AN: Here we are, another part of Friday night.
I updated twice yesterday, so please don't miss those (before this one) if you haven't read them.
I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!
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Before Daryl continued his story, he helped plate the food. He helped set the table. Once, Carol was sure that he feigned an accidental reach around with silverware to have a moment's excuse to be as close to her as he could be—his body almost flush against her back. The split second of close contact had sent a shiver through her body, in the best way possible, and for some time afterward, she imagined that she could still feel the sensation of his touch like an imprint.
She lit the candles on the table for the warm light they would provide, and she lit a candle on the kitchen counter for the scent of dessert—which they didn't have—that would eliminate some of the food smells and, from what she'd heard, stimulate their appetites even more than the scent of their own meals.
Carol got Daryl a beer, and Daryl poured her wine, teasingly filling the glass far beyond the regular acceptable mark.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" Carol teased, settling into her chair.
"Tell you what," Daryl said, offering her a crooked and mischievous smile from across the table—that smile being one of the reasons that her face ached so badly from smiling back at him, "I'm not much of a lightweight so, if you need it, I'll drive you home tonight."
Carol laughed to herself.
"Wow, what a gentleman."
"I try. I haven't had a baked potato and a good salad in forever at home. And I mean—they're simple enough to do, right? This is incredible."
"It's just a—baked potato," Carol said. "And a salad. Simple. Like you said."
Daryl shrugged.
"Maybe I like simple," Daryl offered. "Good to me. How's your steak? Cooked alright for you?"
Carol had only just cut into the piece of meat, but she quickly isolated a small bite of it and tasted it. She smiled and nodded approvingly as she chewed, and Daryl's smile grew while he watched her.
"Perfect," she assured him.
"Good," Daryl said. "Because—I don't want to see you doing any of that not eating thing. It's a good meal. Well-balanced, right? So—eat up."
Carol smiled to herself. She could, if she wanted to, blame the slightly dizzy feeling of intoxication on the wine, but she knew it wasn't the wine. The wine wasn't a very strong wine. That was why she had chosen it, in particular, for the evening. She knew that she could drink more of it with less effects than some other wines. The intoxication she felt—the delicious dizzy feeling—was most assuredly a response to nothing beyond perfectly pleasant company.
And Carol know why that thought made her heart thunder wildly in her chest.
She had invited him here, though. She had asked him to come and tell his story. From what she could tell, so far, it wasn't an easy story to tell, either, but he'd chosen to come and tell it to her willingly.
"Can I ask you something, Daryl?" Carol asked.
He nodded and washed down a bite of his food with a swallow of beer.
"That's the theme of the evening, right?" He responded. "So, you ask and—I'll answer if I can. Or—the best way I can."
"Are you always so honest?" Carol asked.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"That a genuine question?" Carol hummed and nodded. "Alright. Yeah. I guess I am."
"Straightforward and honest all the time?" Carol mused.
"I mean—I tell a little white lie here or there," Daryl said. "I'm not a saint. But—maybe it's just part of my personality. I've always been this way. Used to irritate the shit outta Merle. He'd always tell me to just keep my mouth shut when he was workin' up some kinda thing and he needed me to just…to just not fuck it up for him."
"Most people aren't very honest, Daryl."
Daryl shrugged his shoulders.
"I guess I know that," he said. "Maybe it's at least part of why I am. I used to think everything was honest. Straightforward. Used to believe all the mind fuckin' my old man used to do. The shit Merle would say when he was—when, I know now—when he was just fucked up and tryin' to run away from everything. He used to say that, when you tell a lie? You gotta stick to it. Stick to it good. Lies have a way of turnin' into a spider's web. Wrappin' around you, you know? You get yourself caught in your own shit. Seemed like a lot of work, to me, for some bullshit. When I realized that—people weren't honest most of the time? I felt like I come to a crossroads. Talked about this, some, actually, with the therapist. I could either decide to change and be like most people or I could…piss the people off that would be pissed off with the truth, irritate the ones that would find it irritating, and keep on bein' who the hell I felt it was reasonable to be."
