by Vesper Young
I tried not to be judgmental, but still. I wondered why she hadn’t continued with her degree. She was damn good at it. One of these days I would work up to asking her. She was still skittish, but she’d finally begun to let her guard down just a little. I worried if I said the wrong thing, I’d lose what I’d finally started to get back.
8. Kara
Grandparents love grandchildren. They dote on them, they want what’s best for them, and they love them unconditionally. All the fun of raising kids without the responsibility. It’s not quite a universal truth, but it’s approximately true for how my parents felt about Ryan. At least, now that he was in elementary school and not an infant.
Which is exactly why, one weekend a month, Ryan went upstate to spend time with Grandma and Grandpa. Which was why said-Grandma and Grandpa were sitting in my living room, sipping tea with Ryan’s dinosaur-themed luggage to the side of the couch.
My mother was as petite as my father was large. Where my father’s cheeks were ruddy and round, her face was powdered to an almost undead pale shade, the only color her soft pink eyeshadow which was drowned by her dark, plentiful mascara. She always wore crisp skirts and blouses, today joined by a set of pearls with matching earrings rounding off the Sunday school teacher-esque appearance. My father was dressed much more casually, in jeans and a button-down that strained around his midsection.
What it didn’t explain was why my mother took this as an opportunity to critique my life. I was used to it by now. Each visit there was something new, though she had her favorite topics. Namely, my job, my apartment, and my son.
Today, it was my job.
“Honestly, Kara, you work dreadful hours,” she was saying. The reason varied: either because I wasn’t with Ryan when he went to bed some nights, or because I didn’t earn enough, or…
“It’s not good for a young woman to be out so late,” my father added, choosing Critique Number Three.
My mother cast a look about my apartment, not-so-subtly inspecting the stitching of the couch. “And I can’t imagine it pays well.”
I ground my teeth. They weren’t terrible people, despite the friction between us for the past decade. Inhale. Exhale. My son deserved to know his grandparents even if I had to put up with this bullshit.
“Actually, I’ve been doing some side work consulting,” I told her with a smile, as if I was too stupid to realize she was insulting me.
To her credit, she knew I wasn’t stupid so this never fooled her. Gloria Iver just happened to be far too polite to inform me point-blank she was insulting me.
“Oh? What ever could you be consulting on?”
“Interior design.” I said it like a challenge, or at least as much of a challenge I ever made anymore. Once, I might have made some sarcastic remark, called out her dismissive attitude, and demand she show me some semblance of respect if she was going to come into my space. Now, I retreated into a more passive aggressive role, if not completely docile.
From the way her faced shifted, faux concern in full force, she leaned in, semi-whispering as if not to embarrass me in front of Ryan (who didn’t care what boring conversation we were having since they’d just given him a brand new Archaeopteryx toy) and said, “Does your employer know you never got your degree?”
And whose fault is that? My mother never missed the chance to bring up my incomplete degree. Education, they’d always touted, was essential. But it hadn’t stopped them from pulling the rug out from under me. My parents hadn’t fully supported me through college, but when I told them I was pregnant before the start of my sophomore year they told me if I didn’t give up my child for adoption they’d cut me off. They would only make my life easier if I wasn’t trying to make it harder, they argued. I’d made it through the first semester, having to take off in the spring to recover and raise an infant. I’d tried to go back the next fall and made it through one more semester out of stubbornness before I admitted I couldn’t afford to keep going.
“He knows,” I said, as evenly as I could. Even though I expected their critiques, they deflated me like nothing else.
That got my father’s attention. “A man?” was his inquiry, joined by a skeptical look that said a everything his careful, neutral tone didn’t.
“Yes, I’m working for a man. He knows I don’t have a degree and doesn’t care, because he had confidence in my work and I think the project is coming together nicely.” It was. I was excited just thinking about the new furniture arriving.
I glanced at my wrist. “Oh, darn, Ryan, sweetie, stop playing with your toy. You three are going to have to head out if you don’t want to hit rush hour traffic.”
It wasn’t exactly subtle. To my parents's credit, they stood, my son’s luggage in my father’s big, beefy hand. Ryan came over, figurine in hand. From the tight way he gripped it, I knew instantly it was a new favorite and grinned. Ryan’s dinosaur phase was still going strong. I was thankful his vegetarian kick had been much shorter-lived.
He thrust his arm out. “Can I take Joe-Bobby with me?”
Apparently, this was Joe-Bobby the Archaeopteryx. Before I could reply, my father answered. “Of course you can.”
Ryan kept looking at me for permission. I tried not to let my pride show. Sometimes it felt like they were trying to undermine me, even though it came from a place of love.
“Sure thing, kid. Be good,” I told him, bending down to hug him as they headed out the door.
Ryan walked out between his grandparents, practically brimming with energy. He liked the weekends, and it meant I’d be able to pick up a few of the more profitable weekend shifts since he’d be gone. Just in time for Christmas, I thought with a smile.
***
Things were in full swing when I opened the door to the Rattler, since I was working ‘til close. The rush of heat hit me, warming my cheeks that had been practically numb just from the short time waiting for the bus. It was the coldest day yet, and since December was just starting, there’d be more to come.
