The bar was loud and crowded, a little too much so for Daryl's liking. What had he expected? It was Saturday night. His cooler was empty, and he'd come here to get well and truly drunk. Merle was expected to show up soon, although Daryl had learned a long time ago to never count on his brother's presence.
Daryl slunk a little lower in his seat, eyeing the empty shot of vodka in front of him and wondering which number he was on. He seemed to remember ordering an eighth and ninth shot. That was important, because he usually passed out around the tenth.
Jason, who was sitting across from him – Daryl and his friends had managed to score a whole table for themselves – was saying something to him. Mouthing it really, the music was up that loud. Daryl leaned forward, vaguely bemused by how the walls seemed to be moving. He could just make out Jason's shouted message: "Check out that chick over there!"
Daryl followed Jason's finger to, whoa, was that Linda? She shouldn't be drinking when she's pregnant, he thought drowsily, even as he rubbed his eyes hard and realized she was just a blonde woman who bore nothing more than a vague resemblance to his cousin. "Want me to play wingman?" he slurred.
Jason eyed him, evidently weighing his need for a wingman against Daryl's obvious inebriation. Finally he jerked his head in agreement and rose from his seat, grinning. Daryl pushed himself up, feeling as if he was swimming through mud. He was light-headed and heavy at the same time. With Jason following, he pushed his way to where the woman sat alone, sucking down shots of whiskey like she wanted to drown in alcohol. Daryl knew the feeling.
"Hey," he said in as sober a voice as he could manage. "Someone as pretty as you shouldn't be drinking alone tonight."
He meant to follow that up with "Have you met my friend Jason?" but the woman looked up at him, her dark eyes shining like jewels, and he realized belatedly that she was crying. "Oh shit…" he mumbled. He raked a heavy hand through his hair. "I'm sorry," he offered in a slurred voice. "Shouldn't have bothered you…got enough trouble…" On the other side of the bar, he could see Jason giving him a what-the-fuck face. He felt so tired. Screw Jason, screw Merle, he was going home.
"No, please…stay." Tears ran in rivulets down the woman's cheeks, but she made no effort to hide them. "I have to talk to somebody." She made a funny sound, a mix between a laugh and a hiccup and a sob, and downed another shot with a flip of her wrist. The bartender was eyeing her and Daryl could tell he was thinking about cutting her off. "I have to talk to someone or I'll go crazy!"
She didn't seem to notice that her hand was actually trembling as she set down the glass. It was an effort just to remain standing, and Daryl gladly relinquished control of his legs to the bar stool beside the crying woman. "Tell me," he mumbled, letting his head sink onto his arms. "Everythin'."
She launched into a long tearful story, replete with people with names like Gannon and Desmond and Farkas, a convoluted love entanglement more emotional than any soap opera. Daryl occasionally nodded, or murmured some appropriate comment, but it was only as the woman neared the end of her story that she truly captured his attention.
"So Gannon said he wouldn't take responsibility for Alistair" - her newborn son, to whom she had been referring all night - "until the results of the paternity test came back. And the doctor said they'd be done the 28th, and I'm so afraid to-"
"The 28th?" Daryl interrupted. The date cut through his murky consciousness like the beam of a lighthouse. There was something important about it. "When is the 28th? Is that today?"
The woman sucked in a long, shuddering breath. "Yes."
Saturday the 28th. A newborn baby. A woman who looked like Linda. "I have somewhere to be!" Daryl stumbled to his feet. "Don't wanna leave you in the...lurch, but... I said I'd be there."
The woman gazed at him sadly. "You have to go?"
Daryl nodded, swaying. "Cousin's ...baby shower."
The darkness seemed to clear a little from the woman's brow, and she managed a smile. "Babies are adorable." She drew herself unsteadily to her feet, tottering in three inch heels that brought her to Daryl's chin. "You are too, mister."
"No, I ain't," Daryl protested, like a little boy.
"Yes you are, you're a sweetheart and a good person," she murmured. She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Daryl's neck, and Daryl closed his eyes and thought this must be how his mom used to kiss him, before abuse and hopelessness had turned her bitter.
