by M. E. Carter
Looking down, I make a few notes on my legal pad again—mostly easy access statistics to justify our decisions. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw her walk out of here. There was mighty thick tension following behind her.”
Stopping with my notes, I look up at Hank. He may be an asshole and a pain to work with sometimes, but he’s still my best friend and right now, I could use his advice. I sigh and toss my pen on the table. “It was that obvious, huh?”
He looks at me like I’m crazy for not recognizing it myself. “Are you kidding? She ran out of here so fast I thought her panties were on fire. And that woman likes me. So if she’s not stopping to chit chat, then yeah, it’s obvious. What’d you do wrong?”
Scrubbing my face with my hand, I realize he’s right. I’ve tried to pretend it has nothing to do with me, but considering she barely gave me a peck on the lips on her way out the door, it’s clear I’m missing something.
“I honestly don’t know,” I admit. “Her biology class is giving her trouble, so she’s really stressed about finals. And Isaac’s dad showing up is really making her crazy.”
Hank grimaces. “I hate when the daddies show up. It always fucks with these kids’ heads.”
“Tell me about it. He’s handling it pretty good, so far, but Joie isn’t doing as well.” Shaking my head at the situation, all I feel is exasperated. “I don’t know how to make it a less shitty situation.”
“Pfft. I do,” Hank retorts, causing me to raise an eyebrow at the shift in conversation. “Stop being so hard to live with.”
I roll my eyes and pick up my pen to make more notes. I need advice, not jokes so I might as well get back to work. “We’re doing fine living together, Hank.”
“Really? Because you’re a pig.”
“What does that mean?”
He cocks his head and looks at me for a few seconds. It’s unnerving because I know he’s choosing his words carefully. Hank never does that, so when he does, it puts me on edge.
“Remember when you stayed with me for a couple weeks after your house sold and before the apartment was ready?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“A lot. You drove Renee crazy, never picking up after yourself and always leaving shit everywhere. She almost kicked your ass out a couple times, it made her so mad.”
“Why didn’t she?”
“I’m too good at using oral to make her relax.” I smack my hand on my face, but he doesn’t slow down. “Renee’s pretty chill. We’ve raised a lot of kids, so not much bothers her. And if you drove her crazy, I can just imagine how Joie feels. I saw the color-coded Thanksgiving binders and the big rolly bag. That woman likes her shit neat and tidy, and you came in like a tornado and fucked it all up.
“Look around,” he says, holding his arms out wide. “There are empty food containers everywhere. Soy sauce spilled all over the counter in the kitchen. I saw a couple socks on the living room floor, so don’t even tell me there wasn’t a pile of clean laundry out there when Joie got home. And if I went and looked right now, I bet there’s toothpaste in the sink. Am I right?”
I scoff. “First of all, all those Chinese food containers are yours. I don’t eat shitty take out. Second, you’re the one that spilled the soy sauce. And third, you’re wrong about the bathroom.”
He scoots away from the table and leaves the room. When he comes back in a few seconds later, he shoves his finger in my face. “I found this toothpaste in the sink.”
“Get your hand out of my face, asshole,” I shove him away. “So you found toothpaste in the sink. Big deal. That doesn’t make me a pig.”
“No. But it helps prove my point. How do you explain the socks?”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I know he’s got me again. “I must have missed them when we put away all the laundry before you got here.”
“Was this before or after she freaked out about company coming over while the house was a mess?”
“The house isn’t a mess, Hank. Besides, none of this has anything to do with why Joie is stressed and how I can help her.”
He laughs at me. Not with me. At me, and it makes me want to punch him in the nuts. If he wasn’t technically my boss, I probably would.
I open my mouth to spout off his direction, but then I begin looking around the room. No, those aren’t my Chinese food containers, but that is my pizza box. Those were my beer bottles Joie threw out in a panic. That is my toothpaste in the sink, and I bet it was next to a dirty towel I forgot to throw in the hamper. It hits me, and as much as I hate to admit it, he’s probably right.
I’m a slob. And while it doesn’t bother me, it probably makes Joie completely crazy.
