Nicholas - The Wind in the Leaves

← Previous Chapter: Chapter 1 /|\ Next Chapter → Chapter 3I need to send the message. I know it. Yet, the longer I wait, the more apparent it becomes that I’m hoping Briony is asleep when she receives it. It feels like it’s near midnight, but when I check the time, it’s only ten o’clock. I’m reclined against my pluffy white pillows, knowing I should have been asleep already, trying to adjust my inner clock for the trip to London on Tuesday. Instead, I’ve been doing squats in the cold, trying to make sure that Briony got in alright. I know she’s a grown woman, and that it’s not my responsibility. Yet, it’s the same courtesy I extended to my sister, Evie before she married, so it’s automatically extended to her best mate. And, while I have cameras that come with the ease of merely opening the app, I’m usually in bed by 8pm, and asleep by half nine. If I were to wait inside with the camera app open, that’s exactly how I’d awaken the next morning. Briony’s family suppers are only every other week. I can stand outside twice a month, while being grateful she isn’t a party animal. I yawn, wiping away the tears that spring to my eyes. I can’t wait anymore. I send the message, holding my breath. ‘Alfie will have to come and go during the next six months, so I’m going to need the ‘even more’ package. Usual rate?’ Not a moment later, Briony’s response comes back. ‘I don’t know boss, six months is an awful long time of tailored treatment.’ ‘Just for the local things since Alfie will handle everything business related. And, don’t call me boss,’ I counter. I really detest that nickname. ‘Ok, but you have to do the thing.’ I close my eyes. I knew it would come to this, but it doesn’t make it any easier. ‘I know I don’t have a say in what you do with your free time, Briony, but I still don’t feel comfortable with it.’ “But I want it. I only need it in Nottinghamshire, and for the whole time we’re in Switzerland. There’s not much to do out there, and I refuse to be stuck in the boondocks again. So, how about it, Nicky babe? Will you do the thing? Pretty please?’ Oh, that’s just wonderful. I expel a hard breath. As much as I detest Briony calling me boss, I adore it when she calls me ‘Nicky babe.’ She only began using the nickname because Evie has always called me Nicky. The only person in the world allowed to use that name, until Briony came along, with zero cares about my desire to be called Nicholas by those I’m unfamiliar with. Briony has called me Nick from the first day I met her at my parents’ house on holiday eight years ago. And, despite my many and varied threats to relieve her of service if she couldn’t remain professional, she continued to do so after she was hired as my private chef nearly six years ago. We both knew it had nothing to do with her professionalism. After all, this is the same woman who insisted on wearing a chef’s jacket to remind us of her reason for being here. No, it was the familiarity that I wasn’t comfortable with. A familiarity that’s not only comfortable now, but second nature to the point of necessity. Then, one day a couple of years ago, after I’d been especially snarky about it not being appropriate for her to call me so familiarly, Briony looked me in the eye and said, “I make your green juice, I feed you on a regular schedule throughout the day. I know how often you make bowel movements. Short of burping you, how much more intimate do we need to be, Nicky babe?” I’ve kindly shut up about it ever since then, and eventually found that I looked forward to the newest endearment. At this point, Briony could ask for a million dollars, and if she tacked on that nickname, it would likely be sitting in her bank account by the next business day. I scrub a hand down my face as I type out, ‘Fine.’ My eyes drift close before popping open again. ‘Remind me again not to message you after 10pm.’ I was so worried about the favor I knew she’d ask for, that I’d forgotten Briony gets punch drunk after a certain time, and starts love bombing. Normally not a problem, but lately… I heave a sigh. Blame it on the shock of it all, but I haven’t been the same since Briony informed me last year April that her four year contract would be expiring in September. And, while I was able to get her to agree to a one year extension, I was just as clueless then as I am now as to the reason why I’m so upset that she’s moving on. Now here we are, six months away from another contract expiration, and not only am I just as stumped as to how to keep her here, but I’m also just as affected by this sense of…loss I suppose. What am I missing? I pick up my phone when it pings again, groaning at her response. ‘What? It’s not like I started talking about Duchesse potatoes. Those mashed potatoes I made you earlier, just get piped onto a sheet pan and baked off to golden brown perfection. Hmm. I think I’ll do that instead of Yorkshire pudding next Sunday.’ I roll my eyes, the point proven. She’s an inveterate love bomber after 10pm. As my ears heat up, I shake my head. I’ve got to get a grip. ‘Insubordinate and churlish,’ I type out with a roll of my eyes. ‘Crying face emoji,’ she returns. Why would she be crying? It’s more likely she’s laughing. The sadist loves to use my affection for potatoes against me. She knows I dream of eating them every day. It’s probably the hardest thing about being this version of an actor. I’m honestly looking forward to my later Marlon Brando years when people will only care about the talent and show up despite my love of chips. I’ve put my phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ when I realize I still need to message Alfie with Briony’s request. As usual, there’s no playful banter with Alfie. He’s about 10 or 15 years older than me, and with his spiky, mid length, salt and pepper hair and earring, he looks like a former model. Either that or a pirate. The man is a mystery. Alfie’s been with me nearly 10 years now, and sets his own schedule. He responds without complaint to my requests as they come in, no matter what time of day or night, and lets me know when it’s time for a raise. He’s never been a very chatty sort of fellow, although that has changed in the last several years. Ironic, considering, if he has one fault now it’s that he’s developed a horrible habit of speaking his mind. Too much time spent around Briony, I suspect. On the other hand, I’m positive he didn’t smile before she began working here either. Maybe I should be talking to Alfie about a way for her to stay…When he messages for my execution code on Briony’s request, I only hesitate a moment before giving it. I then put my phone on the charger, not bothering to wait for his return confirmation. Yet, when I close my eyes, Briony’s dimples set in smooth, toasted caramel skin and her laughing chocolate eyes immediately fill my head. My eyes snap open just as fast as I exhale a sharp breath. I could be running lines right now. I could be listening to classic radio theater, like Briony teased me about earlier. It would be useless though. Not with this monumental problem sitting on my chest. There are only six months left until Briony is gone, and I can’t stand the thought. I’m not delusional enough to think it’s love. At least not the kind of love that keeps men awake at night. Despite how this looks, this is not that. Turning over, I heave a sigh. We’re very good friends. Dear friends even, but there could never be anything between us. Maybe, if it weren’t for the fact that there’s a 12 year age difference between us, things would be different. A futile line of reasoning if I’ve ever heard one. At any rate, Briony gives me all the companionship I could ever need from a close friend. It’s why I have to get over this disappointment that she’s leaving her post. She has to grow and look forward. I get that, and I fully support it. So, how do I explain this sudden sense of panic gnawing at my stomach? Simple. I can’t stomach the idea of her moving away. Even to Brooklyn. No, that thought is insupportable. Sensing that sleep has fled me for now, I turn on my bedside lamp and pick up my well worn collection of Poetry Greats with a sigh. Here’s to another sleepless night…This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. I haven’t seen Mum and Dad since my London holiday last summer. That’s the reason I’m standing in their wood paneled foyer with my mouth open as they sweep me aside and wrap Briony in a hug. “We haven’t seen you since April, dove! We’ve missed you!” Mum joyfully cries out to my surprise. “I know! I’ve missed you, too! We’ve come bearing gifts!” Briony exclaims, amongst the hugs and kisses. She picks up one of the boxes she made me carry from Duty Free and hands it to Dad. Briony always comes bearing gifts, and loves to pretend it was a group effort. Yet, my brow raises as I close the door. I knew Briony came to visit Evie last year. An unexpected scheduling conflict meant we had taken our usual London holiday at separate times. I didn’t realize Briony had visited our parents as well, but it warms me somehow. Still, the longer I stand unattended as Mum and Dad carry on, I begin to wonder if maybe I should have gone to the penthouse with Alfie, and let her come alone. Dad takes the