Until You Feel At Home

Chapter Twelve

Brandon

The luncheon started off nice enough. Now that all the introductions had been made, the mood was way more comfortable. Neckties were left in the car, heels were swapped for flats, and pitchers of beer were being drained and refilled in record timing. Brandon was breaking a sweat at the idea of giving a speech, or a toast, or whatever he was meant to do. He couldn't think of any good memories he wanted to share, or funny moments. He lingered by the bar, drinking a beer at a snail's pace (so he didn't give Ashley any more to say about his drinking habits.) Rob's family had saved a seat for Claire, and she happily took it.

As plates of salad were passed out, he knew it would be a good time to get everyone's attention and say whatever came to mind. If he waited much longer, he had no doubt Claire would grab him by the arm and introduce him herself. He peeked over his left shoulder, then his right, and when no one was looking he finished his glass. He considered ordering a shot for some liquid courage but quickly realized it might tip him into a territory he had no business being in, with this much attention.

He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. "Come on Brandon, you got this," He whispered to himself. He stood from the bar stool and began walking towards where the group was dining. From a few feet away he watched Rob stand, and clear his throat loudly.

"If it's alright with all yous I would like to say a few words about my old friend, Pierce."

"We've heard you talk enough, old man!" Someone shouted, earning a few chuckles. Rob laughed to himself.

"If you don't watch it, Arthur, I'll have to tell your wife about your secret lunches at my counter." He said back. The crowd reacted with an Ooooooh. "Sorry, darling, but he doesn't like your chicken salad." He giggled, round face turning red. "We're all here for the same reason. Saying goodbye to this man who was a constant in this community for most of his life. I would have liked to see more of him over the last fifteen or so years but we still grew up together and I'm sure nothing changed in him." Rob placed his hand on his belly and talked with a conviction Brandon didn't see often. He thought Rob could make a good politician.

"He was a good person from the day he was born and I didn't have to see him every day to be certain he was a good person until death. I have been lucky enough to make the acquaintance of Miss Claire here and I can see the influence he had over her in everything she does. God knows, he had an influence on me. I haven't told many people this but when the diner went up for sale back in the 90s I was a cook there and I wanted to buy it more than anything. Only problem was I barely had two pennies to rub together. I had a pregnant wife and an apartment that can't catch over a hundred bucks on AirBnB." Brandon watched Claire laugh into her napkin, and smiled at the sight. "I told Pierce I was worried the new owner, whoever it would be, would make me move. Or worse, fire me altogether." Rob shook his head to himself, and the room felt the weight of the stress he had been under all those years ago.

"Pierce lent me the money I needed to buy the diner. To this day, I lay in bed at night wondering where we would be if it weren't for that man. I paid him back the money, but I could never give him what he gave me and my family. All I can do now is give these words, and try to pay forward his kindness." Rob sniffled and nodded. "Thanks for listening, everyone."

There were scattered applause and cheers. Brandon knew they were for Rob, not for his father.

"I'll go next, if that's okay with you all." Brandon said, followed by uncomfortable silence. He looked over the room, listening to the scratches of forks on plates. "Don't sound too excited, now." He said with a chuckle, getting some in return. The noise made him feel a bit less nervous. "My dad didn't buy me a business, as most of you know, but I do have him to thank for some of my knowledge in carpentry." He saw a few nods and took that as a sign to continue. "I remember each summer he would put up a big inflatable pool in our backyard, except our yard was on a slope so we had to build a platform. From the age I was old enough to hold a container of nails, I was expected to help. It was fun; I enjoyed building the platform more than the pool itself, honestly." Brandon could remember those summers vividly, and fondly. "I remember asking my dad if I could use the hammer for the first time, when I was only six or so years old, and he looked so excited to let me take a whack at it. Literally. He held the nail in place, and with all my might I swung the hammer down and slammed it right into his thumb." A few people groaned or winced as they felt the pain, themselves. "I panicked. I turned to my dad, ready for him to yell, or hit me or something. I don't know why I felt that way, he'd never raised his voice at me before. His face was beat red, and he was biting down on his lip, grabbing his thumb." Brandon grabbed his own thumb as he described the scene. "All he said was 'Great job, buddy.'" He reenacted, with the same pain in his voice Pierce had that day. The room erupted in laughter, and he caught his mom wiping away tears with her napkin. He felt lighter.

"Accidents happen in my line of work all the time. I'm surprised I haven't lost a finger by now. But every time I get a little nick or a scratch, I feel the pain and then immediately after I remember my dad's face that day and I laugh. I wish I could tell him he gave that to me- the ability to laugh through the pain." Brandon paused, and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Thank you." he bowed away and planned to head back to the bar, until he heard Claire speak over the applause.

"I'd like to share a few words." He turned and saw her standing, picking at her fingernails. "I know most of us just met, but I knew Pierce like the back of my hand, and he's who this day is about, after all." She shifted her weight, looking clearly uncomfortable. He wanted to stand beside her and comfort her, but this wasn't the time or place. "One of my favorite memories with Pierce was my birthday. I think it was my 21st because I was hungover and asked to go to dinner at a shitty little chain restaurant, so I could get a messy cheeseburger. All I wanted was a cheeseburger and a cheap beer to get the hangover to go away. After the first couple bites of my food I started to feel sick and I ran to the bathroom, in case I had to throw up."

Brandon watched her grin fall before she muttered, "Sorry, this might not be the best story to tell while you're all eating." She shook her head, "Anyway- I came back to my seat and it only took a couple seconds for someone to come up to our table and say- 'I heard we have a birthday over here?'" She got a couple laughs, and chuckled back at them. "My mom wasted no time trying to embarass me. If the attention wasn't bad enough, I was supposed to ride a mechanical bull." "Pierce must have seen the horror on my face because he raised his hand and pretended it was his birthday. I wish you could have all seen him ride that damned mechanical bull." That got the real laughs. "He did really good, I think he set a record." The laughs continued. "When his real birthday finally came around I got him a cowboy hat as a gag gift. He joked that day that he was going to wear it to my graduation." Brandon could tell that the words slipped out before she felt the weight of them. Her grin dropped. He'd pictured the crash in his head over and over for weeks, but now the image had changed. Now Pierce was wearing the hat from her story, and now her favorite memory was horrifying. She was frozen. He wasted no time going to her side.

"Thank you for sharing, Claire." He patted her back. "I hope you all enjoy the food." He said to the room, and ushered Claire out to the front of the restaurant for fresh air. She was apologizing before they made it out the door.

"I'm so sorry. God, that was so embarrassing. I didn't know what to do, I felt like if I tried to say anything I would just scream, or cry, I don't know."

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "I know. It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I shouldn't have tried to speak."

"What?! Don't say that. It was a good story."

"No, it was a bad story. I didn't think it through. Yours was a good story."

He looked to the door and pictured the entrees being handed out, everyone talking with their mouthful. Spewing more and more gossip. He didn't want to go back in. "Want to come back to my house?" He asked.

"Yeah." She said, with next to no hesitation. "Do you have-"

"Booze?" He cut her off. "Plenty. Come on, come get in the truck."