“Oh shit,” I say under my breath as the realization hits me.
“You see it now, don’t you?” I nod as I keep looking around the room at my clean socks, my shoes, the spare change and receipts sitting on the counter from where I dumped them when I walked in hours ago.
“Oh shit,” I say more forcefully. “I knew I wasn’t helping her feel better, but I didn’t realize I was making her feel worse.”
“Well, you are,” he says all matter-of-factly. “So now you can fix it.”
“How? How am I going to fix this? I’ve never been good at keeping a clean house. Sheila used to do all of that, so I don’t even know where to start.”
“I’m glad you asked, my friend.” Hank reaches into his bag and pulls out a colorful package. When he drops the brick on the table it makes a loud bang, which I’m sure he planned for dramatic effect.
“What is that?”
He smirks and waggles his eyebrows. “Sticky notes. In the variety color pack.”
I stare at him blankly until he gives up and rolls his eyes.
“The best way to remember things is to have sticky notes as reminders. It’s even better if they’re color-coded. She’ll appreciate the extra effort.”
I pick up the square papers and my pen, ready to jot down more notes. Only this time, it’s not to build a case about a scholarship, it’s to build a case for Joie not kicking my unorganized ass to the curb.
The base of the music is the only thing I can hear. Actually I can hear everything, but I have to concentrate reeeeeeeally hard for it to make sense.
That’s what happens when I’ve had four pineapple chipotle martinis. Four? Five? Four? I lost count after the free Dirty Red shot the bartender gave us. I have no idea what was in it, but it was goooooood.
But I don’t care because I feel so relaxed and happy. I don’t care about the mess at home or my finals or Isaac’s stupid dad. Because the music I can’t hear and the white noise of people talking around me make me happy.
Amanda makes me happy. She’s my bestest friend ever.
Will, the bartender, makes me happy. He’s so cute. He’s way too young for me, and he’s not my Jack, but he’s a little flirt and gave me a free shot. Plus, he makes sure my drinks are full so I love him. So, so much.
I bring the glass to my lips to down the rest of my martini and . . . wait. The glass is empty.
“Well how did that happen?” I try to get my eyes to focus across the bar. There he is! “Will! Woohoo! Wiiiiiill!”
He looks up from the tap he’s pulling and smiles at me, mouthing one second. See? He’s such a cutie and takes such good care of me. Even though I’m old enough to be his mother. And I know because I’m old enough to be Isaac’s mother. Which I am. Isaac’s mother.
Suddenly Amanda is right here next to me. I put my arm around her shoulder and pull her close.
“I love you, Amanda. So, so much.”
“Okay.” She laughs. “I think it might be time for you to stop drinking. Affectionate Joie is here.”
Pulling back quickly, I almost fall off the stool. Who makes the seats so much smaller than my butt? “What’s wrong with affectionate Joie?”
“Nothing’s wrong with affectionate Joie. She’s just the beginning of the end is all.”
I drop my jaw and look her up and down. How dare she imply I’m going to pass out soon . . . Oh, Will’s here!
“What can I get you?” he asks me.
I sigh and shake my head at him. “Will, you are such a good bartender.”
“Thanks.” He smiles at me and puts a fresh napkin in front of me. Just like a true gentleman. Because Will is a true gentleman.
“I think I need another one of”—my fingers won’t work right so I use my whoooole hand to point at my glass—“that one. I need another of that one.”
“The pineapple chipotle martini?” he asks with a flirty little smirk. Because Will is a flirty little bartender. And I like him.
“Yes, please. Oh and Will.”
“Yeah?”
“If only you were about twenty years older.”
He chuckles. “You’ve said that a few times already. You sure you want another one?”
I gasp. “I have not said that before! Maybe. I don’t know. Just make me another martini!”
He raps his knuckles on the bar once and smiles at me. “On it.”
“Are you sure you need another one?” Amanda asks as I try to drain the last drops of my martini. If only my tongue was just a little . . . bit . . . longer . . .
The glass is suddenly pulled away from me.
