by Kate, Jiffy
Something changed in me recently, maybe it was Shaw’s words finally clicking into place...maybe I finally hit bottom and it helped me see my life more clearly. Whatever it is, it’s making me want to look out for me, guard my heart better, because I don’t think I can take another big hit. I’ve had as much heartache as I can bear.
While eating at The Crescent Moon, Wyatt and I got to talking and he offered me a job. His business partner, Tripp, is taking some time off to be with his wife who just had a baby, so he’s shorthanded. Of course, I took him up on the offer.
So, here I am, on the same streetcar, headed to my first day at The Crescent Moon. When it passes the street Shaw’s house sits on, I allow myself a glimpse, but that’s all.
I miss him.
And if I spend too much time thinking about him, I’ll just get sad and I don’t have time for that today. I’m stepping off of this streetcar and into my new job.
It’s a new day.
I’m a new Avery Cole.
“Hey.” Wyatt greets me as I walk through the front door of the restaurant. “Let me introduce you to everyone and show you around.”
“Okay,” I reply, following him with an excitement and anticipation I was expecting.
When we walk through the swinging doors that lead to the kitchen, everyone is buzzing about the relatively small space but they all pause long enough to say hello.
“This is Shawn, our cook,” Wyatt says pointing to a guy with longer, tied-back hair.
Between the hair and his name, my thoughts immediately go to Shaw.
What the fuck? Couldn’t his name be Jerry...or Bill...and couldn’t he have a buzz cut?
It’s like the universe is testing me, so I plaster a smile on my face and wave. “Hey, Shawn.”
“This is Dixie.” Wyatt points to a lady buzzing through the kitchen like a woman on a mission. “She’s the one in charge of the schedules. If you need a day off or something like that, she’s your girl.”
“Oh,” I interject, remembering there’s something I want to ask. “Do you think it’d be possible for me to only work Tuesday through Saturday? I don’t mind working doubles or whatever you need, but I really need Sundays and Mondays off.”
Wyatt’s eyes land on mine and I divert my gaze, going back to the large stove where Shawn is cooking away like he has eight arms. After a few moments, Wyatt clears his throat and says, “sure, no problem.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, knowing that he knows why I asked for those days off but neither of us is willing to say it and I’m grateful. I’m not ready to talk about it. CeCe and I have barely even discussed it.
“Gretchen is our newest addition,” Wyatt says, continuing the introductions. “Well, not now...you’re the newest member of The Crescent Moon family.” He dips his head with a big smile. “Welcome to the family.”
A warmth spreads through my chest, but it’s met with resistance. As much as I’m already starting to feel a part of this place, I miss everyone at the bar. I can’t help it.
I also can’t help comparing the differences.
Where Shaw is always grumpy and moody, Wyatt is carefree and happy-go-lucky. It’s obvious he runs a tight ship, but the vibe here is so much more relaxed.
I also start comparing the similarities.
Shawn is obviously Wyatt’s Paulie, or maybe that’s Tripp’s job, but since he’s not here, Shawn is filling in. Dixie seems like a Sarah, she’s the one who keeps everyone running on schedule. Gretchen is the new kid...okay, not going there. We’ll just call her Charlie. I bet there’s even a Kevin—the quiet one who’s willing to do whatever needs done and never says anything about it.
I wonder if they all go hang out after work?
One thing that’s going to be way different is working during the day and closing up shop before two in the morning. CeCe joked that I’ll no longer be working on vampire hours.
“So, you’ll shadow me for the day,” Wyatt says, interrupting my inner thoughts. “I have a feeling you’re a fast learner. Assuming everything goes as well as I think it will, you can have your own tables tomorrow, picking up Tripp’s sections.”
I nod in agreement. “Sounds good.”
He shows me where I can stash my backpack and gives me an apron, then we’re out in the main dining room waiting tables.
“How’s...everything?” Wyatt asks as we’re cleaning off a table, most of the restaurant empty due to the lunch rush ending and the dinner rush still an hour or so away.
I look up to see him pretending to be really interested in a few glasses he’s stacking together.
“Uh, well...I guess it’s fine.”
“I know about the kid,” Wyatt confesses, his eyes still trained on the table. “Shaw told me.”
Taking a deep breath, I hold it for a second and then exhale loudly. “Jeremy.”
“Yeah,” he says, finally looking up at me. “You were close to him?”
I shrug, letting out a sigh. “We were...friends, I guess. I’m not sure how good of friends you can actually be with an addict.” I’ve asked myself this question quite a bit over the past few days. How well did I know Jeremy? Not very well. If we’d been better friends, maybe he would’ve confided in me that he was struggling with his addiction? Maybe I could’ve encouraged him to find someone to talk to—a group meeting or something?
“Yeah,” Wyatt says in a regretful tone. “Well, if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”
“Thanks,” I tell him with a small smile. “I think the hardest thing for me right now is that I didn’t get any closure, you know? I saw him one day and he was fine, the next day he showed up to work high, and then he was gone. In my mind, I still see Jeremy...he’s fine, alive.”
“You need closure,” Wyatt confirms. “Maybe you could do something to help you feel like you’re remembering him, helping people like him. That might make you feel...I don’t know...better?”
