by Tara Sivec
The woman smiles at her and nods, grabbing another glass and filling it with beer from the tap.
“It tastes like pure gasoline,” I reply in a hoarse, choking voice.
Ember laughs as Shelia sets her beer down in front of her, and I listen as they make small talk for a few minutes, taking tiny sips of my drink that won’t kill me. When Sheila walks away again, Ember turns on her stool to face me, holding her glass in the air between us.
“Here’s to old friends, getting trashed together just like old times.” She smiles, as I lift my glass and clink it against hers.
“We never got trashed together. I was always the one to hold your hair back when you puked, remember?”
“Good times, good times,” Ember muses. “I guess it’s my turn to return the favor. But if you puke in the bathroom here, try to avoid going anywhere near the sink. The plumbing is bad at Jack’s Auto Repair, and Jack uses the sink here as a urinal, since he’s a husky guy and can’t fit in the stalls.”
I plug my nose and quickly down the rest of my drink, not even caring that it feels like lava going down my throat. I’ll do anything at this point to erase the memory of everything that happened today, and the knowledge that since I’m a lightweight, I will most likely become intimately acquainted with Jack’s urine.
Chapter 9
Drunk Life
“How drunk are you right now?” Ember asks, getting into my personal space to look deeply into my eyes.
Her bar stool tips forward, and I have to quickly grab onto her before she lands in my lap. I push her back upright, and she signals for Sheila to bring us another round of drinks. I just finished my third lemon drop, and I’m happy to report it no longer tastes like gasoline.
“I’m buzzed, but I can still feel my teeth and do basic math problems,” I inform her as Shelia sets another beer in front of Ember and starts making my drink.
“You can’t do basic math problems when you’re sober.” Ember snorts.
We clink our glasses together again after Sheila sets mine down in front of me, and I guzzle half of it before setting it back down on the bar.
“Okay, so you seem to be drunk enough to give me the deets on this dude who ruined your life in New York. Please tell me you didn’t know he was married,” she begs.
I’m a little offended that she has to even ask me that question. I know she hasn’t seen me in twelve years, and I’ve changed a little, but not that much. Does she really think I turned into some awful person who would sleep with a guy if I knew he was married?
“Jesus, no! Of course not!” I tell her.
Knowing I’m going to need more than a few lemon drops to get through this, I flag Sheila down again. This woman seems to be incredibly busy and annoyed whenever I ask her for something, even though the couple still making out hasn’t ordered anything to drink since I got here, and the two guys at the other end of the bar started getting up and helping themselves to the beer.
“What kind of top shelf bourbon do you have?” I ask Sheila.
“We got Wild Turkey, and it’s on the top shelf. Will that work?” she asks in a bored voice.
“Absolutely!” I nod with a big smile, just so she doesn’t spit in my drink.
Sheila grabs the Wild Turkey from the top shelf, slams two shot glasses down in front of me, and fills them to the brim until the dark amber liquid spills out onto the top of the bar.
I throw them back one right after another, and press my fist against my mouth to keep the vomit down. As soon as I’m sure this nasty liquor will stay in my stomach, I turn to face Ember.
“I’m sorry for asking if you knew he was married. I shouldn’t have done that,” Ember apologizes.
“It’s okay. We haven’t talked in a while. I get it. I had no clue who he was or that he was married. We were together for six months, and I thought he was perfect. Looking back on it now, I can see it all so clearly and it pisses me off. He always made up excuses why he couldn’t meet my friends. He always took me as far outside of the city as possible when we went out, to these little dive restaurants. I thought it was sweet and charming that he had all this money and didn’t care about flaunting it, but he just didn’t want to run into his wife or anyone who was in on their secret marriage. His penthouse was beautiful, but had literally nothing but furniture in it. No personal photos, no personal touches, nothing but the bare essentials. And he said he’d lived there for ten years. I thought it was refreshing that he didn’t need to clutter the place and it didn’t look like a bachelor pad. God, I suck.” I sigh.