box from Briony, and drops a kiss on her head chatting about the flight. I haven’t slept in 18 hours, so I’m completely knackered. Still, I never knew I could be doubly jealous until that moment. While I fight to suppress the ridiculous jealousy of Dad giving her a peck, I choose to focus on the other, slightly less offensive, but equally appalling reason I’m jealous. “I haven’t been kissed on the head since I grew six inches in four months at the age of 14,” I mutter. “Oh, that’s good on you, darling,” Dad says to Briony, ignoring me to usher her up the stairs to the family sitting room. “I hope you’ve been keeping this one in line?” He hikes a thumb in my direction. Even I have to chuckle at that. “I’m calling a penalty! I daresay, I can’t remember a single friend that I’ve brought home that’s treated as well as Evie’s friend here.” Mum kisses my cheek in a cloud of gardenia as I crest the landing, following Dad and Briony into the blue and cream room. “Thank you, Mum. I’m glad to see I’m not completely chopped liver.” Mum has a laugh as she sits next to Dad. “Nonsense, that doesn’t happen until you have children, and I daresay, you’re at least a couple of years away from that, aren’t you dear?” My brows furrow as I take her meaning, but before I can put my lips together, Mum shakes her greying strawberry blonde mane and presses on in her seemingly haphazard way. “No, darling, what I must take exception to, is the notion that you haven’t brought home a single friend that has been treated as well as Evie’s has, because—well, dear boy— you just have.” Dad and Briony snicker as I squint at her, trying to keep up with her in my sleep deprived state. “Now, we just set tea, there’s the usual sandwiches and other trifles. You know what to do,” Mum gestures to the tea set, sitting back with her cup. I narrow my eyes at her. What is she playing at, today? Turning to Briony, who’s studying the sandwiches as if she would be quite happy to be left alone with them, I ask, “Care for your usual, Bri?” “Thanks, Nick, that’d be great. Mum, Dad, thank you so much for the tea service! Everything looks amazing!” I nearly burn my hand pouring the tea when I sharply turn to look at Briony. Since when does she call my parents, Mum and Dad? Clearly, I know she spent a lot of time here with Evie during the year they attended Le Cordon Bleu. She even lived here a year while interning afterward, but they weren’t this close when we were last here, two years ago. Were they? Mum catches my eye, and in one breath says, “Close your mouth, dear—Dalton, I think I left one of the sweets in the kitchen. Would you mind helping me set it up?” Dad stands, holding out a hand to help Mum up from the settee. “Alright, Jeanie.” Then turning to me and Briony, he adds, “You kids stay out of trouble.” Fixing me with the stare that always made me fidget as a young boy, Dad mouths, “Behave,” before escorting Mum out. I watch his greying blond head bob out of the room just behind Mum’s in amazement. Just what on earth is going on here? Focusing on the task at hand, I manage to pour the orange blossom tea into the teacup this time. Dropping in a sugar cube, I give it a brisk stir and turn it over to Briony before setting about making my own. Setting a few of each tiny sandwich on a plate, I hand her the napkins before settling back with my tea, the plate between us. Then, pushing my glasses atop my head, I take a sip of tea before looking down at the plate and noticing half the sandwiches are gone. “Someone’s feeling a bit peckish,” I tease. Briony’s brown eyes flash at me in the way that says don’t start. I chuckle in response as she leans closer to me. “I slept through that whole flight. You knew I wanted to be woken for the meal service.” I did know that, but I couldn’t wake her. Even when Alfie caught my eye and gave me the signal that I should. For one thing, she looked so peaceful, like she was having the best sleep of her life. And, for another… I drape an arm over the back of the settee. “Briony, you know you’re the most violent person to awake from sleep. Did you really expect me to risk life and limb over some dry roast?” Briony chuckles around another bite of sandwich in her mouth. When I look down at the plate, there’s only one sandwich left. “Was it really dry?” She asks, quirking a brow disbelievingly. I grimace, “Truly. Sleep was likely the best thing on the menu. Picking up the cucumber sandwich, I slide it into my mouth, and lean forward to trade plates. The plate with the remaining sandwiches is barely down between us, when Briony giddily swipes one. “Ohhh,” she groans, with her eyes closed