by Lane Martin
Just tell her. She’ll be happy. She’ll think you screwed up again. She has her own problems. She’ll think it’s the only reason you came. She’d probably also think I was all the things she called Edward. I Googled the ones I remembered. Shitehawk: anyone unpleasant or untrustworthy. Check. Chancer: someone who was pushing their luck. Check. Hoop: an asshole. Check. I was the reason she lost her old apartment which led to her meeting Declan in the first place, so I guess you could say I was the person responsible for her fractured heart. I guess I really was a dick. It was time to face my sister.
Emily ran off in the opposite direction of the bathroom she’d directed me to earlier, so that was where I headed. I knocked softly on the first door I came to. She didn’t answer, so I tiptoed in thinking she might have cried herself to sleep. I could see everything because of the massive windows and the light of the full moon. It must have been the master bedroom. The bed was huge, and for a moment I was tempted to see if it was as comfortable as it looked. This creating life thing sucked the life right out of you. If Emily were in bed, I would probably climb in with her. Where was she? The bathroom that I could have died and gone to heaven in and the enormous walk-in closet were also void of my twin. As much as I would’ve liked to take my time and explore, I was starting to worry. Where could she have gone? Did she leave while I was downstairs? Visions of her wandering the snow-covered city in nothing more than her flimsy pajamas filled my head as I hurried my pace. The next door was a pair of French glass doors. Lights illuminated a painting behind a massive desk told me it was an office, so I skip it. The next door was smaller, a storage closet. It was also the last door, so I returned to the office. I opened the door reluctantly, why would she be in here? Behind the door was a small couch. Emily was balled up and sleeping, but not soundly. I couldn’t stand to see her like that. She should get to bed.
“Emily,” I urged as I shook her gently. “Emily,” my sister was one of the strongest people I knew; I hated seeing her so broken.
“You’re back?” The surprise in her voice saddened me. Did she think I would just leave? I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me, that’s what Declan did. I just didn’t get it. M was amazing. Dicklan was a fool. He’d left her an apartment full of forget-me-nots and a fucking letter where he told her he loved her. Who does that?
“I’m not going anywhere,” I promised as I put my palm up. Emily returned the gesture and nodded. Neither of us could remember when we started doing this. It’d always been our thing, our way of connecting to each other. Grandma Rose used to say we probably did it in utero. She was probably right. God, I wished she was still alive. I was always closer to Pop, but Grandma would know just what to say to Emily and mom about my current situation. I had no job, no money, no husband, no place to live, and a bun in the oven. It’s good to be me. Not. I should’ve talked to Maggie; she was like an aunt to Emily and me. Mom and Maggie have been besties forever, and she was close to Emily too. Once Emily decided to ditch her jammies and bed head, that’s what I’d do, but for now, I was going to do what Emily had done for me more times than I could count. I was going to be here for her.
“I ordered medium on the filet.” I barked at my line as I sent back the one they just sent me.
“That …” Mikey shut his trap when I shot him a glare. I knew he was about to say it was “medium.” He might’ve even been right, but he knew not to push it with me. Not that night. Unlike those as seen on TV chefs, I didn’t spend every service yelling at my staff and I sure as hell didn’t go throwing away food that was still perfectly edible just because I wouldn’t serve it to table nine. We didn’t have a lot when I was growing up and what we did have sure wasn’t certified prime. That being said, my staff knew we did things one way here at Swayed, my way.
“Boss, table twenty would like to speak with you.” Great. Now I got to do a fucking dog and pony show, but I was well aware the mayor was at table fucking twenty tonight. My staff probably thought I was stressed because of our VIP guests. But that wasn’t the reason at all. It was the date. I didn’t know why it still got to me. That’s a lie. As I mentioned, we didn’t have much when I was a kid and today’s date marked the day what we did have was ripped away from me.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” I cursed as I literally saw red. I fucking cut my finger.
“Jesus Christ, Wheeler.” Mikey was the only person in the kitchen who called me that instead of chef. “Get a fucking band-aid and then go shake some hands and kiss some babies. We got this.” They did, and I knew it.
