he gave Nick a maniacal smile and leaned in closer to him, "So I got fired for taking a piss on this guy who complained about a car I sold him." He slid of the hood of the car and stood facing Nick, "So I said, fuck it and when my money ran out I moved onto the street. Here, no one can tell me what to do or how to live my life, especially not some evil bitch whore from hell. Now I'm king of my own destiny," he finished with a cackle, raising his hands in the air and giving Nick another crazy, rotten toothed smile, which made Nick flinch backwards in surprise. Dave looked at his watch free wrist before he continued in his regular, flat voice, "Look's like your five minutes are over!"
Nick stood and watched the hulking figure of the homeless man disappear into the distance. So that was it, he thought. The parallels between their lives were clear; Dave was another man who never achieved anything, drifted through life before finally sinking into oblivion. Shrugging his shoulders, he digested this information and turned back to the loft.
Some weeks later...
Balancing a large, brown cardboard box in one hand, Winston used the other to knock on the doorframe of Nick's room. "Hey Nick, this box just arrived from Chicago," he walked into his friends room and placed it on his unmade bed. Nick, sitting at his desk, pen in hand, swivelled round in his chair to face him.
"Thanks man," he sighed, giving him a sad smile, "My mom said she was going to send me a few of Dad's things."
Winston nodded as Nick spoke, running his hand over the top of the heavily taped box, "Hey man, you know I'm here, if you need to talk. Pop Pop meant a lot to me too."
Nick stood and began to stretch his arms in the air, "I'm fine, really, I just..." he let out a slow yawn, "I dunno, I guess I just miss him - despite everything."
Winston got up and walked over to where Nick stood, placing a firm hand on his shoulder, "We both know Walt was never going to win father of the year, but he was your dad, so it's fine to miss him."
Nick shook his head, "Yeah but it's not just that, see, I'm worried. I keep thinking that maybe there's something bad in me, that because of him I'm destined to mess things up, hurt other people..."
"Look, you need to lighten up, there is nothing wrong with you. You are not your dad, 'kay?" Nick looked up at him and nodded in reply, "Good, now, if you wanna talk..." his voice trailed off.
"I know, I know..." Winston left the room, closing the door behind him, then Nick walked over to his bed and began peeling back the thick, brown tape which encased the box.
Inside, there was a layer of thin tissue paper which he pulled away to see two bundles of clothing; he quickly recognized they were his fathers 'leisure suits' that he used to wear on weekends. Smiling, he placed them to one side. Underneath was a worn and tattered Chicago Bears cap; touching it brought back memories of Sundays when he was a kid, his dad watching a game, beer in hand, swearing at the TV. Next he picked out one of his father's silk ties; Walt had had an extensive collection - he said you can never be overdressed when you're in business. Nick cast his eye around the sorry collection of T-shirts and crumpled button downs that littered his room - well, at least he wasn't like his father in that respect.
At the bottom of the box was a manila envelope. Picking it up, he slid his hand inside and removed a small stack of photographs. Flicking through them, he saw the first one showed his father as a young man, leaning against a Cadillac, his flares almost as wide as he was. The next one showed him and his mom on their wedding day, cutting a cake - he was placing a kiss on his mother's cheek: she looked so in love. Nick felt a sudden pulse of anger as he thought about his mom, how his father had repaid her loyalty by disappearing for weeks at a time, leaving Nick to take care of her. His mom was the kind of sheltered person who didn't really deal well with the real world, so Nick had to step up. Annoyed, he tossed the pictures to one side and sat brooding, with his head in his hands, until he heard a light tapping at the door.
"Nick?" came Jess's voice as his door began to slowly open, "Are you... Oh, there you are," she smiled, walking over to him. Her demeanor changed as she noticed the scowl on his face, "What's up?"
"Oh, nothing," he lied, crumpling up his face even more. She moved over to sit beside him on the bed, picking up the discarded pile of photographs that lay beside him.
"Is this your dad?" she asked, holding up the photo with the Cadillac.
Nick slowly nodded, "Yup."
"Wow, you look so much like him..."
"You think?" he said, whipping his head around to face hers.
"Yeah," she shrugged, "I mean sure, his hair's longer and you don't have a moustache, but I can see it. There's something in the eyes." She looked up at him and gazed into his hazel colored eyes.
"Well, I guess I'm even more like him than I thought."
"What do you mean?" she asked, placing the picture back down on the bed. Nick stood and walked over to his desk, turning around and leaning against it.
"He messed up his life and I'm doing a damn good job of ruining mine. He was incapable of having a real, honest to God relationship with another human being and look at me, thirty one years old and only one, terrible relationship to show for it. I'm gonna end up like my dad - not much to show for my life 'cept some bad clothes and a bunch people I've pissed off." He sighed deeply before folding his arms across his chest.
"What? Nick, you are nothing like your father," she pushed herself off the bed and moved to where he stood, "Your childhood sucked, I get it. You had way too much to deal with and yeah, that was your dad's fault. But look what you did do - you took care of your mom and your brother - can't you see how that shows what a good heart you have?"