Amelia was working tables, her red hair pulled back into a perfect ponytail acting as a beacon. She kept glancing at the bar, unaware of my arrival. Ethan was by himself at the moment, so I hurried over, saying a quick hello to my friend and promptly startling her.
Lucas was at the little computer that had been installed. It was fancy; one morning Lucas had shown me he could track which drinks were most ordered at what times and all sorts of stuff. From the frustrated look on his face, however, it wasn’t working right. The computer was right at the end of the bar, towards the door to the back, so I had to pass him to get to work. Even though I felt bad Ethan was running the madhouse on his own, I paused.
“Hey,” I said tentatively.
He turned and gave me a quick smile. “Hey there.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Well,” he said slowly, before launching into a very, very techy explanation of all the diagnostic tests he’d run to figure out the issues and how it still wasn’t working. The issue with his detailed explanations was that they’d always had a hypnotic effect on me. The impassioned explanation, the tangents he told to be mindful of his audience, the detailed way he recounted duplicating and triplicating the problem, laced with enough frustration to turn his voice slightly rough. It curled around me, making me want to lean in and beg him to keep talking.
I blinked, shaking off the entrancing effect, and tried to piece together his complaint. The bar could run on paper for the night just fine, but Lucas would want this fixed. With him, things always had to work perfectly and it irked him when they didn’t.
He was currently explaining how he’d be damned if he went and called tech support since all he was going to do was get some kid who would assume it hadn’t occurred to him to reboot the system and waste his time.
“Have you tried turning it on and off again?”
He gave me a look. “Have I? Of course I… Oh, shit.” He reached behind the screen and hit a button. The screen went dark and a minute la
ter came back to life. He punched in something with his fingers.
“Dammit. I can’t believe I forgot to do that.”
“Maybe you should hire me for IT consulting too,” I teased.
That earned a smile. And that smile set little flutters free in my belly. I hastily moved behind the bar, putting some distance between us. I didn’t like seeing Lucas frustrated. I didn’t know how to cope with that fact, either.
When I got to Ethan, he informed me he was going on break. My turn to manage both ends of the bar. I tried to be personable with everyone seated as well as keep up with the never-ending rush of orders from the tables. Julie brought over the latest, just a couple beers, though it included the last of our Budweiser bottles. I’d need to grab more from the back once Ethan returned.
I scanned the tables. Apparently, Amelia was also on break. Just as I saw that, she rolled back in through the back, the extra spring in her step going to her high ponytail that no longer looked quite so immaculate. A wide grin was set on her face, like the cat who knew she got away with something. Ethan walked a moment later, looking nowhere near as pleased. I stifled a giggle. I wasn’t sure what was between them, but I needed to grill her soon. If I wasn’t going to have my own romance, at least I could live vicariously through Amelia’s.
Still, there wasn’t much time to think about that. Once Ethan made his way back behind the bar, I gave him a minute to compose himself before letting him know I was going to get some more beer from the stockroom. He accepted without complaint.
I went to the back and shivered. Compared to the heated bar, the stockroom was an icebox, though it wasn’t as cold as outside by any means. I scanned the shelves. I was pretty tall at my five-ten, so normally I had no issue getting supplies. Except that apparently whatever jerk had unloaded supplies decided the Budweiser cases should go on the top shelf instead their usual third-row place. Ugh. I should’ve made Ethan get them, but I’d be darned now if I went back. Ethan wouldn’t mind, I knew. He was good to work with. As long as the job got done and he did his fair share, he didn’t stress about how all the details worked out. But I’d said I would get the beers, and I’d be damned if I wouldn’t.
I stood on my tippy-toes, reaching as high as I could to get them. Except the case was still set too far back.
My best bet was climbing up on the first level so I could tug the case forward. I wasn’t a complete idiot, so I set one foot on a separate shelf so I wouldn’t be putting all my weight on the case.
My fingers grazed the side and I reached around for the handle. Success! Okay, Kara, now inch it forward just bit by bit…
“What are you doing?”
“Yeek!” was my eloquent response. Or as eloquent as you can be when you’re spread like a monkey across the stock room shelves, have one hand in the air, lose your balance, and start to fall because your boss startled you.
Sometimes you can think a lot of thoughts very quickly. This was one of those times. My thoughts were a mix of “Holy crap, Lucas better have good workman’s comp” and “Dear God, do not let me break anything major because a trip to the hospital would screw me six ways to Sunday” and especially, “I can’t believe Lucas is seeing me look like a complete moron.”
I shut my eyes and braced for impact, but instead of falling on the hard floor, I crashed against something warmer and a fair bit softer. The faint scent of fresh detergent and mild soap filled my nostrils. It should’ve been mundane, but somehow it was a signature combination I knew all too well. It made me want to curl up inside it. Something that was a real possibility given our position.
My back pressed against Luke, who felt like soft steel. When I tentatively opened my eyes again, my world was filled by him. He had one arm out in front, holding the shelf steady. I was sandwiched tightly between the two. I could feel every muscle pressing against me, including some a bit past his chest. His body was warm. The few minutes in the stockroom had chilled me and I wanted to snuggle in closer.