Note to self; next year take the day off. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Stay in bed, preferably between some hotties thighs. Luckily the cut wasn’t bad, and soon enough I was on my way out to the dining room to schmooze with people who wouldn’t have given me the time of day just a few years ago. As always, my hand darted to the chip in my pocket.
“Ugh” I yelled as I pulled the pillow over my face. I loved my sister, but sometimes I thought I loved sleep more. The problem was, after finding Emily curled up on the love seat in Dicklan’s office the other night, I suggested that she go to bed which caused her to cry, again. It turned out; she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping in the giant, pillow top, memory foam, most luxurious thing I had ever laid upon bed without him because it was “his bed.” How did I know it was so comfortable? Don’t tell my sister, but I couldn’t help myself. The bed was calling to me. It shouted, “Libby, you’re growing a human being inside you. You deserve a power nap.” How could I argue with that? So yesterday while Emily worked downstairs at the bakery, I curled up and caught a few Zs. It was heaven. Last night Emily slept in the office again. Apparently, it was the only place they had not “made love.” That left me on the couch. I wouldn’t normally mind, but here was the thing. One, my sister wouldn’t sleep on it, so that meant she and Declan had christened it and two, where I was used to staying up very late and sleeping through the day, my sister was used to getting up very early in the morning. While I loved the open floor plan of her apartment, it was not very handy when someone, aka – me, was trying to sleep in the common area. If Emily slept in the bed, I could sleep in the office. An office with doors and a place to sleep that wouldn’t glow as if this was a CSI episode and they were looking for DNA with one of those fluorescent light things.
“Sorry, did I wake you?” She whispered as I peeked my head out from under my pillow. At least it looked like she’d showered today. That was an improvement.
“No, I was just getting up.” I offered in a saccharine sweet voice. Sarcastic much? I looked at my phone, it was later than I thought, and look at that, I only had eight text messages from Edward waiting for me this morning. Yesterday it was twenty. Today was looking up.
“Is that bad egg still blowing up your phone?” I still wasn’t used to all the Irish slang my sister used, but I couldn’t help but think I might have liked Dicklan had he not broken my sister's heart. He had some colorful expressions. I’d learned not to ask Emily what they translated to; it just upset her. In this case, it was easy to tell she was asking about Edward. I should have just blocked him, but this way I could at least somewhat keep track of him. The last thing I needed was for him to show up here. If I never laid eyes on him again, it would be too soon, but I knew my luck. It wasn’t that good.
“I’ve got an idea. Let’s go shopping today.” Emily rose a brow at my offer. Shopping was my least favorite thing to do. Ever. But in this case, I hoped it would benefit us both.
“You want to go shopping?”
“Hard to believe, I know, but I have an idea.”
“I don’t know about this Libby.” My twin was reluctant to change anything that was his. I figured he wasn’t here, so you snooze you lose and I for one didn’t plan on missing out on any more sleep. We were at one of those big box home stores that had everything you never knew you needed for your home. I mean really, a soda caddy because you didn’t feel like you could “lift” a 2-liter bottle. Let’s not forget about the fortune cookie maker or the
hot dog dicer. As a bartender, I was afraid to even look at that section of the store.
“Let’s just try it. Is your favorite color still purple?” Emily and I hadn’t shared a living space since we’d turned eighteen. I didn’t plan on staying with her forever, but I did like the idea of being near her again. My baby needed his or her auntie. I should’ve probably thought of something to call the baby instead of him or her, but peanut and nugget were lame. I wasn’t going to call it pumpkin because I didn’t want to think about a pumpkin coming out of me. I’d thought about using “soybean” like they did on The Office, but I wasn’t that huge of a fan. Inmate could be funny. Right then he or she was on lockdown, but sometime in July would they be making a break for it.
“Did you hear me?” My sister questioned with a snap of her fingers in front of my face. I was in the baby zone. Was it too early for pregnancy brain?
