Living Backwards

by Tracy Sweeney

  Later on, when the bar was empty and the floors were swept, I sat slumped over the counter, staring at a beer I didn’t even want. Hours had passed, and the tightening in my chest was still as intense as it was when I first saw her because it really wasn’t over. I’d have to do it all over again at Danielle’s opening on Wednesday. I’d have to pretend it wasn’t uncomfortable. I’d have to plaster a smile on my face. I’d have to stop myself from asking her what the hell happened. I’d have to risk saying too much because it all still seemed so raw. And I hated feeling that way.

  The next few days passed in a blur. Sundays were always hectic during football season, and there was a Mariners game on Monday. I had a loyal clientele on game days so that kept me and the bar busy. I was distracted, though, forgetting to fax paperwork to one of the liquor distributors, and missing a business lunch I had scheduled with my attorney. By Tuesday, I was so tense and frustrated, I could barely sit still. For the first time in months, I took my bike out of storage and rode the coast. It gave me a chance to clear my head—get some perspective. I was acting like an idiot. And over a girl I never technically dated. As angry as I was at how things turned out, I had to cut the shit and move on.

  That night, it didn’t take long to reach Danielle’s showroom in Magnolia Village. From the outside, the building looked small, but once I was inside, I was surprised at how much room she had. The old warehouse had been converted into a giant, open space, broken off into small segments with each area set up like rooms in a house. There were areas mocked up to look like living rooms, bedrooms, home offices. While I probably wasn’t picking up on the nuances in each design, I knew that everything looked nice. She’d done well for herself.

  I wandered through the “rooms” until I reached the bar that was set up at the back of the building. The place was packed with people, but most everyone seemed to gravitate toward the cocktail reception in the back. As I made my way through the crowd, I spotted Danielle talking to a small group of people and gesturing wildly. Once she saw me, she practically ran over any party-goers in her way to reach me.

  “Luke!” she exclaimed. “You’re here!” She was wearing a short, red dress, and looking every bit the spitfire I remembered. She was practically bouncing. “My, my. Don’t you look nice,” she remarked, sounding surprised. Maybe she expected me to show up on my bike, wearing a leather jacket. I couldn’t expect her to know how much of my time lately has been spent in meetings with developers, lawyers and bankers. I was well-stocked in the suit department.

  “Nice place you have here, kid. I’m impressed.”

  “Why, thank you!” she beamed. “I’m pretty proud of it myself. Can I get you a drink?”

  “I was just heading over to the bar.”

  “No, no,” she replied. “I’ll grab Josh. Let him do it since he claims to have financed it.”

  I started to laugh, surprised that she wasn’t the uptight mess I remembered. Maybe the Poor Bastard had gotten her to lighten up a bit.

  She raised her hand up, signaling across the room to Josh who was wearing a black suit that resembled the tux he wore to the prom. At least this time there was no top hat or cane. When he looked up, the person he had been speaking to did as well. It was only then that I noticed he had been talking to Jillian. It was hard to recognize her at first with her head down and her hair shielding her face. I stared a little longer than I should have. I tried not to focus on the fitted, black dress she wore, but that only caused me to focus on it even more. Focusing was bad on all levels. I watched as she whispered something to Josh then disappeared into the crowd. I was still watching the empty space where she had been standing when Josh reached us.

  “Josh, can you get Luke a drink and then show him around a bit?” she asked, flashing her dimples.

  “You’ve got it, babe,” he replied, pecking her on the cheek. “Follow me.”

  We made a beeline for the bar, passing through the crowds of people. I had never wanted a beer so badly in my whole life.

  “What’ll it be?” the young kid behind the bar asked.

  “Whatever you have on draft is fine,” I replied.

  “Wow, you’re a cheap date, Chambers. Is this the same guy that smuggled Jack into school?”

