“How shallow do you think I am?” I ask bitterly.
“Last night was your first bar fight. How many more of those do you think you can take?” He levels me with his gaze knowing he has me.
Contemplating his words, I pause, licking my lips. “So you’re sticking to your ultimatum, then?”
“Yes,” he says without a second’s hesitation.
Reaching across the bureau, I grab his lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Pulling one out, I light it and take a drag, remembering not to inhale. I don’t want to have a coughing fit in front of him.
“What are you doing?” He’s pissed but also a little amused.
“I’m thinking about what other bars might be looking for a new waitress.”
“Michelle…” There’s no mistaking the warning in his tone.
“It’s the only employable skill I have. I’m sure somebody will hire me.” I tap the lighted end into the ashtray. “Tammy did say I’m a hot piece of ass. It shouldn’t be too hard.”
“So you’re determined to go against me?” Incredulous, he pries the cigarette from my fingers, lifting it to his own mouth.
“Nervous, are we?”
He exhales in my face. “You don’t want to take me on.”
“Oh, and why is that?”
“Because I always win.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
I keep my eye on Connor despite the fact that I’m mad as hell at him. He seems unsteady on his feet, constantly gripping the edge of the bar for support. He shouldn’t have opened the pub, but he didn’t want to lose out on the lucrative Saturday crowd, by far our busiest night of the week. He’s dispatching the drink orders at his usual pace, but he’s not himself.
I wish there was someone I can talk to about what happened between us. Maybe an impartial third party can help me make sense of our showdown this morning. But Tammy actually slept with Connor. She wasn’t one of his pretend flings to put me off him. It’d be too weird. And I don’t want to go there with Emily. She’s one of his vendors, and it’d be uncomfortable revealing intimate details of his personal life with her. I might be furious with him, but I won’t betray him like that either.
I’m left with one other option.
“Hey, Tammy, can you cover for me for a minute?” She gives me a thumbs up as she hustles by with a tray brimming with brightly colored margaritas. She’s no worse for wear after last night’s drama. I wish I could say the same.
Stealthily, I shoot a quick glance in Connor’s direction. He’s massaging his temples, half-listening to a guy at the bar drone on about how his wife cheated on him. His head must be throbbing. I don’t want to stress him out even more, but I’m not going down without a fight. It’s time to call in reinforcements.
I fumble for the key I swiped from Connor’s keychain earlier this morning after he threw down the gauntlet and went to take a shower. Mistake number one: leaving me alone in his room. It’s almost too easy.
I twist the knob and enter Connor’s office. There’s a computer on the desk and a set of manila folders hovering near the edge. Paperwork is everywhere, sprawled across the desk, spilling out of cardboard boxes. It appears messy, but as I take a closer look there appears to be some semblance of order in the midst of the chaos. Opening the top drawer, I’m immediately greeted by an envelope emblazoned with an angry red stamp: ‘final notice.’ Against my better judgment, I pick it up and find a dozen or more underneath. Some say ‘past due,’ and others are labeled ‘extension denied.’ They’re from a variety of sources, everyone from the New York City department of finance to credit card companies. There’s even one from the beer distributor that Emily works for.
And they all indicate one thing: the bar is in trouble. Connor isn’t paying his bills, but why? Business is steady. The weekend numbers are strong. I’ve even made a substantial dent in what I owe my parents thanks to the tips I’m raking in. So why is he buried in debt? Is he going to end up losing the pub? Is that the real reason why he’s pushing me to go back to school?
I recline in the vinyl chair that’s patched together with duct tape. How can this have happened? Connor cares about the bar. I know he does. It’s practically his whole life. I have to get to the bottom of this. The illuminated clock on the wall featuring the Guinness brewery logo shows that fifteen minutes have passed. I better get what I came for.
Stuffing the incriminating envelopes back into the drawer, I lift up the phone and pull out the spiral notebook beneath it. Flipping it open, I know I hit the jackpot. Scrolling through the list, I find what I’m looking for.