“No,” I admitted before my sister went on to tell me her favorite color was green, the color for Declan’s damn eyes. I guessed I wasn’t very good at this mending of a broken heart thing after all, but it was different when I was behind the bar, and Emily wasn’t only my sister, she was my twin. I’d never really had girlfriends. I didn’t like drama or painting my nails, or whatever it was girls did together when they hung out, and I’d never been in love. Had I been in relationships? Sure, always. But I’d always ended them before they could get too close or I’d purposely picked guys I knew I wouldn’t have a problem getting rid of, like Edward. I’d never been a happily ever after kind of girl. I was more of let’s enjoy it while it lasts girl. You couldn’t ever get hurt if you didn’t expect anything to ever come of something. Having an inmate kind of changed all of that. The jury was still out on who got the life sentence, the kid or me. Maybe inmate wasn’t a good nickname after all. The only way I knew how to deal with my sister was to go into bartender mode. What would I tell someone crying into their drink on a stool with almost two feet of countertop separating us?
“M, I know this is hard, and it sucks. Probably every color you see right now reminds you of him. Well, maybe not this one.” I joked as I flicked at the ugliest bedding I’d ever seen in my life. It was so terrible I couldn’t even tell you what color it was. Emily must have agreed because her laughter filled the air. It was nice to hear, but it died all too soon.
“I just don’t understand how he could tell me he loved me and leave me at the same time. He filled the apartment with forget-me-nots, Libby. Do you know what they mean?” The name seemed fairly obvious but based on what Emily told me about the other flowers Declan had given her I knew they probably meant more. Just like I would do for a patron sitting on the other side of my bar I just let her keep talking. “They stand for true and undying love.” She turned to face me. “It’s like this,” she held up her palm to me. Without thinking twice, I placed mine against hers, and I knew what she was trying to convey. The connection was the same as it always had been, no matter how much time or distance had separated us. It was the same feeling I felt with my baby the instant I found out I was pregnant. If I was honest with myself, it was how I felt the first time I became pregnant too. How could you put a name on something so big? Something that makes you, you? Maybe it was time for me to change tactics with my sister. If Declan was that to her, I couldn’t just expect her to move on with her life or to get over him. He did promise he would find his way back to her. Maybe I needed to have the faith in him he’d asked her for. He’d still need to prove I could trust him, but for now, I could give her a glimmer of hope. Couldn’t I? So instead of helping her pick something that would help her forget, I helped her pick something that would give her hope.
“That was fun,” Emily announced once she emptied her arms of her packages. To my surprise it was, and maybe tomorrow I would get a chance to sleep in since Emily was going back to the bedroom tonight. “Let’s go out to dinner.” I practically had to force her out of the apartment earlier, so this was another step in the right direction.
“Sounds good.” Maybe we could get more of those delicious tacos or hot dogs from a street cart. Would my sister know something was up if I told her I was craving nacho cheese and jelly beans? What? Don’t judge me, blame junior. Oh god, please don’t be like Edward.
“I know the perfect place.” Emily grinned. It was nice to see her smiling again.
An hour later, we were both dressed to the nines. Emily was smiling, so I let her make me up. One of her new friends was Suzie Morgan. She had one of those popular wedding and event planning reality television shows, not that I watched it, but everybody knew who she was and that she made everything “fabglam.” I knew America loved her, but I swore to God if I heard my sister use Suzie’s trademark word one more time tonight, I might just throat punch her when I meet her. I couldn’t blame the hormones on this one. Fablam? Lame.
“Oh, we’ll never get in here without a reservation.” Eric, the infamous Suzie’s husband, and Declan’s driver had just opened the car door for us in front of one of the hottest spots in the city. How did I know? Because I was looking for a job. I’d love to work in a posh place like this. It would be wonderful to come home not smelling like stale beer and cigarettes, but a joint like Swayed would never hire me. I didn’t go to fancy bartending school; I attended the school of hard knocks. I was a god damned great bartender. You name it, I could make it, and I was becoming pretty well known for specialty drinks at the bar I was working for in Nashville. What my sister did for dessert I could do for drinks. It was a gift. Wonder twins activate!