I nod, thinking about it. “Maybe.” He might be onto something. “It would make me feel better if I could help people like Jeremy, since I couldn’t help him.”
“There are some group homes around the city that take in people off the streets,” he says thoughtfully.
“Yeah, like Charity House,” I add. “That’s where Jeremy was staying.”
“Maybe go there and see if you can volunteer or something,” he suggests.
My chest feels a little lighter at the thought, so I nod. “Yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks, Wyatt.”
“Anytime, that’s what I’m here for.”
His wide, easy smile forces me to return it.
“You’re like a magic problem solver,” I tease, appreciating the levity as I feel the black cloud that’s been following me around start to dissipate.
Chapter 24
Shaw
“Excuse me, can I get a whiskey sour?”
I glance up from the dishes I’m washing behind the bar and see a young woman smiling at me. I do a double take because she reminds me of Avery. She doesn’t look like her, really, but she’s about the same age, same build...just enough similarities to make me think about Avery. Not that it takes much, mind you. She’s embedded so deep under my skin and even though it’s only been a week since I last saw her, I feel like it’s been forever—too long. Last night, I thought about calling her or texting her but stopped myself. It didn’t feel right. Eventually, I’ll reach out to her and explain everything, but I’m still working on getting my head on straight.
“Yeah, sure. Just a sec.” Turning my head to the side, I start to call out to one of the guys before remembering I’m here alone. Kevin and Charlie aren’t scheduled to come in for another hour and Paulie is next door helping Sarah. It’s not the first time it’s happened, but at least this time I stopped myself before yelling for Jeremy or Avery. I don’t think it’s ever taken me this long to adapt to losing employees, but those two were special cases and it’s just not the same without them here.
Especially Avery.
I dry my hands
then quickly make the requested drink. When I hand the lady her change, she gives me a blinding smile and a wink. I respond by turning my back to her and putting the whiskey bottle back on the shelf.
No thank you. Not interested.
The only person I’m interested in is Avery, but I’m afraid I’ve made too many mistakes with her. When I stopped by Neutral Grounds a couple of days ago, hoping to see her, CeCe said she was gone, but wouldn’t tell me where.
I get it. She’s protecting her friend, but it still pissed me off.
Yesterday, I had my first therapy session in over two years. For the first few years after Liz’s death, I saw him regularly, but after a while, I felt like I was as good as I was gonna get. He helped me get to a place where I was a functioning member of society. I was handling the grief instead of letting it handle me.
I worked every day, took care of the house, exercised regularly, found healthy ways to get rid of the anger, managed my employees, spoke to my family...everything that was expected of me.
Everything I expected from myself.
“Surviving, not thriving,” that’s what my therapist told me yesterday at our session. I’ve been living, but I haven’t been changing or evolving. Everything has stayed the same.
Stagnant.
And then Avery Cole walked into my life and shook it up. She made me start to feel things and want things I’d denied myself for so long. I’d written off even the idea of love. I didn’t even think it was possible...I wasn’t capable.
Even when all the signs pointed to it, I still shut it out.
Loving Liz had been so easy.
It felt as natural as breathing.
From the first day I met her, I knew I wanted it all—marriage, two kids, a house in the Garden District, and to grow old with her.
But life is twisted and unexpected. And just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, a pink-haired, brown-eyed girl with a heart of gold will walk into your bar and demand you give her a job.
Loving Avery is hard.
It tests every part of me, making me question everything.
“Hey, boss,” Paulie calls out as he walks into the bar from the hallway.
“Hey,” I reply, continuing my task at hand as I dry the glasses I just finished washing. The girl who was smiling at me earlier is now sitting at a table in the corner talking to another girl. There are a few regulars nursing beers at the bar, but for the most part, the place is quiet.
Just as Paulie approaches the bar, the front door opens and Kevin walks in, giving us both a wave. Looking at my watch, I see that it’s a little before five o’clock. My next therapy session is tonight. Well, it’s a group that my therapist thinks I’d benefit from sitting in on.
I’m still calling bullshit, but I’m going because fuck if I don’t want to figure my shit out and get my head on straight. I want to be able to feel everything for Avery without constantly feeling guilty for it.
“I guess I’m heading out,” I tell him.
Paulie nods his head, silently shoving me out the door.
He knows where I’m going and what I’m doing. He and Sarah have been my biggest supporters in this. I honestly couldn’t do it without them.
“I’ll see you in a couple hours,” I tell Paulie, giving Kevin a slap on the back as I pass him. “Don’t let the place burn down.”
Once I’m on my bike, I fire it up and let it idle for second, pushing back the memories that always hit me of Avery behind me, holding on tightly as we just rode around. It’s one of my favorite memories of her, always giving me a hard-on and making my chest ache at the same time.
When I pull up outside of the address I plugged into my phone, I park my bike by the curb and hop off. Walking inside the building, I hear people conversing and use that as an indicator of where I’m supposed to be. Hesitantly, I approach the open door and see a sign that reads Grief Support Group - Moving on After Death. Those words are enough to get my heart pounding and make my hands sweaty. I think about bolting, when a female voice calls out.