Daryl stopped speaking and forked up a large bite of salad. He speared a piece of steak on the end of the fork to mix the flavors and filled his mouth.
"So, you decided to be honest," Carol said, filling in the end for him.
"Easier," Daryl said. "Feels more natural. You hate it, too?"
"No," Carol said. "I told you I wanted honesty, and I do."
"But you think it's weird," Daryl said. "People think I'm weird. You think I'm weird."
Carol laughed to herself.
"I think you're—a lot of things," she admitted. "But weird doesn't really concern me. The honesty is refreshing. I like it."
"What concerns you, then?" Daryl asked. Carol hummed at him in question. She'd lost the thread, for a moment, as she'd somewhat slipped into her own contemplation of the man who sat across from her.
"You said weird don't concern you," Daryl said. "So—what concerns you?"
"A lot of things," Carol admitted. She chewed through a bite of food and Daryl honored the silence between them, clearly not feeling that he needed to try to fill it. "Maybe that—after Ed? I really like the idea of the honesty. But, also, maybe that it seems too good to be true."
"To my knowledge, I haven't lied to you yet."
"Which is very noble," Carol said.
"I can't put my finger on why, exactly," Daryl offered, "but I don't think I like the way you said that."
Carol's stomach clenched. She accepted his quickly furrowed brow and change in tone.
"I guess—I'm still wondering why there's no Mrs. Dixon," Carol admitted.
Her stomach made her not really want the food in front of her, suddenly. She liked Daryl, but he seemed, in many ways, too good to be true—and that was a little terrifying. Ed had taught her not to trust what she saw, and she'd promised herself that she'd hold onto that hard-learned lesson. Now she was asking herself to let that guard down and to trust Daryl—someone who seemed, honestly, to have more positive traits than negative ones. Someone whose negative traits didn't really seem all that hard to deal with. It was terribly uneasy territory.
"You keep—putting it off," Carol said. "And that makes me wonder if…"
"I'm hidin' something?" Daryl supplied. Carol nodded. Daryl sighed and chewed through another bite of steak. "Maybe I'm kinda—nervous. You think about that?"
"Nervous?"
"I don't know that the answer I got to give you is gonna be the one you expect. Or—that it's gonna be good enough."
"I thought you were always honest."
"I am. But—the honest answer still isn't the one that people want to believe. Not all the time."
Carol sucked in a breath and held it a moment to still her own nerves. She could see it on Daryl's face. He was being honest, just like he said he would. He was nervous. In a way, it made Carol feel better. She didn't want him to be uncomfortable, but she appreciated the fact that everything didn't come as easy to him as he made it seem like it did.
Suddenly, looking worried that she might not approve of his story, he seemed a great deal more human.
Carol felt her muscles relax slightly.
"Tell you what," Carol offered. "You be honest and—I'll accept your honesty."
Daryl nodded his head.
"I can't answer that question direct," Daryl said. "Not like—not with like a couple words or whatever. It's more like—a story, if you're gonna understand it."
"Answer it however you like," Carol said. She sipped her wine. "We've got all night, right?"
Daryl smiled to himself.
"This ain't no fairy tale," he warned.
"I'm listening," Carol assured him.
"OK," Daryl said, around a mouthful of food. "Well—I told you that Merle was basically my Mama and my Daddy, for all intents and purposes. I know you weren't born in Living Springs."
"I moved here with Ed," Carol said. "He preferred it because it was away from anyone who knew me. Who knew us."
"I knew you weren't from here," Daryl said. "Because—if you were? You'd either know some of the story because you remembered it, or you'd know about it because somebody told you. It'd start comin' back to you by now. My old man was an asshole, as was his old man before him. Assholes beget assholes beget assholes…or ain't that the way the story goes?"
Carol laughed to herself. Daryl's expression said that he was trying to inject a little humor into an otherwise not very funny story, and she appreciated that. She assumed it was as much for him, though, as it was for her comfort.
"Go ahead," she pressed.
"My Mama weren't strong enough to get away from my old man," Daryl said. "She run away from him with the bottle, I guess. I loved her. I remember that much, but…I didn't get to know her that long. When she died, you know, she was just gone. Burned away in our house. Everything was gone."