"Hey, you wanna know a secret?" he said into the woman's hair.
"Yeah."
"You're my best friend."
"You're my best friend too," she whispered. Then, slowly and gracefully as though she was sinking in water, she lowered herself to her seat, sprawled across the counter, and went to sleep.
Gently, Daryl brushed her hair back from her face. "Hey, man," he said to the bartender, "watch her stuff," and the bartender took her purse and slid it under his side of the counter. "Have a nice night," Daryl told him as he made his way to the exit.
The cool, refreshing wind outside cleared his head a little, and he recalled where he'd parked his truck. Someone on his way in walked straight into Daryl, who lost his balance and stumbled against the hood of someone's car. "Hey!" he cried, enraged. "Don't fuckin'... push me... Merle? Brother, is that you?" He peered into the man's face.
"Who were you expectin', the Tooth Fairy?" Merle's laughter had a maniacal tinge to it. "Of course it's me. Me me me me hey don't you think it's funny how if you say a word too many times it don't sound right no more?"
Daryl pondered the question seriously. "No," he said after a long moment. "Ain't nothing right when taken in excess."
"Except drugs," Merle smiled. "And alcohol."
"Amen to that," Daryl said sleepily. An idea occurred to him. "Hey, you wanna go to Linda's baby shower with me?"
"Linda? That one of your bitches?"
"No, asshole, our cousin."
"Oh, right," Merle groaned. "That one." He contemplated. "Bro, I already went to her baby shower."
"What the fuck?" That struck Daryl as so funny that he started laughing harder than he'd ever laughed in his life. "Who the fuck are you, God?"
Merle hooted. "Damn straight. I am God."
"OK, God," Daryl said, wiping away tears of laughter. "Wanna go again? Actually pick up the chick you failed to impress the first time?"
Merle casually dusted white powder off his jacket. "Why the hell not? Why the hell not? Let's go, little bro."
They got into Daryl's truck in a companionable silence. "I made a friend today," Daryl blurted into the quiet.
"So?"
Daryl could not understand Merle's indifference. "So she was nice. She had pretty blond hair and told me about her kid and she even gave me a kiss. She was nice."
Merle snickered. "Oh, that kind of friend."
"No!" Daryl yelled, slamming his horn for emphasis. "She was not that kind of friend!"
"Then what kind was she?" Merle challenged, as they stopped before a red light.
The streets were completely empty, though Daryl could hear the telltale engine roars in the distance that meant kids were drag racing on the back roads.
"The best kind," Daryl told him defiantly.
Merle cocked his head, drumming his fingers in a complicated staccato on the dashboard. "Your best friend, huh? What's her name?"
"Don't know."
Merle burst out laughing. "Some friend you are!"
"I don't need to know her name," Daryl said stubbornly. "I just know she's my
friend."
"Yeah, and I'm the President of the United States, so kiss my ass, bitch. Wait!" Merle yelled so loudly that Daryl stomped on the brake and they both flew forward, Daryl restrained by his seatbelt and Merle hitting the windshield because he wasn't wearing his.
"What?" Daryl cried.
Merle unpeeled himself from the glass, talking so fast his words were jumbled together. He didn't seem to notice his nose was bleeding, so Daryl decided not to point it out. "We gotta buy a present! You can't go to a baby shower without a present!"
Daryl's eyes grew wide at the thought of the social faux pas he and Merle had nearly committed. They were only a few blocks from Linda's house, at least the house he thought Linda still lived at. "Why didn't you mention that earlier? Now we gotta drive all the way back to town."
"Or do we?" Merle surveyed the dark neighborhood. "Look at all these houses, bro. There's gotta be something in one of them that Linda would like."
Daryl's eyebrows drew together. "You mean stealing? You wanna steal her a present from one of her neighbors?" The idea was so ludicrous that he started laughing uncontrollably again. "What if we stole a painting, and then she had that neighbor over one day, and he saw it hanging clear as day on her wall?"
Merle howled with laughter. "Bro, that would be hilarious!"
"Yeah," Daryl agreed, chuckling. "Only ... that might make her sad."
"Who the fuck cares?" Merle said dismissively.
