by Mazy Morris
saddling a sweet girl like Claire with a manic-depressive?”
“How do you know he’s a manic depressive?”
“Well, a depressive, then.”
It was pretty hard to argue that a man who went to a bar for the sole purpose of crying into a cup of coffee wasn’t depressed, so I let it go.
We sat there in silence for a few minutes watching Claire and Mr. Sad Sack glance at each other and then hastily look away. Every time I looked at Daniel, he gave me a big grin. He just got cuter. If I’d been drinking anything but plain tonic, I’d think it was the liquor playing tricks on me, but the buzz I was feeling certainly wasn’t coming from my drink.
My phone jingled. I’d gotten a text. It was Gordon.
Whr R U?
McGlinns
Sam w/U?
Y
C U
Huh? Gordon was coming here? That was pretty nervy—crashing your ex-wife’s Valentine’s Day all-girl-pity-party.
“Who was that?” Sam asked. She gets nosey when she’s been drinking. She’s nosey when she hasn’t been drinking, but stone-cold sober she’s better a repressing her meddling tendencies.
“Ahh—“ I couldn’t tell her it was Gordon. She doesn’t like that we are still friends, although she’ll never come right out and say so. I think she’s jealous. She was no reason to be. I like Gordon. A lot. But not that way. “Bill pay reminder,” I said.
“At this time of night?”
“They have to remind you some time.”
Twenty minutes later, Gordon showed up.
Claire was still at the bar with Mr. Sad Sack. There were no longer any empty stools between them, and he’d stopped crying. Claire is an excellent listener. Very sympathetic. She was probably exactly what he needed. I wasn’t too sure what she was going to get out of it. Probably nothing. She’s a smart girl, though. She wouldn’t give out her number to an unhinged person. She’s a psych nurse. She’s very good at spotting unhinged.
Gordon came in and went straight to the bar, like he hadn’t spotted Sam or me. He walked up to Claire and gave her a hug. He shook Mr. Sad Sack’s hand. Mr. Sad Sack must be making a hit with Claire if she was introducing him to people.
Then Claire pointed over at us. Mostly at Sam. Gordon looked genuinely surprised to see us. It’s easy for him to do a convincing surprised. He’s a professional actor. A famous one. Sam’s inability to come to terms with his close association with a beautiful and even-more-famous costar was a contributing factor in his and Sam’s divorce. Not that there was actually anything going on between Gordon and Miss Famous. I think even Sam knows that, deep down.
“Bill pay reminder, my sweet patootie!” said Sam. She glared at Gordon and then back at me. I just shrugged.
Gordon was on his way over.
“I have to use the ladies’ room,” I said and beat a hasty retreat.
When I came out of the ladies’ room, Gordon was sitting in my chair, talking to Sam. I couldn’t be entirely sure from all the way across the room, but it looked like he was holding her hand. This was an interesting development. Not unwelcome, but completely unexpected.
I sidled up to the bar. It was a lot more crowded than it had been earlier in the evening, and I found myself on the very outer edge, wedged in next to a couple of portly middle-aged businessman types there to watch The Big Game—it must have been a big game because all the TVs were finally tuned to the same channel. I was next to the wall and overlooking the ice machine, which meant that Daniel came over in my direction pretty often. Not that I minded or anything.
“It looks like the evening’s turning out well for some people,” Daniel said.
By “some people,” he meant Claire and Mr. Sad Sack, who were now sitting with their heads very close together. I hoped I hadn’t steered Claire wrong.
“He’s alright, isn’t he? In the head, I mean. He’s not a psychologically disturbed or anything?” I asked.
“You mean Cup of Coffee?”
I nodded.
“I promise you that he’s a great guy.”
I wondered how Daniel could be so definite. I know bar tenders probably pride themselves on their ability to read people, but promising that a random regular was a “great guy” signaled overconfidence on his part.
“How can you be so sure?” I asked.
“He’s my brother.”
I’d just taken a sip of seltzer—I’d given up on tonic—and I spewed it all over the bar.
Daniel laughed. “Surprised?” he asked.
“Yes. I mean, why didn’t you say something?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“Alright. I’ll ask. What’s he so sad about?”