The unlisted phone number of Connor’s parents.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Why are we doing this again?” Connor unfastens the button near the collar of his freshly ironed shirt, clearly uncomfortable.
“Because your parents invited us for lunch.” I smile up at him as we stand before the restaurant door. “And we’re going to enjoy ourselves on our day off.”
“I can’t believe Dad chose a place in Midtown,” Connor mumbles, holding the door open for me.
“He didn’t.” I walk by him but not before noticing his puzzled expression. “I did.”
“What?” he asks, hurrying to catch up.
“Well, since I was the one who answered the phone when they called, I thought it’d be a nice opportunity to treat them for their hospitality.” The white lie rolls off my tongue.
“Don’t you mean my hospitality?” He shoots me a grimace.
“Same thing.” The hostess glances expectantly at us from behind her podium. “Hi, we have a two o’clock reservation for four people.”
“And what’s the name?” she asks pleasantly.
“Donnelly.” My response issues a smirk from Connor.
“The other two members of your party have already been seated. Right this way, please.” She ushers us forward, but Connor reaches for my arm, holding me back. “So now you’re a Donnelly, huh?” he whispers against my ear.
“In spirit.” I can’t see his face, but reluctantly he releases me, running his fingers down the length of my arm. His touch ignites my desire. Definitely not the state of mind I want to be in before meeting his mother for the first time.
We wind our way quickly through the maze of tables covered in white linen. The hostess is beckoning us to a place in the far corner of the room, and I can see Connor’s father standing to greet us. But it’s the woman sitting next to him that captures my undivided attention.
I’m a little anxious about meeting Connor’s mother. It’s a big step. Technically, I’m only one of his employees, a waitress at the pub. But it’s significant that she agreed to this clandestine meeting when I called yesterday. We didn’t have a lengthy conversation; she’s a woman who gets right to the point. At first, I was taken aback by the abruptness of her demeanor, but she didn’t waste any time acting on my suggestion either. As soon as I hung up the phone, she started setting the plan in motion.
Claiming the seat next to her, we share a complicit glance. This better work…it has to.
“Ma, I think you’ll like the food here. I heard it’s supposed to be good.” Connor gives her a quick kiss on the cheek as she swats him away.
“No one can beat your mother’s sauce,” Connor’s father pipes up, smoothing his napkin across his lap.
“Are you Italian, Mrs. Donnelly?” I ask before taking a sip of water.
“She sure is,” Connor interrupts. “I’m shocked that you didn’t invite us over to Brooklyn instead of trekking all the way up here.”
“It’s not often that we receive such a nice invitation.” Connor’s father winks at me. “How could we refuse?”
“Yeah, Connor. You should take your parents out more often.” I laugh as his mother gives an emphatic nod of approval.
“Well, I see I’m outnumbered here, so I’m just going to shut up,” Connor remarks, looking up at the billboard-sized menu adorning the wall.
“Great idea.” His mother is sharp with the on
e-liners.
“The waiter informed us that the portions are huge, so we’d be better off sharing two entries among the four of us. Any suggestions? I’m all for the chicken parmesan,” Connor’s father remarks, sneaking a breadstick out of the basket on the table, but not before his wife slaps his hand. “I know. Last one, dear. I promise.”
“Yeah, that sounds good, Dad. And do you want to add a Caesar salad and maybe an order of penne?” Connor asks, unfazed by his parents unintentional comedy act.
“What do you girls say?” he asks looking first to his wife, then to me.
“I love how they ask us after the fact,” she says dryly, raising her eyebrow in my direction.
“Why, Ma? I know that’s your favorite. Did you want something else?” Confused, Connor moves his chair closer to the table so the waiter can get through.
“No, but it’d be nice to ask Michelle if that’s what she wanted first. She is the one paying, you know.” His mother sighs, shaking her head.