as she chews. “You have no idea how much Momma needed this!” I clear my throat. “You know I’m curious. You said the same thing when you came out of the loo in the lounge. Is this a new term you plan to use for every pleasant experience in the future? Or..” Her throaty laugh takes me by surprise. “I wouldn’t say every pleasant experience, but a hot shower and food qualifies as more than pleasant.” “Oh, you took a shower…” My brows shoot up as I take in her dark curly bob, which I failed to notice she’d let out of the bun she slept in on the plane. I must be more tired than I thought. Briony’s nose crinkles adorably as she frowns, “Well, what did you think I was doing in there for 30 minutes?” Laughing at her bewildered expression I tease, “Oh, I can think of a couple things. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve randomly needed to go to the loo for an extended period of time.” When her jaw drops open, I laugh harder. She slaps me in the arm. “Are you saying this whole time you thought I’ve just been dropping deuces all over the world? And you said nothing?” Her cheeks brighten as she covers them with her hands. Briony’s always so much fun to tease, and never makes me feel like my sometimes blunt humor is too off the wall. It’s why we get on so well. I’m weeping with laughter, and it’s not helped when Briony swats me in the arm again, but starts laughing herself. “What—what was I supposed to say, Bri? Your deuce logs must be epic? Everything flush all right in there?” Now she’s laughing so hard she’s struggling to breathe, and when she collapses against me squealing, I laugh harder. My word, I’m going to miss this when she’s gone. I’m unprepared for the pain that slices through my chest at the thought, and it immediately sobers me. Briony is still pressed into my side, her body seized with laughter, but suddenly, I’m just too, aware. Aware of how her spiral curls frame her face, how she still smells like peaches and sweet tea, of how small her hands are, how soft her white cable knit jumper is, and how it shows off her neck. I’m only about a head taller than her and she’s a curvy woman, so she never seemed tiny, but in this moment, I have an awareness of how delicate she is. I clear my throat, and she looks up at me, just as my brain freezes. In that moment, something passes between us. Whether it’s an understanding, or an acknowledgment that we share this awareness, it’s unclear. But as whatever it is passes between us for one heartbeat, two heartbeats— “Well, well, well, look what we have here!” Mum’s voice cuts into that moment with such power that it physically wrenches me and Briony apart to opposite ends of the settee, hands in our laps. I can’t even make eye contact after seeing the knowing smiles on Mum and Dad’s faces as they prance in. I really wish they’d clue me in on what they know, because I have no idea what’s going on today. I rub my eyes, willing the fluttering in my chest to disappear. “It’s the Victoria Sponge from King’s Cross that you love so much, Bri!” They’re all smiles as they set the small cake slices in front of us. “Oh!” Briony squeaks. Actually squeaks. “Thank you…so thoughtful…” I cut my eyes over to her, noting she’s clearly experiencing the same confusion that I am. What was that? Mum and Dad sit with their slices of cake and eye us like the cat’s that have gotten into the cream. “Don’t you want the sponge? We thought it was your favorite.” Briony hurriedly sits forward and takes a plate and fork. “Oh, we absolutely love a good sponge, don’t we, Nicky babe?” All the air leaves the room, or at least my lungs, as Briony’s eyes widen, the realization of what she just called me in front of my parents sinking in at the speed of 12 parsecs. Taking a deep breath, I run a hand through my hair and lift the plate from her lifeless hands. “Thanks Bri, we sure do.” And shoving the whole bite into my mouth, I acknowledge facts that prove this is a nightmare. If I were conscious, I would be simultaneously celebrating my first bite of cake in a year, while mourning that I wasted the moment on only the third best cake in the world. And, if I were going to cheat, it should have been with potatoes. Instead…I feel nothing. Therefore, there’s nothing to worry about. This is in fact a nightmare. When I wake up, maybe the conscious version of myself will know the answer to the one thought consistently scrolling through my mind like a ticker tape. What is happening?← Previous Chapter: Chapter 1 /|\ Next Chapter → Chapter 3Subscribe for new posts every week! Get full access to I'm Just Here For BOOKS at everblueauthor.substack.com/subscribe