“Hello, welcome.”
I can’t force a smile, but I give her a tight nod. “Hello.”
“If you’re looking for the MAD group, you’ve found it.” Her tone is matter-of-fact and friendly enough without being overly so.
“Mad?” I ask, taking an opportunity to look around at the small groups of people around the room, huddled around with cups of coffee and bottles of water.
“Moving on After Death,” she says with a tilt of her head, watching my line of sight. “But mad kind of fits, don’t you think? Haven’t we all been mad, whether in the mental sense or emotional sense?”
I nod, because she’s right. “Yeah, guess so.”
“You’re welcome to grab a cup of coffee or just find a seat. We’ll be starting soon and I promise you won’t have to say a word, unless you want to.”
“Thanks,” I tell her, managing something that might resemble a smile. Maybe.
“I can spot a runner a mile away.”
She gives me a grin and pats my shoulder before walking over to greet someone else.
Ellen, who I later find out lost her husband six years ago, seems to be the leader of the group. After her husband died, she went back to school and got her degree in counseling, finding purpose in her grief.
That was the bar for me and the men I tried to help.
I guess we all find purpose in different places, and eventually—hopefully—we find a way to balance the grief and guilt. That’s what I’m here for. I want to figure out how to let Avery in—all the way in, past all the walls and barricades.
“Grief can make us crazy,” Ellen says, cutting through my thoughts. “It can make us lash out, cry out, give up. I know all of us in here lost a spouse, which is what makes this group so special. We can all identify with what everyone is going through, but you’ll also find out that we’re all handling it differently and that’s okay. You might have lost your husband or wife and jumped right into a relationship, needing to fill the gaping wound. However, you might be wondering how you can ever love someone else. That’s why we're here, to help us all understand that there are no hard and fast answers.”
“I yelled at my kid last night for leaving the front door open,” one lady a few chairs to my right says. Biting down on her lower lip, she shakes her head. “That never bothered me before. It was my husband’s pet peeve, but I’d always just laugh it off and roll my eyes. Like, what the hell is wrong with leaving the door open? It’s not like the house is going to burn down, ya know?” She pauses for a second, giving a watery laugh. “I’ve always been a pick my battles kind of parent, but since Barry died, I sometimes have these moments where I realize life is changing without him and I want everything to stay the same so I don’t have to be reminded...and I yell at the kids over stupid shit like leaving the front door open or insist that we eat spaghetti every Monday night, because that’s what he liked...and the grass has to be mowed diagonally.” Wiping under her eyes, she lets out a soft laugh. “That’s my crazy.”
“And it’s totally normal,” Ellen says without pity. “I know you might feel bad after yelling at the kids, but I’m sure if you just talk to them and tell them why, they’ll understand.”
Another guy starts talking about how he can’t get rid of his wife’s clothes and she’s been gone ten years.
One lady refuses to drive her husband’s car, but she sits in it every day and listens to the CD he left in it on replay.
With each story, I start to feel my chest lighten. I don’t open up and spill my guts, but I listen and I let their grief and crazy help me feel better about my own. It feels a lot like acceptance and that makes me feel like maybe I can look it in the face and find a place for it.
“I went on my first date,” a lady to my left says as she tries to hide the smile, but Ellen congratulates her and everyone else offers her praise. Again, I just listen.
“How was it, Susan?” Ellen asks. “How did you feel?”
Susan shrugs and sighs. “Different, maybe a little foreign even. Charles and I had been married for twenty years. He was my first everything, so just being out with another man felt...weird...but good. It’d been so long since someone had opened the door for me or held my hand across a table. Those feelings of guilt we talked about last week were still there, but I was able to push past them and start to feel deserving...I deserve to be happy and loved...I deserve to go out on a date,” Susan says with another sigh.
“You do,” Ellen encourages. “For those of you who haven’t been here before, we’ve talked a lot about falling in love after losing someone. What does that look like? Feel like? I don’t want to go deep into it because we’re running out of time for tonight.”
I glance down at my watch and see she’s right. An entire hour has passed and I surprise myself by feeling disappointed by that fact. I’m not finished listening. I especially want to hear what she has to say about this last topic. I’m all fucking ears, scooting to the edge of my seat.
“I just want to say this,” Ellen continues. “If you were in a happy relationship, which I can almost guarantee all of us here were or we wouldn’t be here trying to figure out how to move on,” she stops and smiles. “We all experienced love, maybe even the love of a lifetime, and you might be feeling like you don’t deserve that twice, but I’m here to tell you that you do. And the best compliment you can give to your deceased spouse is to find love again. It’s an honor to their memory, not an intrusion. Sometimes, it helps for us to put them in our position. If we were the ones who were gone, would we want them to find love?”
The entire room is quiet, thoughtful as she pauses, giving us time to mull over her question. I let my mind drift to Liz and picture her here and me gone. The sharp pain that shoots through my chest is all the answer I need.
No way.
No fucking way would I want her to be where I am today. I wouldn’t want her to be lonely. I wouldn’t want her to not be feeling all the love in the world. If I couldn’t be here to love her the way she deserved, I would want someone to do that job for me. She deserved only the best.