“Are you folks ready to order?” the waiter inquires. He’s wearing the same forced smile I do when dealing with customers who can’t make a decision.
“Michelle, is that all right with you?” Connor asks as the waiter looks in my direction.
“No pressure,” His mother mutters under her breath.
“I’ll tell you, it just feels good to sit down and be served for once. I’m up for anything.” Downplaying things as best I can, I reach for my water glass, this time draining it in one gulp.
The waiter takes our order from Connor and retreats before any of us can change our minds.
Connor’s mom ruffles through her purse, drawing out an envelope. Flinging it across the table to her son, it lands in his lap.
Connor pushes back his chair in surprise. “Hey, watch it.”
“Happy belated birthday,” she responds, exchanging a meaningful look with her husband.
Sliding out the card, he reveals the cartoon face of Maxine, the old lady from the Hallmark Shoebox line. Connor suppresses a groan. “Gee, Ma, you know me so well.” As he proceeds to open it, a check flutters out. Seeing all of the zeros in the figure, I grip the edge of the table, waiting for the inevitable explosion. The die is cast. Let’s see if my plan works out.
“What’s this?” His voice is deadly calm.
“Don’t you like it?” his mother asks, playing it cool.
“I can’t accept this.” He pushes the check back across the table, shaking his head. Oh no.
“Connor, do you think I’m just going to sit back and let the bar go under?” For the first time, I hear a touch of anger in his father’s voice. “Something I slaved away at my entire life, to see you…”
“Dear, that’s enough,” Connor’s mother urges, laying her hand on his arm.
“You know the reason why. I didn’t set out to deliberately destroy the place.” Connor’s face is twisted in pain.
“Taking four months off with no income coming in was irresponsible, Connor, and you know it.” As his father’s words sink in, I feel sick to my stomach. I had no clue this was about Danny. I’m so stupid.
“It’s going to take me a little while to make up for lost time, but give me a chance, Dad.” The silverware jumps as Connor slams his fist onto the table.
“How can I give you a chance when you have creditors breathing down your neck?” His father clenches his jaw as he stares down his son.
“How do you even know…?” Pausing mid-sentence, Connor eyes me warily. “It was you, wasn’t it? That’s what this whole lunch is about.”
“Connor, she only wanted to help. She’s worried about you, that’s all.” His mother leaps to my defense.
“Yeah, I bet. More like trying to get her own way.” Standing up, it’s obvious he’s about to leave. “Don’t think this changes anything, because it doesn’t.” His face is inches from mine. The full intent of his message stabs me through the heart. Like a bull in a china shop, he storms through the restaurant and out the door. How can he do this to me in front of his parents?
“I think there’s more to this story than you’re telling us, Michelle.” His mother fixes me with a pointed gaze. “Why don’t you bring us up to speed?”
His father is still worked up. As a heart patient, this level of excitement can’t be good for him. Leave it to me. I owe them an explanation.
“Connor invited me to work for him under false pretenses. He led me to believe that our arrangement was open-ended, but that’s not the case.” To help calm my nerves, I reach for Connor’s water glass and take a sip.
“He won’t let you leave?” his father huffs.
“Quite the opposite. He threatened to kick me out if I don’t go back to NYU for the fall semester.” Saying it out loud, I sound like a spoiled brat, like it’s such a terrible thing. It used to be my dream. Now it seems cheapened, degraded somehow. Not the life I want to lead.
“He can be pretty high-handed at times, no question.” Carefully smoothing out the rumpled check, his mother places it back inside the card.
“And you really want to stay and waitress at the pub?” Connor’s father is completely baffled.
“I do, sir. I enjoy working with Connor. If not for him, I’d still be moping around my parents’ house in Pennsylvania. He found me when I was at my lowest point.” They’re listening intently to every word of my story. “He really turned things around for me. I only wanted to do the same for him. I didn’t mean for this…”
“We know, dearie. Connor’s a hot head, there’s nothing else to it.” His mother throws up her hands.