  “That wasn’t for me,” I answered quickly. “That was for—”

  I stopped myself before I began explaining that it had been for Jillian. I had no idea how much, if anything, he knew about what went on with us in high school. Maybe he thought we went to the prom together and it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe he knew more. Maybe her disappearance had been a big joke for years.

  “That was for something else,” I muttered, in no mood to find out which it was.

  “Something else, my ass,” he replied. “You’ve gone soft. This makes me sad.”

  The young bartender handed me my glass and I watched as he poured Josh’s scotch. I could tell right away that he was new at the job. He didn’t quite have the confidence that comes from knowing your way around a bar. He reminded me of myself many years ago. Digging in my pocket, I pulled out a ten and jammed it into the glass jar on the counter.

  “Mr. Fletcher.” A young girl approached us, her voice in a hushed, urgent tone. “There’s a problem out front. Someone parked in the fire lane and Mrs. Fletcher is convinced she’s going to be shut down if we don’t find the owner.”

  “My glamorous life,” he said looking over at me. “A glorified valet.”

  “Don’t worry about it, man,” I replied, laughing. “Go do your thing.”

  “Danielle will kill me if you don’t get the VIP tour. Maybe…” He craned his neck, looking out over the crowd. “Hey, Jill,” he called, looking over the heads of the people standing in front of us. She whipped around at the sound of her name, hair everywhere, her face blank and unreadable. She walked towards us tentatively, forcing a tight smile on her face as she approached.

  “Can you show your old prom date around? Danielle wanted me to do it, but there’s an issue with the parking. Plus, you’re much better at this stuff than I am.”

  Jillian’s body language was a dead giveaway. She was as stiff as a board and her face was like stone. I think she may have stopped breathing.

  “Um…sure,” she replied, not sounding very convincing. I knew that it was shitty, but some part of me wanted her to be uncomfortable. Some part of me wanted her to feel regret. It was stupid and immature, and obviously “some part of me” was twelve, but it was true. I wanted her to know what she gave up.

  “After you,” I insisted, motioning for her to lead the way.

  “I’m sure you’re not interested in a tour of her design room,” she began, once Josh had left. She was fidgeting with the rings on her fingers, barely looking my way. “I’ll tell them you loved it and let you off the hook.”

  But I didn’t want to be let off the hook. I guess that didn’t really jibe with that whole “letting it go” philosophy. Regardless, I wasn’t going to bail on the tour.

  “I was actually looking forward to it, but if there’s some place else you need to be…”

  “No, no, that’s not what I meant,” she stammered, shaking her head. “So…follow me.”

  If it had been another place and time, I would have enjoyed walking behind her. The black dress hugged her body and moved fluidly along with her. The fabric grazed the top of her knee, accentuating her long legs. It cinched a little at her waist, showing off her curves. In another place and time, I’d want to place my hands on the slight flare of her hips, and feel the smooth skin of her upper thigh. But that time was long gone.

  We walked through mock-ups of kitchens and living rooms while Jillian prattled on awkwardly about Danielle’s clients. Every now and then, I glanced over and had to remind myself not to look at the way her hair was swept over her shoulder and how her dress moved when she walked.

  “So, these are the home office models.”

  She nervously motioned to a section of leather couches and dark wood desks as if she were o
n a game show. “Danielle works with a lot of smaller companies, setting up workspaces that help make employees feel more comfortable. They say it makes workers more productive.”

  “Very nice,” I remarked, taking in the different styles. “I took a class on that.”

  She whipped around, caught off-guard. I should have been ashamed at how brazen I sounded. With anyone else I would have been.

  “What?”

  “The Hawthorne Studies. Frederick Taylor tried to prove that harsh lighting negatively affects worker productivity,” I replied, even thought I knew that wasn’t what she meant.

  “Did you…was this in college?”

  “U-Dub.”

  “But you said…you said college wasn’t for you.”

  “Well, we all change our minds from time to time, right?” I replied.