“You don’t suck. He was an asshole,” Ember says with a shake of her head, getting Sheila’s attention and silently pointing to my two empty shot glasses, and then at herself. “How did you meet him?”
At this point, Sheila should just pull up a stool right in front of us and never walk away.
“I met him at my favorite Chinese takeout place a few blocks from my apartment,” I tell her, remembering that night and how giddy I was and how perfect he seemed. “We both ordered General Tso, and when they called out the first order, we both went up and tried to grab the container at the same time. He insisted I take it, and we stood there talking while he waited for the next one. We wound up sitting at one of the tables to eat and talked for the next three hours. Jesus, it seemed so romantic and like fate. Now, it’s just pathetic. I was attracted to the guy because we shared a love of General Tso.”
“It’s not pathetic! General Tso is delicious, man. And it’s hard to meet people. Cut yourself a break. I couldn’t even imagine dating again. I’d require a blood sample, a full background check, a minimum of ten references, and a face-to-face interview with the guy’s mother and grandmother,” she says.
“How did you meet your husband?” I ask, as Ember quickly does both of her shots, fanning her wide-open mouth for a few seconds afterward.
“You know Jessup Rudd, the pharmacist for the White Timber drug store? That’s Brandon’s uncle. Jessup retired ten years ago, and since he never married or had any kids, and Brandon is his only nephew, he kind of always knew he’d take over the business, so that’s what he went to school for,” she explains.
“Oh my God. Tall guy, brown hair, totally adorable, and wears glasses? I met him getting a bunch of my dad’s prescriptions filled,” I tell her, remembering how nice the guy was when he patiently explained everything to me each time I had to go in there.
“Yep. That’s him. Brandon moved here from Washington, and I basically started dating him because he was the only fresh meat in town.” She laughs.
“And he has access to good drugs,” I remind her.
“That too. Yeah, drugs!”
“You went from boning nothing but athletes who excelled in keg stands in school, to marrying a straight-laced pharmacist. Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” I ask in feigned shock.
“I know, right? He’s good in bed, so I can forgive him for the starched, white lab coat and pocket protector.” She shrugs.
I can’t even say Stephen was good in bed. He was mediocre, at best. I figured our chemistry would develop in time, like an idiot.
Thankfully, Sheila sets down two more drinks each in front of Ember and me, without us even having to ask her.
“I kind of love you right now,” I tell Sheila, lifting my glass toward her in a toast.
“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t puke on my bar,” she mutters before walking away.
“I will make you love me, Sheila!” I shout after her, taking a sip and setting my glass down before turning back to Ember. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
The alcohol I’ve consumed doesn’t really hit me until I stand up and the room tips sideways. I shuffle my feet along the bar, grabbing onto every stool as I go so I don’t fall flat on my face. When I get to the last stool and realize there’s at least a five-foot space between it and the bathroom door, I decide the best option is to take a giant leap instead of trying to walk. One jump is better than fiv
e steps, according to booze.
I fling my body toward the bathroom, grabbing onto the handle as I slam into the door and stumble inside the small room. Quickly righting myself and smoothing down my hair, I continue walking inside like nothing unusual just happened.
“Hey, Jack.”
I wave to the guy currently standing in front of the sink in the bathroom as I walk on unsteady feet toward the first stall.
“Hey, Brooklyn! Heard you were back in town,” Jack replies, his smile reflecting back at me in the mirror as he continues peeing in the sink.
Locking myself in the stall, I curse at myself when I realize I never should have worn a romper to go out drinking. There’s nothing more awkward than having to get completely naked just to go to the bathroom.
“You here for good this time? Heard from Margie down at the bank that you’re watching Clint’s kids out at the farm,” Jack shouts, as I release at least seven gallons of pee.
Thank God I’m drunk and this isn’t weird in the least.
“Nope! Just temporary. Can’t wait to get back to New York. It’s the absolute best!” I yell back, kind of hating myself for lying to the guy when he’s being so nice and friendly while he pisses in the sink five feet away from me.