“And he was doing so well, going to the support group meeting and everything. I swear, I didn’t know his financial problems were related to the time he took off after Danny died. If I had known, I never would have set him up like that.” Embarrassed, I cannot look them in the eye. They must despise me now for the unnecessary anguish I inflicted on their son.
“Michelle, you’re telling me he finally opened up about Danny?” His father is staring at me in amazement.
“Yes, Mr. Donnelly, he did. It took over two months of me wearing him down, but I finally got him to talk about it.” It’s the only good thing I’ve accomplished since I came back to New York. Everything else is such a fiasco.
“Well, miracles do happen, I suppose.” His mother’s words send goose bumps down my arms.
“I’d do anything in my power to help him. I hope you both know that. I think he just feels sorry for me, and he uses me as a way to help himself feel better about things.” Yep, I’m pretty much his pet charity case. “If he can sort out my problems, it somehow gives him the motivation he needs to deal with his own.”
“That’s the greatest gift of all, wouldn’t you say?” If I didn’t know better, I’d swear his mother is close to tears.
“But he can’t dictate how I’m supposed to live my life. He can’t force me to go back to school if I don’t want to.” His sentimental intentions are all well and good, as long as they don’t come at the expense of my free will.
“And why exactly don’t you want to go back, Michelle?” His father probes deeper into a region that’s off limits.
“Truth? It brings back too many bad memories. Of the person I was before 9/11. I’m sorry to disappoint him, but I can’t be that person anymore. I value different things now.” This is weird talking to his parents about something I haven’t even discussed with my own.
“Is it college in general you’re hesitant about or just returning to NYU?” Damn, his father asks good questions.
“I tried to battle through classes after 9/11, but I couldn’t focus. I wasn’t able to do the work. My concentration was shattered.” I get nervous just thinking about the number of academic failures I accumulated in such a short period of time. “School was always something I was good at. It was my comfort zone, an environment where I thrived. I don’t think I can recapture that again.”
“Michelle, you can’t write off your whole future just because your mind was te
lling you it needed a break.” He leans forward giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. “I felt the same way about Connor. He needed time to pull himself back together. We all went through an extremely traumatic ordeal. Nobody bounces back overnight.”
“You and Connor are so hard on yourselves,” his mother chimes in. “Michelle, it’s okay to accept a helping hand. No one will think the less of you.”
“But if we’re being completely honest, I don’t think I can return to NYU.” They appear disappointed, but I continue, “I’m not ruling out college all together, but it’ll have to be somewhere else. And I don’t want one of Connor’s deadlines hanging over me. I’ll go back when I’m ready, not before.”
His mother leans across the table. “Michelle, I think you just provided us with the only way we’re going to get Connor to accept this check.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Gingerly, I step on a grate in the sidewalk. These sandals have a wedge so I make it across, but not before a current of exhaust hits me in the face. The humid blast reminds me why I love living in New York City in the summer. Despite spending the afternoon in an air conditioned restaurant with Connor’s parents, I’m practically melting walking home from the subway.
To be honest, I’m a little pissed that Connor didn’t wait for me. I knew he’d never come back in, but I thought he’d be lingering somewhere nearby until I came out. I’m mad at him for his rude behavior, but I missed him sitting next to me on the ride home. His absence made me feel so alone. We’re together so much that I’m starting to take his presence for granted. We’ll be going our separate ways soon. It’s going to take me a while to adjust to his not being there. It scares me to think how attached I’ve grown to him. I wonder if he feels the same, or if he can care less.
Swinging on to Beekman, I see him outside the pub and I stop. He is up on a ladder, cleaning the awning. I twiddle the ties of the plastic bag holding the leftovers of our meal. I didn’t want Connor to go hungry so I lugged a hefty portion of chicken parmesan back with me. Hopefully it can serve as a peace offering.
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