"Daryl—I'm sorry."
He just shook his head in response.
"Old man come around less, then. Eventually, he just stopped comin' around entirely. It was just me an' Merle." Daryl laughed to himself. "Merle raised me, I guess. And it weren't 'til I was older, and I did sit down with that therapist, that I really realized—I guess he did the best he could 'cause nobody really raised Merle but Merle."
"You love your brother very much," Carol offered.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"We don't get too sappy about it," Daryl offered. "Anyway—I didn't really think about all that shit back then 'cause I was a stupid ass, knobby-kneed kid, you know? All I thought about was my Mama was dead. Our house was burned up. We lost everything but what the hell we were wearin'. But—Merle got a roof over our heads, you know? Some damn way he done it. We hunted. Merle worked like hell. I started workin' early. Odd jobs. Anything I could do. Merle let me have some of it, of what I earned, for— for shit like candy. Pooled the rest. It weren't much, but somehow I never remember goin' hungry or bein' too damn naked."
Carol held her fork in her hand, even though she'd lost the desire to eat. She didn't want Daryl to think she was avoiding her meal. She did her best to wash down her feelings with some of the wine. Daryl stared at her and, apparently realizing the moment was quite heavy, he laughed to himself with a forced breath.
"Merle weren't much of a homemaker," Daryl mused. "Maybe that's where all the shit started."
"Where what started?" Carol asked. She was aware that her voice cracked, slightly. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and hoped that she was doing a better job of hiding her feelings than she thought she might be.
"If you come to our house any time—and it's been this way since the first time we finally could afford them cable packages—you gonna find out that we don't watch shit else but cookin' channels about shit we don't never cook and them romance movies."
"You've told me that," Carol said. "Do you think—it's because you wanted a home like…the ones in the movies?"
Daryl smiled to himself and nodded.
"I think that's got a lot to do with it," he said. "You told me what you wanted…"
Carol groaned. A wave of embarrassment surged up inside of her.
"I'm so embarrassed about that, still," she admitted. Daryl laughed.
"Don't be," he said. "Saves me from askin'. My point is—I've always wanted what the hell was in those movies. You know? A home that's warm and—smells as good as those houses look like they smell. Big, fenced-in back yard with a dog. The two point five kids. A wife for all the 'how was your day' and 'welcome home' bullshit."
"That's pretty romantic," Carol teased. The idea was certainly romantic, even if Daryl didn't quite express his ideas with the words of a romance writer. Carol eased out of her chair. Without asking, she passed Daryl another beer. She topped off her glass of wine—filling it far beyond the respectable full point. On second thought, she tucked another beer under her arm.
"What'cha doin'?" Daryl asked.
"The eating's slowed down a little," Carol said. "If you're done—I thought…you might want to sit out on the back porch?"
Daryl smiled at her and nodded.
"At least let me help clean up?"
"It'll be fine for now," Carol said. "Blow out the candles? Meet me out back?"
Daryl nodded. Carol took the drinks—both beers tucked under her arms so she could open the back door. She arranged the chairs on the back porch so that they could sit somewhat facing one another. She moved the small table for their drinks, and she put the bottom to an empty flowerpot on the table. She lit one of the little citronella candles that would keep away the insects that might want to bother them. By the time Daryl came out, she'd taken her seat.
"Found your bathroom," Daryl said. "You got—good smellin' soap." He sniffed his fingers as evidence of his assessment of her soap.
"That was rude of me," Carol said as Daryl took the seat next to her, opened a beer, and drank a long swallow from it. "I meant to tell you where it was."
"Don't worry about it," Daryl said.
"I don't have a real ashtray, but…you can use the flowerpot bottom."
"Perfect."
"So—your dream, Daryl. Everything you want. It's…romantic."
"It's from the romance movies," Daryl said with a laugh. "Had a pretty good chance."
"That still doesn't explain to me, though, why there's no Mrs. Dixon welcoming you home to that house, Daryl," Carol said, her stomach tightening at the fact that she even dared to be so bold—but Daryl made her feel like she was free to ask him these things. So far, he hadn't scolded her for her curiosity. He hadn't punished her—not like Ed would have done. "It's a simple enough dream."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Is it?" He asked. "You really believe it's—a simple enough dream to have all that?"