“Well, good luck with that. Those girls are adorable, but they sure are a handful. Clint’s a good guy though. He’s been through a lot,” he tells me.
“Yeah, yeah. He’s been through so much. Such a shame the… things he’s been through. We should discuss that.”
“You two still at each other’s throats?” he asks with a chuckle, totally not taking the bait.
I finish up and almost trip over my feet as I pull the romper back up into place.
“Does a wombat shit in the woods?”
“I… I don’t actually know the answer to that,” Jack replies, as I flush the toilet and exit the stall to find him zipping up his jeans.
“I don’t either, Jack. Nice talk.”
I give him another wave as he starts washing his hands, and I make a hasty exit out of the bathroom, only tripping twice because of the spinning room as I go. Ember is holding out a bottle of hand sanitizer for me as soon as I sit down, and she squirts a generous portion into my hands before shoving it back in her purse.
I’m so mesmerized by staring at my hands as I rub them together that I realize I might be a little drunker than I thought. I also realize that Ember has my cellphone in her hand, and she’s typing away on it.
“What are you doing?”
“Stephen sent you a text while you were in the bathroom. Did you know he’s sent you thirteen texts in the last week?” she asks, handing my phone back to me when she’s done.
“Yes. I’ve been thoroughly enjoying ignoring all of them,” I tell her, grabbing my drink and finishing it off so I can erase every memory of Stephen from my mind.
I squint down at the screen, unable to make any of the teeny, tiny little letters come into focus.
“Did you break my phone? Why do these letters look so weird?” I complain, shaking my cell, because that should fix the problem.
Ember reaches over, grabs the phone from my hand, and flips it around so it’s no longer upside down.
“Ohhh, that’s much better.” I giggle.
Sure enough, Stephen sent another stupid text telling me we needed to talk.
“Fuck off, leave me alone, and go sniff a dick, you steaming pile of donkey shit,” I state, reading Ember’s response to him out loud. “That was beautiful. I particularly like the dick sniffing part.”
“My son got in trouble at school last month for calling someone a dick sniffer. I tried to yell at him, but holy hell it’s just so funny to say!” She laughs, swaying a little in her seat.
“I think we’re drunk.”
“I don’t think we’re drunk enough,” Ember states.
“You’re really smart and pretty, so I’ll defer to you,” I tell her with a nod.
“Dick sniffer!” we both shout at the top of our lungs.
“Dick sniffer!” a guy at the end of the bar echoes, before falling backward off of his stool.
“Jesus. You two were annoying as teenagers. You’re even worse as adults.”
I lift my head from the bar when the smell of cedar and sandalwood tickles my nose, and the deep voice with a slight raspy sound to it makes me want to clench my thighs together.
Looking to my left, I see three Clints standing next to me. As if one wasn’t bad enough, now I’ve got three hot cowboys who hate me, shaking their heads at me.
“You’re a snick differ!” Ember shouts at him from behind me. “I mean snick differ. Sick dicker! Dicker dicker!”
I snort when I laugh, quickly clamping my mouth closed when all of the Clints morph into one. He grabs my hips, slowly turning my bar stool to face him, and then moves in between my legs. My bare thighs rub up against his jeans, and I wonder what he would do if I hooked my legs around his waist and pulled him against me.
Tipping my head back to stare up at him, I take a minute to study his face while he’s busy talking to Sheila. His big, warm hands are still holding securely onto my hips, and combined with all the alcohol I’ve consumed, I don’t know how I can focus on anything right now, but focus on him I do. His hair is damp, and I’m guessing he just took a shower. He’s wearing a green tee the same color as his eyes, with the Hastings Farm logo on the front of it, the material stretched tight over his muscular chest. His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip after he thanks Sheila for calling him, and I swear I have a mini orgasm.
“You got my sister?” Clint asks, looking over my shoulder.
I turn away from Clint before I do something stupid like lean forward on my stool and lick his face, to see a familiar guy with brown hair and brown eyes behind his glasses, helping Ember walk around us.