“Hey, I was drinking that!”
“You were not,” Amanda says as she puts it down on the counter closer to Will. Sweet, sweet Will who needs a cute girlfriend. I wonder if Isaac knows anyone. “You were practically giving the glass head.”
I drop my jaw again. “That was not a very ladylike thing to say. You should have more class.”
“Oh good!” She raises her fists in victory, but jokes on her. She didn’t do anything victorious. “Mean Drunk Joie is here!”
If I could feel my face, I would have felt it fall. “Am I really a mean drunk?”
Her shoulders move up and down. I think it was a shrug. “You’re not terrible, but you can get kind of ugly.”
Oh no. I don’t want to be a mean drunk. No one likes a mean drunk.
“Oh no,” Amanda says as Will puts my drink down in front of me. “Don’t you get those weepy, puppy dog eyes. I’ll take Mean Drunk Joie over Crying Joie any day.”
“But I hurt your feelings, and I don’t like hurting your feelings.”
“You didn’t hurt my feelings. See? I’m smiling.” Her smile is so wide, she looks like a clown. But I don’t think she’d like if I told her that, so I don’t. I’m very, very good at practicing not being Mean Drunk Joie. “No feelings are hurt here.”
“Oh good.” I take a big sigh of relief and almost fall down again. Seriously. Who shrunk my seat? Or did my butt magically get bigger? It could go either way.
All the people on the dance floor are whirling around and it kind of makes me dizzy. So dizzy I really am falling off my chair. Wait . . . no I’m not. Some guy just pulled me off the stool and dragged me to the dance floor. Yay! Dancing!
I move to the music, not caring that I can’t hear it very well or that I’m the oldest one out here. I’ve got moooooooves these kids haven’t ever seen. Including the guy I’m dancing with. Who is he?
Looking up I try really hard to focus on him. He’s tall, over six feet. He’s got blond hair and a tie wrapped around his head. Why does he have a tie wrapped around his head? Does he think he’s the Karate Kid? That was the best movie. Ralph Macchio was a total babe.
But this guy isn’t Ralph, which is good because Ralph is like eighty, so looking at him probably would make me ralph these days. Get it? Ralph would make me ralph?
I burst out laughing because I am way funny when I’m drinking.
“Why are you laughing?” Tie Guy yells over the crowd at me.
“Because Ralph will make me ralph. Get it?”
He smiles and nods and says, “No. I don’t get it.”
I shake my head and his unfortunate lack of all things ralph related. “It’s because you’re too young for me.” I pat his arm. “You just don’t know.”
Something glitters on his hand and I pull on his wrist so I can see better. I gasp because I know what it is. “Where is your wife, Tie Guy? And why are you dancing without her?”
“Because I love dancing!”
I try very hard to throw his hand down, but I think it just slipped out of my grasp. Whatever. “So do other women! Women who love to break up marriages. Don’t you know what kind of danger you’re in? Where is your wife?”
“She’s in the room asleep.” He twirls around like he has no cares in the world when clearly he’s in danger of cheating on her.
“Why is she sleeping when she could be dancing with the Karate Kid?”
He gestures a big bump over his stomach. “Because she’s pregnant.”
I stop dancing. That is the most wonderful news ever! “Oh my gosh! Is it your first baby?”
He nods and smiles and twirls. How is he not falling over?
“Tie Guy! Focus!” I yell and grab him, stopping him from dancing. “I’m so happy for you! Do you just love her so much now?”
He stops moving completely, looks me dead in the eye and says, “She’s my everything.”
If I wasn’t in serious danger of passing out, I would have swooned so hard I would have needed smelling salts, because that was the nicest thing anyone could ever say. I have to tell Amanda.
I race back to the bar and plop down next to her. Dammit, the seat got smaller again! “Will, stop changing my seat!”
He looks at me like he has no idea what he’s talking about. He’s not tricking me, I’m not that drunk.
“Amanda, Ralph is having a baby.”
She finishes her sip of something that looks awfully close to my martini. I’ll have to investigate that later. “Who’s Ralph?”