"Well—for some people," Carol amended, realizing that her own dreams—though very similar—had not come true either.
"Well, I ain't some people," Daryl said. "Truth of it is that—I've dated a few women. Tried to figure out how to stuff 'em in my damn romance novel world. But—there's always been a couple problems. Either they didn't fit 'cause they weren't lookin' for that kind of life, or they didn't fit 'cause they weren't lookin' for this kinda man. And, really—I weren't never sold on none of them either, but I convinced myself I could be for a while. Like—if I found the kind of woman that could want that, I could make myself want her, and I could make her want me. You know? If she fit, maybe I could just make the feelings come with it." He laughed to himself. "Prob'ly dodged a bullet because none of the women I ever talked to that mighta wanted that life wanted it with someone like me."
Daryl drank half the beer in a long swallow. He lit a cigarette. He rocked in the chair and sat back, clearly satisfied—with the food, the beer, the cigarette, or the company, Carol couldn't be sure.
She felt the easy relaxation of satisfaction in her own body. It pushed out the trembling anxiety that she felt just a little.
She realized she'd forgotten her wine glass and rocked forward to retrieve it from the table, though she didn't drink from it when she held it in her hand. It was simply there—but she didn't need it.
"Someone like you," she mused. Daryl hummed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Ask a woman—do you want this…this idea? A house, fenced-in backyard. Dog. Two point five kids. The whole welcome home, honey shit? Hell, yeah, most of 'em say. But you ask 'em if they want that with some asshole who come from drunks, whose old man was an asshole of the first degree, whose Mama burned up, who ain't got more'n a high school education and, really, probably only got that 'cause his teachers felt sorry for him or some shit, and who has worked blue collar jobs with his hands his whole life—livin' in a trailer house with his brother? It's somethin' to see. She can't get out the door fast enough."
Daryl drained the first beer Carol had brought out. He examined the bottle a moment. A clear change came over his demeanor. Carol almost thought she could feel it in the air that wrapped around her. When he looked at her, Carol's chest squeezed in response to the sadness that had settled, somehow, in his eyes and on his features.
"Is that how you see yourself?" Carol asked.
"Truth," Daryl responded, still contemplating the empty bottle. He looked at her, then. The sad smile he gave her was insincere. "Gate's open," he offered. "Unlocked."
Carol leaned up and returned her wine glass to the little table. She took the unopened beer, opened it, and passed it to Daryl. He took it without ever taking his eyes away from her.
Carol sat back in her chair.
"No," she said. "It's not. I—closed it for the night. Locked it." She held his eyes. His expression changed slightly, but he didn't pull his eyes away from hers. Her throat was tight. Her chest was tight. Everything inside her screamed at her—a million different messages at once. Her brain cried out to her with advice about how to handle everything in that moment. She'd already chosen which of her internal messages she was going to listen to, though, and she wasn't certain that it was coming from her brain at all. She sucked in a breath and ignored her pounding heart. "You—like honesty. I'm guessing that means you'd like honesty from other people?"
"Prefer it," Daryl said quietly.
Carol nodded.
"You said no before, and I understand why. But—if you say it again, my pride might not let me ask a third time. So, you should know that. You've had a few beers tonight and, although I know that…you'll probably say you're good to drive, I wish you wouldn't. Stay the night?"
Daryl stared at her a second, drank a long swallow from the beer in his hand, and took another cigarette from his pack. He was clearly thinking. She could practically hear the wheels in his head turning. She wondered if everything inside of him felt as loud as everything inside of her felt at that moment. She accepted the cigarette he offered her. She accepted the light. She tried to read his face, but there was nothing there that she could decipher.
Finally, he smiled to himself, a little more sincerely than before.
"When you put it like that," he offered with a quiet laugh. "How can I say no?"
Carol's stomach clenched.
"You can always refuse," she assured him.
The quiet laughter was renewed.
"You heard me wrong, then," he said. "Because I don't want to. Not for anything in the world."