Nick kept his gaze firmly fixed on the floor as he began to pick at the fuzz-balls on the sleeve of his sweater, "And you, I mean, you tried so hard to do well, you got into law school for Pete's sake!"
"And I dropped out," he pointed out, still not raising his eyes.
"Yeah, but you tried," she finished.
Finally, he lifted his head and cocked it to one side, "Jess, there aren't any prizes in life for triers. I ruin things - college, work, relationships - not one thing has ever gone right in my life. I am of zero importance to anyone, I may as well go follow Outside Dave out there right now, why waste time - it's inevitable."
"Nick, stop beating yourself up," she placed a hand on his arm, "And how can you think you are not important to anyone? What about your mom? What about us in the loft?"
Snorting he retorted, "Jess, you are so naive sometimes. I'm a nothing, a bum." Turning away from her, he walked back over to the bed and began stuffing the items back in the box.
"Miller, for Pete's sake, why are you so damn stubborn? Yeah, I have a positive attitude, is that a crime?" Nick shrugged his shoulders as she moved to sit back on the bed, "Look at me Nick!" she demanded. He paused what he was doing and looked down at her, "I may try and see the best in people, but I know you are good. You have always been there for me - when I got stood up, when I lost my job, when I need someone to watch The Walking Dead with me," the last item on the list raised a small smile on his lips. She reached over and grabbed his hand, "I'd be lying if I said there was nothing wrong with you but look at me - I act like a child, like, fifty percent of the time, I still name my stuffed animals and I tried to do a parent trap last Thanksgiving! If anyone is messed up here, it's me," she finished, pointing a thumb at her chest.
He sat down, pushing the box to one side, "They're not problems Jess, in fact, they kinda make you more likeable," he admitted.
"Oh, weally?" she sang in a baby voice, puckering up her mouth.
"Jess," he smiled.
"Is that a little smile I see?" she continued in the same voice, causing them both to laugh. "Hey, so you think your life sucks right?" he nodded as he rubbed his hands together, "And you think I'm so put together? I'm a thirty year old, single, childless woman living with three male roommates. I thought by now I'd be married, maybe a kid or two, living in a house with a garden somewhere..." her voice trailed off as a reflective look crossed her face. As he watched her speak, it struck him that he'd never really thought that she could be disappointed with her life; she seemed to content, so put together, so happy...
"You are not the only one who worries Nick, I worry all the time. That I'm going to end up alone, that I'm going to wake up in ten years time and nothing in my life will have changed," she gave him a weak smile, "But then I pick myself up, dust myself down and say, 'Hey Jess, stop being such misery,' and I remember that things happen for a reason," she finished and over at him.
"You really think that?" he asked.
"I have to believe it Nick, otherwise, without hope - what have we got? Look at Winston; do you think he really wanted to play ball in Latvia? But he did and now he has this great job he loves. And you, well, if you hadn't lived your life the way you have we wouldn't have met. You are one of my best friends Nick, I can't imagine my life without you in it."
"Really?" he said, surprised.
Slowly she nodded, "Really. Nick, you are one of the best people I know, you are a good guy and have so much potential... I wish you would stop dwelling on the past and focus on your future. Start living your life, pursuing your dreams."
Sighing, he lay back on his bed, her words sinking in. Maybe she was right, maybe he lived life too much in his head rather than in the real world, "I dunno, maybe you have a point, maybe I am a little hard on myself."
Smiling in triumph, she clenched her fist in the air, "Yes! I win! I've broken through!"
He pushed himself up on his arms, "No, no, that's not what I said..."
"I think you did Miller," she laughed.
"Look, I'll try and not be such a downer, but I'll never believe that I'm okay; cos I'm not."
Tutting, she shook her head, "I think we need to agree to differ on this," she scooted a little closer to him, "Come here, you need a hug."
"No, no I don't Jess, I'm not a hugger."
"Yeah y'are," she nodded, reaching her arms around his back and pulling him close. Reluctantly, he relaxed into her, sinking his head into her fragrant hair as she held him tight. The feel of her in his arms had a soothing effect on him, his body became calmer and he even began to think that maybe what she had said about him was true.
Slowly she pulled back and gripped his face in her hands, "Look Nick, you only have one life, stop worrying about what could happen and start living it." She started deep into his eyes until he nodded lightly. Silently, she pushed herself off the bed and walked towards the door, pausing to give him a small smile before she closed it behind her.
He lay with his head against the wall as he thought over her words. He had to admit, they held a ring of truth - he'd never really thought that other people might be disappointed in how their lives had turned out. As he looked over at the box that now lay on the floor he made a decision; he was going to start living his life, his way, try to stop making excuses. Maybe even prove to Jess he was worth her self belief, he owed her at least that.
Turning his head upwards, he looked again at the scarred and imperfect ceiling. Only this time, he had to admit, all those blemishes made it a whole lot more interesting to look at.