I roll my eyes. “The Karate Kid?”
“Joie, I am so confused right now. You need to think more carefully about your words.”
I huff. “Amanda. Ralph is the Karate Kid who is Tie Guy whose wife is having their first baby and she’s his everything. Now who do you think has had too much to drink, Amanda?” I take a giant gulp of the spicy, fruity goodness, now that I’ve made my point.
“Oh well, clearly it’s me who needs to slow down on the booze.” I love it when Amanda agrees with me. “And yes, that’s a very sweet story.”
“It is, right?” I love it when people have babies. And when they’re happy. And when men are so excited to be dads and love their wives and . . . wait. “Wait.” I smack Amanda’s arm. “We have to warn him about what happens when you have a baby.”
“Uh . . . what part of it are we warning him about?”
“Seriously? Keep up! We have to warn him. Hey Ralph!” I yell across the dance floor because I can’t hear hardly anything anyway so maybe he’ll hear me. “Ralph! Tie guy!” He looks up and waves at me, so I wave back. “Come here!”
It takes him a few seconds, or maybe a year, I just don’t know what time is right now, and he comes over to us.
“Ooh! Is that a martini?” he asks and grabs it off the bar and drinks it.
“Yep. It’s Amanda’s but you can have it.”
“Hey!” she says. We ignore her because it’s not nice to not share.
“Hey, listen, Ralph.” I smack his arm a couple times so he’ll look at me. “You need to listen to me. This is very important. It’s about your wife.”
His eyes get big. “I love her so much. I’m listening.”
“Okay, good. So listen. After she has the baby, things aren’t always going to work the same down there.” I gesture toward my lady bits in case he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. I think he does since he got a baby in there, but you can never be too sure.
“Oh God, here we go,” Amanda grumbles.
I shush her because this is very important information. “You need to know, Ralph, that someday soon, after the baby is here, when she sneezes, she’s going to pee a little. And you’re just going to have to love her a
nyway.”
He looks at me, really understanding what I’m saying and says, “I like to eat butt, so . . .”
I blink a few times, trying to decide if he said that out loud or if I just heard it in my foggy, mushy brain. But Amanda is laughing hard enough that I think he said it out loud. And if he likes that level of kink . . .
“Okay. So I guess you’re good then,” I say to him because, what else can I say that won’t be rude?
He smiles and nods at me and dances away.
My brain still is trying to figure out if that just happened. Kids these days are just so odd. Is that a real thing?
“I wonder if Jack likes to eat butt,” I muse out loud.
This time Amanda laughs so hard, she falls right off the stool.
Pulling into the Holiday Inn parking lot, I look around. Of all the places Amanda could have brought Joie tonight, why in the world did they come here? It’s on the outskirts of town, practically in the middle of nowhere, and it’s a hotel. Not a restaurant downtown or even a random dive. I asked when she called and told me it was my turn for drunk babysitting duties. She tried to convince me it’s a nice little bar, but I still think it’s weird.
I can hear the music from the back of the packed parking lot. That’s not a juke box. That’s a live band. It’s my first inkling that maybe I had the wrong idea about this place. The neighborhood isn’t bad. The building itself isn’t run-down or anything. There are a lot of people walking in and out, and they’re mostly dressed up. I feel kind of out of place wearing jeans. Maybe Amanda’s right. I guess I’m about to find out.
Pulling open the door, I’m immediately stopped by a security guard.
“Ho, wait a minute.” He puts his hand up to stop me. He’s not much older than I am, but he’s definitely worse for wear. Not only is he completely grey and his face is weathered and wrinkly, but he has a pot belly for days. He doesn’t bother to stand up to make sure I follow instructions. The words “security guard” might actually be a stretch for what he’s doing. “This is a closed event. Do you have a wedding invitation?”
“A wedding invitation? People are getting hitched here?”
He chuckles. “Nah. The wedding is long over. Groom already got in a big fight with his new father-in-law. Something about holding up his end of the bargain and never agreeing to a honeymoon in the Caribbean. Who knows? This is the after party. They rented out the bar.”