“You’ll get in.” Eric offered as he helped me from the car. I was not going to lie, a girl could get used to this kind of attention. Calm your tits, I knew he was married. What I meant was I could get used to a guy who opened my door for me, helped me out of the car, and paid me an unsolicited compliment. It felt good when someone, anyone, made you feel like you were special. I’d have to remember that. No, no, no. You don’t need a man to make you special. You don’t need anyone.
“Good evening Miss Barnes,” the hostess looked confused as she took us both in. Although our hair was different, tonight even I’d noticed how much alike we still were. My sister smiled at her, as I offered a “good evening” instead of her. We hadn’t played this game in a very long time. It was fun, and that was something Emily needed more of in her life right then. “Your table will be ready any moment. Would you like to wait in the bar?”
“Yes, that would be great,” Emily answered, confusing the poor girl even further before taking me by the arm and leading us to the bar. Miraculously, two spots were available. It seemed odd the bar in such a busy place was so empty, but it was pretty small. “That was fun.” M giggled again, her happy face lighting up the darkened bar.
“What can I get you, ladies?” The bartender asked after putting two cocktail napkins down in front of us. He didn’t look like he belonged behind the bar. His vibe was all wrong. Don’t get me wrong, he was a cutie, but he didn’t look old enough even to serve a drink. I’d intentionally let Emily go first. The last thing I needed was for her to say was “I’ll have what she’s having” to only discover it was non-alcoholic. I could see my sister's gears turning as she mulled over her choices.
“Don’t even think about it,” I told her.
“I wasn’t.” Yeah right, I knew she was thinking about ordering a lemon drop. “Why don’t you just order for me?” That I could do. She needed something similar but different. Just like with the new bedding, she wasn’t ready to completely change everything. I tapped my finger on my lips as I considered various options.
“She’ll have a caramel apple martini, and I’ll have an autumn chiller.”
“Oh, that sounds yummy.” Emily clapped her hands and bounced giddily in her chair as the bartender looked at me like a deer caught in headlights. As I pointed out before, the little cutie didn’t belong behind the bar.
“Jackson,” a server with a scowl on her face and drink in her hand called from the pass. “I need you to remake th
is Manhattan on the fly for my V.I.P. He asked what it took to get a drink made right around here and asked if the chef could stop at his table.” That couldn’t be good.
The poor kid paled as he began fumbling through a book I hadn’t noticed behind the counter before. Jesus Christ. He was in Manhattan, and he didn’t know how to make one. What was next? Was he going to Google it?
“I’d start with the Pendleton.” I offered. They had Whistlepig too, but at eighty dollars a bottle, I didn’t want to get the guy in trouble. The Pendleton wouldn’t disappoint. “To the left,” I instructed as he reached for the wrong bottle.
“Show him how it’s done.” Emily offered with more bouncing in her seat. The server gave me a look that said it all. Help me, please. The bartender provided no argument, so I slid behind the bar. Damn, it felt good, and this bar offered nothing but the best.
After tying an apron around my waist, I grabbed the Carpano Antica sweet vermouth and the Dolin dry. I quickly found a chilled coupe which I filled two-thirds of the way with ice before adding the rye, both vermouths, and the bitters. Manhattans should be stirred, never shaken I gave instruction to my new pupil before putting a cherry in the glass and straining the perfect drink. “Voila.” The grateful server mouthed a thank you before she left, her scowl replaced by a grateful smile.
“You made mixing that drink look so easy. Could you show me how to make the drinks you ordered? They’ll be on the house of course. I’m Jackson; I’m just filling in tonight, so I really have no idea what I’m doing.” I’d give the guy an A for his honesty. Most guys thought they knew everything about how to pour a “stiff” one, trust me, I’d heard the line more times than I cared to remember.
I began to search out the ingredients I needed. I coached my new friend Jackson as I rimmed the glass with caramel he boasted was made in the kitchen. If Jackson wasn’t a baby at just twenty-one and I wasn’t about to have a baby myself, I would drizzle him with it and lick it off of him. I shook off my naughty thoughts as I shook the apple cider, caramel vodka, and butterscotch schnapps. Emily watched me proudly. It gave me a thrill. I’d always felt like the disappointment in the family. Right then, I just felt like I had chosen a different path. I added a fresh apple garnish before handing the concoction over.