  She looked stricken and I knew I looked like the biggest dick. This wasn’t how I wanted it to be. I hadn’t meant for it to sound so cold. The words just seemed to fly out of my mouth. I wanted her to know that I wasn’t the loser she knew in high school. I wanted her to know that I busted my ass and made something of myself. I wanted her to know that she didn’t know anything about me anymore. But, listening to myself, I felt like I didn’t know myself either. I sounded like an asshole.

  “It was actually Nate who convinced me to enroll,” I began, switching gears, thinking back to the day I ran into him. He was back from South Bend for the weekend, jogging down by the high school when I happened to drive by. I may have initially stopped because I wondered if he was still dating Megan, and if Megan was still in New York. I may also have been too much of an idiot to ask.

  He was so happy to be playing football, and I was just so goddamn miserable. He called me on the change in my attitude right away, but I blamed it on work and the girl I was dating. I didn’t mention that the girl had just asked me to take her to a Green Day concert and I almost lost my shit.

  Thank you, Jillian, for ruining Green Day for me.

  The girl ended up thinking I was a jerk, and I really didn’t care enough to convince her otherwise. Being with Jillian seemed to have been the gift that kept on giving.

  When the conversation switched to how much Nate loved Notre Dame, he thanked me for convincing him to talk to his dad about going there instead of FSU. I really hadn’t done anything but tell him not to let other people make decisions for him. Then he turned the tables on me, asking why I decided not to enroll myself. He started talking about a business class he had to take as a requirement, suggesting that I should look into what they have available at U-Dub. What started off as a Saturday class on small business management, turned into a Bachelors Degree. I owed Nate for that.

  “Wow, he never said anything…that’s…that’s great, Luke. Really.”

  And as if I needed something to make myself feel worse, she seemed so genuinely happy for me. How was it—even after all this time—I still said all the wrong things around her?

  “We should probably get back,” I added, as the guilt continued to wash over me.

  “Yeah,” she agreed softly. We walked quietly back to where the bar and refreshments were set up. The tour with Jillian had taken a lot longer than I had realized and the crowd had already thinned out. Danielle and Josh were standing by the bar with Megan and Nate. I had never been so grateful for the distraction.

  “So, what did you think?” Danielle asked enthusiastically. “Did Jillian dazzle you with her knowledge of colors and textures?”

  “You’ve got a great place here,” I replied, dodging the question. I didn’t want to dwell on what an ass I was. I wanted to change the subject. “Tell me. Have you ever worked on any restaurants or bars?”

  “Well, last year I was hired by this small Irish pub that we go to because they wanted to bring in some authentic pieces directly from Ireland. I have some contacts over there and they made some calls. Long story short, the bar, the seating, even the wood flooring were all made in Killkenney and sent over to Seattle in pieces. We had everything reassembled and installed—one-hundred percent authentic. You should swing by and check it out. It’s called O’Malley’s.”

  I almost choked when she mentioned the name. What were the odds?

  “I know it well,” I replied. “I actually just bought the bar next door.”

  The group erupted with gasps and congratulatory pats on the back. My eyes were trained on Jillian, though, who looked shocked. At least shock, I’d learned, was better than pity.

  “Excuse me for a moment. I need to run to the ladies room,” she muttered, walking briskly through the crowd and out of sight.

  “You bought The Rusted Nail?” Nate laughed, drawing my attention away from Jillian’s sudden retreat. “Dude, that place is a mess. Meg’s friend got food poisoning there a few months ago.”

  “Yeah, that’s why it was up for sale,” I replied. “The health department closed them down, and the owner couldn’t afford to make the necessary improvements. Which is why I asked,” I added, looking to Danielle. “I could use some help with the remodel.”

  “Oh my goodness!” she gasped. “Really? Do you have any ideas about style or theme?”

  “The deal just finalized, but I have some rough sketches,” I added, leaving out that my sketches looked like a five-year old drew them.