"I do," Daryl insisted. "Just wait here." He rolled out of the driver's seat, picked himself up, and looked around. There was a large, decorative lake nearby that seemed to be a communal landscaping kind of thing, and he figured no one would miss a few flowers from the many that grew along the water's edge. He went over and began picking branches of flowers, their fragrances rising to brush his face with tender fingers. He supposed they were pretty; he could hardly even see what shape they were, let alone their color, but they were flowers, how bad could
they be?
He returned to the truck with his armload of flowers. Merle was absorbed with his lighter, putting his finger as close to the flame as he dared. Daryl went around to the back where he had some old newspapers. He wrapped pages around the stems and tied them in place with twine. He laid the bouquet in the back, feeling proud of his work, and returned to the cab.
Merle now lay in the passenger seat with his head tipped back like one dead, his body limp and unoccupied. "Merle?" Daryl shook him, but his brother did not respond. Daryl felt anxiously for a pulse, and relaxed when the faint beat of pumping blood thrummed against his thumb. "Just sleeping, then," he muttered, gunning his engine. What a lightweight. He'd miss out on the party.
He parked at the foot of Linda's driveway and looked uncertainly at what he thought was her house. Was it supposed to be so dark? None of the lights were on. Maybe all the guests were in the basement. Reassured by the thought, Daryl weaved drunkenly through the cold night and pressed his finger against the doorbell. It only took him two tries.
Chimes rang throughout the house. "Wow, that's loud," Daryl whispered, pressing his ear against the door. He could hear light footsteps moving around, coming closer and closer to -
The door abruptly opened, and Daryl almost fell in through the doorway for lack of support. He caught himself a second from crashing into the polished hardwood floor. "Excuse me, sorry," he apologized. He looked down at his arms. He was holding the bouquet. He offered it to Linda, who happened to be the person who had opened the door. "Here, congratulations."
She looked at him as though he were a ghost. "Daryl? What are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?"
Daryl looked at his bare wrist. "Is it nine o clock?"
Linda gave a curt laugh. "Not even close! Try midnight. Do you mind telling me why you woke up me and my daughter so you could give me a bunch of muddy wildflowers?" She frowned at the bouquet. "I guess they are kind of pretty. But that's not the point."
"I came for your baby shower," Daryl said thickly. "You invited me, remember? Now you're trying to kick me out?"
Linda looked at him askance. "Daryl... Are you being serious right now?" She took a step closer to him, and he saw her nose wrinkle in disgust. "You're drunk. I can smell it on you. Get out, Daryl."
"Today's the 28th!" Daryl protested, refusing to move as she attempted to shove him through the door. "I came, I brought you a present... I did everything, why can't I stay?"
"Because my baby shower was Saturday the 28th, six years ago!" Linda exploded. "You didn't come then! You didn't come to my wedding! You didn't come to Mom's funeral..." Her voice faltered. "Mom told me what you said, Daryl. How you just wanted to forget we all existed."
Daryl slid to the floor with the feeling that his legs had been knocked out under him. The pleasant fog of alcohol that had clouded his mind suddenly fell away, revealing a bleak, harsh, utterly terrifying reality."Six years?" he echoed.
"Yeah," Linda said sarcastically as she leaned against the wall, hugging her thin robe to her body. "I counted."
"How old am I?" Daryl asked randomly.
"God, I don't know, 40?" She reconsidered. "Actually, you're only a year older than me. You're 32."
Daryl recoiled. "I don't remember any of it..."
"Any of what? Life? That's what happens when you go to sleep every night with a bottle in your arms, Daryl. It's all just a blur." Linda sighed, looking at him with a little less antipathy. "Look, you're way too drunk to be behind the wheel right now. I don't even want to think about how you got here. You can stay here, ok? Sleep on the couch in the living room. I'll bring you a pillow and blankets." She disappeared upstairs.
Too dazed to do anything but follow directions, Daryl robotically checked room after room until he came upon a large, well-furnished space with a piano in the corner and a couch that looked comfortable enough. He sat down. Then he hesitantly lay down. At the last moment he remembered to take off his shoes, so he didn't leave muddy stains on the fabric.
