Sin & Tonic

by Tessa Layne

  The bar honestly and truly seats two and no more.

  “There is. Will anyone be joining you this evening?” the dude asks as a more tentative knock reverberates through the door. He takes in the small seating area, silently counting occupants.

  “Nope, just me,” I tell him as I sidle past, zeroing in on one of the seats at the bar. The place is just that small. A hand full of Victorian wingbacks surround a midcentury modern coffee table. A wooden bench and some ladderback chairs form a semi-circle around an upholstered ottoman. A padded bench backs up against the building’s old boiler. Eclectic doesn’t begin to describe this place.

  I slide into the wooden saddle shaped seat of the barstool and peruse the cocktail menu. Ironic, right?

  I don’t drink. Ever.

  Coffee. Water. But that’s it, other than the beer Finn handed me earlier tonight as I desperately tried to shove down my panic. I don’t even know what most of this stuff is.

  “Good evening and welcome to There in Spirits. What’s your pleasure?” Sierra asks. She’s legendary; tales of her wisdom have been floating around Kansas City for ages. I’ve always wanted to meet her, thus my desire to bring Finn here. Finn. But this is a first for me and with no buffer.

  “Um, I don’t really know.” I’m lost. Lost to my thoughts, lost without Finn.

  “You don’t,” she states. Doesn’t ask, but states like she knows I have no experience with cocktails. Or life. Or, really, much of anything. She pauses, assessing me over the top of her turquoise framed glasses. The perusal lasts far longer than is comfortable, and I shift in my seat, feeling like she’s looking not just at me, but deep inside me.

  “I’m not much of a drinker, so I really just don’t know what to order,” I ramble, nervously looking through the drink menu. The names and descriptions of each concoction are ironic and silly, normally they’d make me laugh at least a little. Tonight, though, nothing.

  I’m tired.

  I’m hurt.

  I don’t know what to do.

  A patron orders from the corner of the bar and I get lost in my head watching the quirky psychologist-mixologist and story-weaver of the Midwest craft a cocktail with attention to detail that is like nothing I’ve ever seen. Not just in drink preparation, but anywhere. Adorning her masterpiece with dried brown stars, she pushes her glasses back up her nose and nods at the uniquely hued drink. Slightly greenish but somehow frothy. “I’ll put that, and six fingers, on your tab,” she states. Reaching for a black leather-bound book, she jots something down using an odd shorthand, and then tucks it back under the bar.

  Sierra is the best-known secret this town has. Her expertise goes far beyond merely crafting cocktails; her true talents lie in picking apart a problem, putting a unique spin on the situation at hand, and dispensing advice like it’s her damn life’s calling. And she has an immeasurable knowledge of all thing medieval and Arthurian. I’ve heard the stories, and with nowhere else to go, now is my time to lay myself bare and pray she can help me.

  “You haven’t come to any decisions.” She folds her hands on the bar in front of me, again, not asking, but stating it like the fact it is.

  “No. Maybe I should just have one of those.” I nod toward where she made her last drink.

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” she chuckles bawdily. “The last thing you are is Morally Absinthe, but you do seem to have a lot weighing you down.” She crosses her arms over her chest and taps her lip thoughtfully.

  “Morally absent?”

  “Mmm, Absinthe. The drink I made for Emma is Morally Absinthe, smoky, complex, somewhat dark—”

  “Like my soul,” the dark-haired chick adds as she raises her drink to us. “Definitely not for the faint of heart.”

  “Most definitely not,” Sierra adds. “What brings you in tonight? Perhaps if we start at the beginning, we’ll find our answers.” She leans her hip into the corner of the bar, completely relaxed, the embodiment of patience.

  Sucking in a bracing breath, I try desperately not to get tied up trying to filter what I say. “My boyfriend proposed to me”—her eyes remain locked on mine, not flicking down to my hand—“and I ran.” Lord, why did I do that? Why couldn’t I just get over myself and say yes? What if I’ve lost him?

  Sierra merely nods, so I continue, “I love him, honestly. I was actually going to ask him the same thing, and the problem is so not that he got to it first, really, that’s not it at all. It’s…” I close my eyes, sighing. “It’s absolutely stupid.”