  “Oh!” she squealed, clasping her hands together. “We could head back to your place when we’re done here and I’ll show you some samples. Can I take some measurements this week? What’s your schedule like?”

  My head began to spin with the barrage of questions. It was definitely reminiscent of the Danielle I remembered from high school, which made me wonder if I had made a big mistake.

  “Slow down, baby, you don’t want Luke to change his mind before he actually hires you,” Josh interjected, rubbing her shoulders and calming her down.

  “Oh, right,” she laughed nervously. “I’m just excited. Would you mind, though, if we stopped back at the bar? I just want to get some preliminary information from you so I can draw up a proposal.”

  While I would have preferred to meet with her another time, I wanted to leave the party, and it was a good excuse. Instead of proving to Jillian that she passed up a good thing, I succeeded in proving I was a major dick. Not my finest hour.

  “That’s fine,” I replied. “Are you cutting out of here soon?”

  She looked down at her watch and scanned the dwindling crowd.

  “Well, the clean-up crew is coming in at eleven-thirty. I can be by before last call.”

  I agreed to meet her at the bar, saying goodnight collectively to the group. While I was relieved that Jillian hadn’t returned, I still felt strange taking off without saying anything. It was probably better that way. Nothing I said to her came out right.

  On the drive back to the bar, I found myself feeling even worse about the way I’d acted. I let the way she looked at me turn me into someone I hardly recognized. I was proud of what I’d done—proud that I got my degree. Without it, I wouldn’t be where I was. It wasn’t something I should have hidden from them, but it wasn’t something I should have bragged about either. When it came down to it, it shouldn’t matter if I got my degree or if I was successful. I would’ve wanted her to stay even if I never accomplished any of those things. I would have wanted her to stay in spite of it.

  “Hey boss,” Peter greeted me as I walked through the door. “What brings you in this fine evening?”

  “Meeting a friend,” I replied, sitting down on one of the stools.

  “Well, we had a pretty decent night. Dying down now,” he added. “Your lawyer dropped off some papers for you.”

  I groaned, thinking about the packet of information he had left for me to sign. The paper-trail was never-ending. Danielle wouldn’t be arriving for another half-hour so I decided to look over the paperwork in my office while I waited.

  Walking through the hall, I stopped to stare at the framed photos on the wall—photos put up by the guy who claimed he wasn’t pinin
g. Sure he wasn’t. I hadn’t seen the cliffs in over ten years—not after the night Carter found me there, brooding about the girl that had left without saying goodbye. I had no desire to go there because all I’d see is her. So, the place Carter had taken me so many times to work out my anger only fueled my frustration.

  We adopted a new routine. He’d call my cell or I’d call his and we’d meet midway between Reynolds and Seattle at a small diner past Tacoma called The Last Resort. The food was decent, the coffee was passable, but more importantly, no one paid attention to anything we did or said. It was as good as being alone.

  And then there were the times I’d look up to find Carter sliding into a side booth in the corner of the bar. He’d drink his coffee and read the newspaper until I had some time to sit down and talk. Sometimes he’d stay all afternoon. Seeing him kept me grounded. Unfortunately, I was feeling anything but grounded after the evening I just had.

  Once I sat down at my desk, I couldn’t concentrate on the paperwork the lawyer left for me. I organized some invoices and checked on a shipment that was due at the end of the week. When I still had some time to spare, I logged into Facebook since Danielle had been so adamant about me checking it regularly. I froze when I saw the alert—a Friend Request from Jillian.

  I stared at the screen in disbelief. I honestly didn’t know what to make of that. I didn’t even know if it was rude to ignore one of these things. I only created a profile because Peter convinced me it would be good for the bar. But I barely checked my email. I really wasn’t interested in posting updates online for random people I never saw. The whole thing seemed weird to me.

  I sat with my finger hovering above the enter key, debating whether or not to click accept. I was thinking about what pictures she might have posted and who could be in them when my office phone rang. I logged out of my email as I picked up the call coming from out front.