“Hey, Brandon! Remember me?” I shout, wishing I knew where the hell my inside voice went. “Ember said you’re really good in bed.”
Brandon laughs and kisses the top of Ember’s head, which kind of makes me want to cry because it’s so sweet.
“You’re not a sniffer dicker, baby. Not at all,” Ember reassures him, wrapping her arms around his waist and snuggling into his side as they move past us, her voice fading the farther away they walk. “Where’s our kid? Did he drive you here? He can’t drive yet, can he? Oh my God, how long have I been gone?”
Once they’re out the door, I attempt to get off my stool, but Clint is still standing between my legs, blocking my way.
He’s staring down at me, not saying a word, and I can’t handle the quiet or the way he’s studying me. After a few seconds, he finally shakes his head, moves his hands off my hips, and grabs my arm, helping me slide down off the stool.
As soon as he’s sure I’m not going to topple over when I’m standing, he grabs my hand and laces his fingers through mine, pulling me toward the door like it’s totally natural and we do this shit all the time. I try not to freak out, but I know my hand is sweaty and gross, and I try really hard to come up with a good insult to say to him so I can feel like I have the upper hand, but all I can think about is how good it feels to have my hand in his.
The cool night air feels amazing on my flushed skin as soon as we walk outside, and I close my eyes and take a bunch of deep breaths, letting Clint guide me toward his truck. He helps me get in the passenger seat, and I’m so annoyed with myself for getting all flustered around him that I smack his hands away when he leans over me and tries to help me buckle my seatbelt.
He just chuckles, closing the door and walking around the front of the truck to the driver side. I lean my head against the window and close my eyes as he starts it up and pulls out of the parking lot, the sway of the vehicle making me really, really tired all of a sudden.
We drive in complete silence for a while, and I try one more time to say something insulting, but all this damn booze is like a truth serum. I can’t stop the words that come out of my mouth, even though I know I’m going to
regret them.
“Why didn’t you ever call me after my graduation party?” I whisper, squeezing my eyes closed and refusing to look over at him.
He’s quiet for so long that I start to think he didn’t hear me. Right before I feel myself being pulled under into sweet, sweet oblivion, I finally hear him whisper back, and it’s probably the alcohol muddling everything in my brain, but he almost sounds kind of sad.
“You never called me either, fancy pants.”
Chapter 10
Chump Life
You want to know what the sign of a good nanny is? The fact that the kids you are in charge of are still alive after two weeks in your care. I should really get a gold star, a pat on the back, or maybe even a monument in my honor on the town square. As long as I keep Mia away from sharp objects and anything with high fructose corn syrup, she’s actually not that bad. I’ve learned that if you just smile and nod every couple of minutes, she totally thinks you’ve heard every word she’s said. That only bit me in the ass once, three days ago, when she asked me if she could draw a picture on her bedroom wall. Her purple unicorn she drew with markers I found out were not washable looks like a dick with eyes, but it’s fine. I’m fostering her creativity and all that shit.
Grace and I have come to an agreement that helps us keep the peace. She stays locked in her room the entire time I’m here, and if I knock to make sure she’s still alive, she’s required to open the door long enough to show me proof of life. The first day of this arrangement, she told me twice to suck it, and called me an idiot three times. Since then, she just opens the door for two seconds then slams it in my face without saying a word. I’d call that progress.
Thank God for Mrs. Sherwood. She pretty much works the same hours as I do, nine to five during the week and off on weekends. It gives me a little bit of adult interaction in between chasing Mia all over the damn place, and she always helps me pick up the messes Mia makes when I make the mistake of turning my back on her for a few seconds. It’s honestly astounding that a five-year-old can dump an entire tote of Legos down the stairs, squirt a bottle of toothpaste all over her bed, and shove ten slices of bread into the DVD player in her room in the time it takes me to pee. Mia now sits on the tub talking to me while I go to the bathroom, so that’s super fun.