  “I don’t believe that for an instant. Keep going,” she encourages softly.

  Needing something to focus on, I start the long and delicate process of tearing my cocktail napkin into perfectly precise parallelograms. “We came to town for the music festival.” I find myself rambling, the events of the past few days spilling out in no order that makes any sense. “I grew up here, so we went out with friends after an absolutely disastrous dinner with my parents. My dad was a bigger condescending asshole to Finn, that’s my boyfriend, than he’s ever been before. But that’s my dad, and I’m sure it had something to do with his disapproval of me, in general, and specifically because I bought Finn a ring and told my parents earlier that I was going to ask him to marry me. See? It’s nothing but stupid drama.”

  “And the friends?” Sierra prods, knowing I’m not done.

  I blow out a breath through pursed lips and go on to explain about Bri and the others at the brewery. The shit they brought up about all of Finn’s online flirting, the texts I snooped and found on his phone. Some emails to a girl in Ireland. The things I thought had stopped when we started dating. Things I would have rationally discussed with him at any other time. But because of the stress of traveling, not being in my bubble, I shoved it all down. Let it fester and brew.

  “And then, when he dragged me up on the main stage, in front of thousands of people, all of them looking at me. I panicked. I was absolutely humiliated.” I still my hands and let my gaze settle on the beautiful dark pink flower floating in the pale, frothy drink Sierra has set before me. She nods once again, still listening intently.

  “It was all so …so big. So much. I don’t deal well with attention, or people. And Finn is such a people person, so confident and sure of himself. He’s an attention whore who’s, honestly, never met a stranger. We so don’t fit together. I know I have my demons, but when it hit me, that we’re so completely different, my heart seized up. And I ran.”

  Sierra nudges the beautiful drink toward me. “Well this should do it then. A Main Street Exorcism is just what you need to put those demons in their place and set your spirits right.”

  I lift the glass and take a tentative sip, savoring the burst of flavor on my tongue. Crisp and bitter, citrusy and sweet, my eyes slide shut and goosebumps tingle across my skin, like low level electricity is moving through me. It’s delicious, and magical, and oddly calming.

  “You’ve been with him, Finn, for an appropriate amount of time—long enough to know you love him, that he loves you.” I nod, sipping my cocktail. “You communicate well under normal circumstances, and while you tend to be more comfortable in the periphery, he enjoys the thrill of being the center of attention. I imagine”—she removes her glasses, cleaning the lenses—“the moments in your relationship have been numerous where he’s purposely drawn attention to himself to save you the discomfort of bearing it as such. Falling on the sword for you, luring the beast of anxiety away from you. Offering himself up for your benefit.”

  I set my drink on the bar and sit back in my chair, staring at Sierra with the rapt attention she quietly commands.

  “And while the hearsay and outside condemnation would normally be handled well between the two of you, the catalyst, the straw the poor camel can’t bear is the very public way he proposed. But perhaps,” she pauses, pulling her hair over her shoulder and twisting it into a thick braid. “Perhaps in this life altering moment, he bared his soul to you, standing up before the masses to proclaim his love and ask fo
r your hand—for your eternal commitment in front of the world. Baring himself to you, completely and emotionally exposed.

  “Perhaps your test—the sacrifice you need to make to truly prove yourself worthy of his life, his love and his devotion—was suffering the spotlight in his moment. You need to find your way through that test to experience the nirvana that lies beyond. But your blissful life is not here. Not stuck on this side of the test. You need to push through, search your soul. You came here with the intent and desire to commit your life to this man. Why is this one test—this one mountain too high to scale?”

  I’m stunned silent. My mind whirling and yet at the same time, completely numb. I reach for my wallet, but Sierra is nowhere to be found. In front of me, though is another concoction, different, but just as beautiful. And scrawled across the cocktail napkin it rests on, I find a note.

  The Exorcism is on the house and enjoy a little Irish Legend as well. Climb your mountain, slay your demons. Find your paradise and embrace your love.

  ~S.

  Chapter 11

  F inn

  She thinks she needs space.