Daryl had almost drifted off when a shy voice said, "Hi," from somewhere out of sight.
He turned his face towards the voice, but neglected to open his eyes. "Hi."
"Are you my new daddy?"
The question surprised Daryl into sitting up, despite his weariness. "No. Why would you say that?" He looked around the darkness. Though he could see nothing, he could guess who he was talking to. "Where are you, invisible girl? I can't hardly even see you."
The little girl giggled softly and turned on the light. She was very small, though Daryl could not say whether her size was normal for six-year-olds. "Oh, there you are," he said. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?" He could think of nothing else.
"I was," she said, regarding him solemnly with clear blue eyes. "You woke me up."
"Sorry," Daryl said, wondering if the night was going to end with him apologizing to a small child. "Didn't mean to." The little girl was dressed in a furry nightgown that looked warm, but her feet were bare. He cleared his throat. "Ain't you cold?"
"No," the girl said, but she climbed onto the other side of the couch and snuggled into the blankets all the same. "I don't feel cold. Mommy says I'm part polar bear."
"Oh, does she." A smile curled Daryl's lips. To his surprise, he realized he didn't want to hold it back.
"I like polar bears a lot. They're my favorite bear," the girl stated matter-of-factly. "What's yours?"
"My favorite...bear?" Daryl mentally scratched his head. It had been so long since anyone asked him a question like this. "Um, grizzlies. They're big and tough, an' they make good hunting." He bared his teeth at the girl, and she gave a squeal, pulling the blanket up under her eyes. For a second, he panicked, thinking he'd actually scared her, but then he saw that she was smiling. There was a big gap in her smile.
"Lost a tooth?"
She nodded. "My first one."
Daryl wondered when he had lost his first tooth. He had a feeling it had probably been knocked out by Merle a couple years before its time.
"How much you get for it?"
"Dollar thirty-five."
Daryl found himself nodding. "For a canine, that's a fair trade," he said seriously. "Now, a molar, one of those big ones at the back, they'd be worth far more. Three dollars at the very least."
The girl absorbed this wisdom with wide eyes, like she was trying to memorize the information forever. "Really? Three dollars?" She smiled. "Thank you for telling me."
Daryl chuckled. "Wouldn't want you to get stiffed."
The girl looked down at her small hands. Then she looked back at Daryl. "Now I wish you really were my daddy. You're nice. Can you please marry Mommy? I promise she's really nice too."
Daryl let out a whoop of laughter. The girl looked upset. "Don't laugh at me!"
"I'm not laughing at you," Daryl promised. "It's just funny because... I'm actually your uncle, darlin'."
The little girl gasped. "You're mommy's brother? She never talked about you before. But she has a picture of you and another boy that she looks at sometimes. I think it's you anyway. She keeps it in a drawer upstairs. I always ask her about it but she never tells me." She drew in a quick breath. "Why didn't you ever come visit us before?"
Daryl had no answer to that. "Me and Merle, we're her cousins," he said at last. "And I don't really know why I never came before, but now that I'm here, you want me to stay?"
"Yes," the girl replied without the least hesitation.
"Then I will." Daryl breathed the words softly.
The little girl got up and turned off the light. Daryl suffered a strange, unfamiliar little heart pang at the absence of her warmth, but he heard rustling and realized she had come back.
"Don't you gotta be in your own bed?" he asked anyway, because he didn't want her to get in trouble with her mom.
"I wanna stay with you."
"Okay." Daryl shut his eyes once again, trying to accustom his body to sleeping in a smaller amount of space.
Her high voice floated to him in the darkness. "What's your name?"
"Daryl," he murmured. "What's yours?"
"Marcella Emily Hunt," the girl pronounced proudly.
"That's...long."
"You can just call me Marcie. That's what everyone calls me. I mean, well, that's what I wish everyone called me. Mommy always calls me Marcella and my teachers just do what she does."
"I'll never call you Marcella as long as I live," Daryl promised, and was rewarded with her little-girl laughter, bubbling in the dark like spring water.
"Good night, Uncle Daryl."
"Good night...Marcie."