I twisted slightly to look at him. His face was dangerously close. There was the slightest hint of a stubble around his cheeks, which was undeniably sexy. The intensity in his eyes didn’t startle me, because I felt everything I saw on his face.
“What were you up there for?” he asked, his breath a caress against my skin.
“Trying to get the beers,” I said. My voice was barely more than a whisper.
My heart pounded in my chest, less from the fall than the closeness. His lips were barely inches from my own. If I lifted my head up, would he taste the same way I remembered, or had that changed, too?
I wanted to know very badly and was probably about to try and find out when someone spoke.
“Kara, Ethan wants to know if you’re coming by with the beers this year—oh!”
Our heads turned to face the new voice. Amelia stood in the doorway of the stockroom.
“I’ll go tell Ethan his beers will wait,” she announced. She winked at me before turning away.
I wanted to melt into the ground. I suddenly needed to get out of Lucas's arms and clear my head before I did something very, very stupid. I wriggled against Lucas, trying to get away. He tensed behind me and I realized this might not have been the best move. I froze, realized I was still pressed against him, and tried to adjust. No matter which way I moved, I was rubbing against him. Finally, I froze.
“Um, Lucas, can you let me out?”
After a second of blissful torture, he let me go without a word.
I started to leave, then realized I still needed the beers.
“Can you give me that case?” I pointed up.
He effortlessly reached up with both hands and brought the case down. He didn’t hand it to me. Just walked back to the bar and left it there.
Ethan didn’t say anything. I switched with him to handle the people-side of the bar. I needed to distract myself. The hours flew by with my thoughts in a whirlwind. At a quarter past ten, Marco came in, snowflakes dotting his wiry hair. I made his usual as soon as he walked in, figuring he’d want to warm up.
“It’s crazy out there!” he exclaimed, taking his regular seat. “This is gonna be the craziest blizzard since ’89. I ever tell you about where I was in that blizzard?”
I shook my head. In between my serving the other customers, Marco told me a wild story. Apparently, he’d been up in Vermont, having gone to visit his cousin, but he never made it that far. He’d had to pull over when it got too bad, winding up at some off-the-road grocery with a woman named Arlene running it. He’d wound up spending the weekend there, stuck and unable to leave. He had a wistful look in his eye when he told the story, though it disappeared once he finished.
The bar had thinned out by eleven. With the snowstorm brewing, I wondered if Lucas would close early. Already one of the waiters and one of the waitresses had taken off. I hoped Ryan would get some snow up by my parents. He should get to enjoy the first snowfall of the season.
“Kid, you’ve got a look about you,” Marco said to me, startling me out of my thoughts.
“I do?” I said.
He nodded. “That you do. What’s on your mind?”
I didn’t say anything, though without thinking my gaze shifted over to Lucas who was sitting at one of the tables, laptop open and bright with colorful images.
“Ah,” he said knowingly. “I see.”
“No, no,” I protested, not sure what I was even arguing. “Nothing like that.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“It’s nothing,” I repeated.
Marco sipped his martini for a minute.
He set the glass down, empty. I reached for it to make him another.
“Why’s it nothing, kid?”
I shrugged, my back to him while I reached around for the ingredients. “Just is.”
I turned back around with the drink. Once again, my eyes flickered over to the booth where Lucas worked at his computer. There was a question on his face, so I smiled to let him know everything was good. He was too far away to hea
r us, thankfully.
Marco didn’t miss any of that interaction. He took a sip of the drink I handed him and nodded approvingly.
“I can tell it doesn’t have to be nothing,” he told me. “So why do you want it to be?”
“For one, he’s my boss,” I grumbled. “We work together.”
Marco raised an eyebrow. He’d been coming around the Rattler long enough there was a fair bit of fraternizing going around, though I can’t say Samson had taken much part in that.
“Is he the bad sort?” he asked. There was no judgment in his voice, nor anything except mild curiosity.
Once again, I couldn’t help but look in Lucas's direction. I wasn’t sure what he was doing on the computer after eleven, but I had no doubt it was some project.
“He’s a good guy,” I admitted.
“He’s been eyeing you all evening. Something he does real regular,” Marco informed me. “And I can’t help but notice you eye him, too. He’s quite the sight.”
I tried to fight the blush rising on my cheeks. “I’m not blind. I’m just not stupid either.”
Marco sighed. It was a bit long and put on, but under it was a hint of weariness.
“Lemme tell you something, kid. Going up to Vermont in the winter was stupid. It was double stupid to not check the forecast before going, triple stupid to keep going until I had to stop because my old clunker couldn’t take any more, and maybe quadruple stupid to go into that grocery and drive Arlene up the wall. But my life would be a lot unhappier, and worse, a lot more boring if I didn’t do stupid things like that. The only stupid thing I regret is not trying to find that store again in the spring.” The wistfulness was back in his voice.
I smiled despite myself. Marco was a character, you had to give him that. But then it slipped off my face as I got to thinking about my reality, rather than the snowed-in-with-the-shopkeeper-doing-who-knows-what reality Marco lived in. “Marco, I can’t afford to be stupid. I’m an adult.”