“His fiancée died. Car accident. Unexpectedly. A year ago today. They were going to meet here and then go on. He had this elaborate evening planned, but she never showed up.”
That was a good reason to be sad. In fact, I’d judge any man who didn’t dissolve into a mass of sadness on the anniversary of a tragedy like that.
“I’m really sorry,” I said.
“I know. So am I.”
He had things to do, but he stood there for a minute and just looked at me. “Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For sending over your friend to cheer my brother up.”
“It does seem to be working.”
“It was a very kind thing to do. I appreciate it.”
We were about to have a moment, but it was interrupted by one of the portly middle-aged businessmen rattling the ice in his empty glass in a meaningful manner.
I sat there through another seltzer and a cranberry juice and decided to call it a night. Gordon and Sam were still deep in an earnest conversation, and Claire was firmly attached to the stool next to Daniel’s brother. However the night turned out for Sam and Claire, my presence wasn’t going to be required—or welcome, most likely. It was a very weird ending to what had started as a girls’ night out.
While I was taking out money to pay my tab, Daniel scribbled something on a napkin. He folded it in half and handed it to me.
“Read it after you get home,” he said.
“OK.”
“You’ll be alright getting home on your own?” he asked. If I’d been drunk, I would have thought it was Daniel-the-professional-bar-tender talking, but since I’d limited my alcoholic intake to a single glass of wine hours ago, that definitely wasn’t why he was asking. It was sweet—him being concerned about me.
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “I only live three blocks from here.”
“You’re not planning on walking, are you?”
I had been planning on it, but he was probably right. It was very late. The only people who were still out were coming out of bars. But it seemed like such a waste to get a taxi for just three blocks.
“Wait a minute,” Daniel said. He walked down to the other end of the bar where Claire and his brother were obviously lost in a world of their own.
I took the opportunity to take a peek at the napkin note he’d handed me. It said:
Have dinner with me tomorrow. Meet me here at 7:00.
I smiled and folded it back up. I had already had plans for tomorrow evening, but plans can be changed.
“James and Claire will walk you home,” Daniel said, when he came back.
I was a little embarrassed.
“They’re having a good time,” I said. “I don’t want to mess that up.”
“If they are having that great of a time, then walking you home isn’t going to mess anything up.”
It was hard to argue with logic like that.
“Alright,” I said. I turned to walk away, but Daniel called me back.
“What’s your favorite song?”
I didn’t have to think about that for too long. “Forever Love,” by Kenny and the Kool Kats. Cheesy, I know. I try not to admit to it, too often. It makes me sound like I’m about 75 and have no taste in music.
“You won’t laugh, if I tell you?�
��
“I promise not to laugh.”
“Forever Love.”
He just stood there with a blank look on his face.
“You know. Kenny and the Kool Kats.”
He was still drawing a blank.
“Never mind,” I said.
“Come here.” He motioned for me to lean in close. I thought he was going to whisper something in my ear. That wasn’t what he had in mind.
We both leaned over the bar and met somewhere in the middle, and he kissed me. Right there in the middle of the crowded bar, while he was supposed to be working. Our kiss coincided with a crucial moment in The Big Game, so I don’t think a single person noticed. When I finally pulled away, I was the one with the pink ears.
It was a good first kiss. The best first kiss I’ve ever had. It promised everything, without giving a single thing away.
Valentine’s Day 2014
“Cupid so love us,” said Claire, as she put the finishing touches on Sam’s hair. We were in a tiny room at the back of the church. Sam had decided to skip the veil. She was skipping the white dress, too. “Been there. Done that,” was her explanation.
Last Valentine’s Day—unbeknownst to Claire and I—Sam and Gordon had struck a deal. They’d give it another go. If they were still together in exactly a year—which meant Valentine’s Day—they’d get married again. It seemed a little cliché—a Valentine’s Day wedding—but no one cared. Everyone who loved Sam or Gordon even a little bit was pleased as punch that those two—so obviously meant for each other—were finally making it official. Again.
“Cupid may love you and Sam—“ I said to Claire, “—but I’m not so sure how much Cupid loves me.”
I was losing patience. Daniel and I had been together for a whole year, now, and no matter how many hints I