  I seem to think I know what she wants better than she does. What kind of fucking eejit do I think I am? I thought…

  And there’s the problem. I thought I could do this big loud thing and that she’d be so overwhelmed by me that all the rest would be forgotten. I pull up the Uber app on my phone and order a car. A car to where, exactly? I can’t go sulk in the hotel; that will do nothing but drive me insane.

  Think, think, think.

  Where will Addie go? Not to her parents’ house, surely not. The only other person she’s tight enough with is Bri. Her best friend who happens to be here at the festival. I pull up her contact information and connect a call.

  “Finn, listen hard ’cause I can’t hear anything,” Bri yells the minute she answers. Loud thumping music echoes from the band that’s taken the stage and I’m amazed she even answered. “You fucked this up big, and if that was your idea of a perfect proposal, dude, I really don’t think you get it. I believe you love her. Hope you’ll at least listen to what she wants for a wedding, but man you need to find Addie and fix this. My girl’s heart is all kinds of hurting and confused. I’m guessing she didn’t ask any big questions of her own before you pulled this dumbass stunt, but you need to go to her. …There in Spirits…should be there for a while. Talk to her. Fix this.” Then the call disconnects. With the volume behind her, there is no way she could have heard my response anyway, so I text a thank you and climb into my Uber.

  The driver glances over his shoulder and gives me a quick chin lift. “You blowing this thing prematurely?” He pulls out of the carpark and meets my reflection in the rearview mirror. “Not seeing it through to the end? Bailing before the climax?”

  Each question holds the hint of either a come-on or condemnation.

  “Erm…” I check my app for his name. “Vince?” He confirms with another chin lift and I continue, “I just made the biggest mistake of my life and I need to fix it as soon as possible.”

  “Mmmm, the accent. An Irish gingersnap, I haven’t had one of those in years,” he simpers, his voice trailing off wistfully. I guess it was a come-on, then.

  “Look, I, erm, hate to ask, but can you drop me at this speakeasy—something Spirits? Instead of the hotel?” I scroll through my phone looking for the rest of the name, and where it’s located.

  “Oh, you must have done someone really wrong if you need that kind of help. I think Double V can do that for you, doll.” He bites the tip of his tongue as he glances into the mirror at me again.

  Christ, I don’t want to encourage the man, but I’m kind of at his mercy now that I’m in his car on the highway. “Double V?” I ask.

  He smiles huge, all ridiculously white teeth and maybe a bit of a creepy murder-vibe to him. Thank Christ I insisted Addie take the car. I can’t even think about her alone with a prat like this.

  “I’m changing my life man. Cleaning up my act and gettin’ in shape. I follow this guy on Instagram and it’s like it’s fate. His name’s Vince, too. He’s a vegan bodybuilder, baby. Unng…so tight—so Double V. Vegan Vince, get it?”

  Yeah, definitely glad Addie’s safety isn’t in the hands of this nutter, referring to himself in the third person. Giving himself his own nickname.

  I lean forward slightly, noting the speedometer reading. “Right then. Good on you, life improvements and such. Is there any way we kick this up a notch?” His eyes go wide, and he licks his lips, so I quickly correct, “get there faster? To the Spirit place? My girl is there and—”

  “Double V’s gotchu, baby.”

  With that, the car lurches forward throwing me back into my seat, and I silently run through the litany of saints, calling on each of them to do their thing. About the time I’m pleading for deliverance from a sudden and unprovided death, my new friend screeches to a decisive stop at the mouth of an alley. “Okay. So, the door’s about halfway down on the left. Go through and, if those were prayers you were mumbling back there, hit up the big guy for a green light. That’s the only way you’re gettin’ in.”

  Grateful to be alive, I grab a couple of twenties from my wallet and hand them up. “Thank you, Vince. I truly appreciate your haste. And the best of luck to you in your meatless endeavors,” I tell him. And I swear I hear him mumble that vegan guy has the only meat he needs as I shut the door on the ride from hell.

  Down the alley and through the door, I go, trying not to think of Addie making this walk alone, in the dark. And scared even more of her walking it with someone else. Inside a small dark room, an old light casts a red glow on a small sign next to the door. Red. A fucking red light. I don’t care what the little plaque says, I knock.

  And knock.

  And knock again, louder, harder, definitely more desperate, but the door remains firmly locked and not a soul comes to answer. I don’t know what to do next, so I collapse into one of the old wooden theater seats lining the walls and pull out my phone. I could text Bri and ask what to do, but the only person I want to talk to—need to talk to—is Addie. I type out a quick text asking whether she’s somewhere safe and hit SEND. A familiar ping sounds from the other side of the door and a moment later, my heart stutters at the sight of my Addie, back lit by a soft glow from the room behind her, low strains of jazz muting as the door swings shut behind her.

  And the red light turns green.

  “I’m sorry,” is all I can seem to manage.

  “What are you doing here, Finn?” she asks, a cocktail napkin clutched in her hand.

  My stuttering heart threatens to crack. How did I let things get this fucked?

  “Had to find you, I can’t lose ye, Addie.” My gaze flicks to the napkin and then back to her eyes, a small smudge of makeup under the left one. “I was wrong to embarrass you like that. It was…” I can’t stop looking at that napkin. The only use for cocktail napkins is notes, numbers and nothing good. She can’t have given up on me just like that.

  “Finn—”

  “It was selfish. But totally selfless at the same time. Addie. I can’t, for the life of me, imagine living without ye—”

  “Finn, I—”

  “—and I’m not goin’ to lie, I’ve had this planned for ages—since we decided to come back again this summer. Christ, and I was dead convinced after last night, listening to all the talk from people here who follow me online. Calling me a shameless flirt—”

  “You are totally a shameless flirt.” Addie cocks an eyebrow at me, folding her arms across her chest. And not only does this put her gorgeous tits even more on display for me, it brings that fucking napkin front and all but center.

  “I am. You’re right, but in my head, this whole thing made perfect sense.” I stand, wanting to be a little bit in her space. Unable to stand any space between us. “My intent was to tell the world that my heart’s been claimed, that I’ve found the love of my life. My chosen one. My dearest heart. You were my only tho
ught up there.”

  Her head tilted back so Addie can meet my eyes, she blinks slowly. Her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. I reach up and pull it free with my thumb.

  “How can you say that? How could doing something so—” She closes her eyes and turns away.

  Nothing has gone the way I thought it would this weekend. “A chuisle, my pulse, you are the air in my lungs. Without you, I can’t breathe, nor do I care to. I need you Addie, but honestly, telling you that just didn’t seem enough. It didn’t seem big enough, profound enough. You’re right, I wasn’t thinkin’ of how you’d feel in the moment. I was thinkin’ that all the world would know for certain that I’m gone for you. That this was my declaration that I am off the market, that all the flirting was for nothin’—just harmless fun, because I belong to you, Addie. No one but you.

  “It was loud. Overwhelming and more than what you’re comfortable with, but that one moment was only one side of the coin.” I dig my phone out of my pocket and pull up my email. Handing her the phone, I beg, “Look at this—”

  “Yeah, I saw a bunch of emails on your account from this chick in Dublin.” I must look as confused as I feel, but she clarifies, “Last night at the brewery. I didn’t like some of the things I was hearing. So, I hacked into your accounts, and really didn’t like some of what I saw. Why are there fifteen emails to her? She’s not your old professor, is she? The one who—”

  “No, love. Read it. Please,” I say taking a step to the side to give Addie the space I know she needs when her anxiety hits. As she reads, I pull the ring box out for the second time tonight.

  Addie reads, and by the amount of time that passes, rereads the email—maybe even goes through it a third time—before meeting my eye. “I don’t understand,” she says softly.

  I open the box and drop to one knee. “Addie, everything I’ve done, I did with you in my heart. Had this ring custom made for you, it’s one of a kind—vibrant, colorful and unique—just like you. I stood proud in front of the world telling them I’m taken. And I planned our wedding. Small, just the two of us and what family can be there. That’s what you wanted, right? Small and intimate? No extravagance? Just a small ceremony in a candle-lit church?”