I pour her a bubbling glass and hand it to her with a twisted smile. “You’re an excellent judge of character? Really? ‘Cause you dated me, remember?”
“You were the singular exception to my good-judge-of-character rule.” She slides off the barstool and approaches Mila, walking gracefully on her four inch stilettos.
I’m all about focusing on Mila from now on, but it doesn’t stop me from appreciating that Toni is one hell of a sexy band geek.
I’ve never in my life wished I could hunker down and eavesdrop on some good ole girl talk, but right now I would kill to be able to overhear what they’re talking about.
Especially if it’s about me.
My heart is pumping like crazy. I believe that Toni has my best interests at heart and would never sabotage me on purpose, but she was always a loose talker when she got a little in her, and she’s downing that glass at a fast and furious rate.
I’m planning to go stock some bottles closer to them, but Dad gives me an expectant look, I snap back into reality, and I realize with a start that I have a line of customers waiting.
I jump into the middle of the fray, and barely lift my head until another familiar voice jars my memory.
But this one isn’t appreciated like Toni’s.
“Hey man.” Tyler is in front of me, hands in the pockets of his fancy boy khakis.
If this was my bar, I’d beat him to the fucking door and kick his ass into the snow. Since it’s my dad’s bar, and he doesn’t put up with any spectacles ever, I bite my tongue and snap, “What can I get for you?”
“Whatever’s good on tap,” he says absently.
I’m annoyed as I tip the glass and let the amber liquid fill in in a smooth river.
I look down the bar at my father, who takes a minute to scowl in Tyler’s direction before he notices my twin look of disgust, nods, and goes back to his conversation.
Back when I was full of piss and vinegar and all packed to storm out of town, Dad tried to warn me that Tyler didn’t have the work ethic or passion it would take to run a successful bar. I should have known when the only goddamn thing he ever ordered was ‘whatever’s good on tap’ whenever we went to any bar anywhere.
Not that you have to be a professional drinker to run a bar, but you should have some interest in drinks.
Or knowledge about drinks.
Or business.
Or work.
Or not screwing your partner’s girlfriend while he’s learning to mix new drinks at your shared business, which he’s working hard to keep afloat.
I slosh the beer Tyler’s way and hope there’s someone else who wants or needs anything, but, of course, he hung out at the back of the line. I’m about to turn on my heel and go check on Toni and Mila, when Tyler says, “Landry, c’mon man, let me explain things for a second.”
I lean in closer to Tyler, and let the words slide through my clenched teeth.
“Explain things for a second? Like what, Tyler? Like how you decided to fuck my girlfriend behind my back while I was working my ass off to get things going on the bar that you and I were supposed to be opening? Remember that?”
I slap the dishrag on the counter with more force than I mean to, because I really don’t want to let Tyler know how much the whole thing fucked me up.
“I regret what I did every single day.” Tyler runs a hand over his blond hair, cut like he’s doing a photo-shoot for a Dockers’s commercial. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who to turn to. I’m back with my parents now. Heather and I broke up—”
“Wow. Yeah, you’re breaking my fucking heart here, man. Listen, maybe next time you should not be such a total asshole, and you wouldn’t be drowning in all this shit right now.”
I look for Mila, but she’s not down the bar, which means she’s part of the increasingly rowdy crowd.
Even though there’s no reason to feel it, a tiny jolt of panic runs through me.
“Look, you gotta hear me out, Landry. I really was an asshole, and I deserve for you to be pissed as hell at me. I do. But I want to know if you can find it in your heart to patch shit up and maybe…maybe consider doing the partner thing again? I’ll swing all the original funds I promised back into the bar. I hear you’re doing okay, but if you have some backing from me, we can make okay great, you know? Landry?”
Tyler dodges and weaves to plant himself in front of me, but my attention is elsewhere.
I’m actually looking out onto the dance floor, where my girl has her arms locked around the neck of my little brother. The karaoke machine was mercifully flicked off an hour or two ago, and it’s been regular Christmas songs on since then.
The Boss is singing “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” and my idiot brother is using every ounce of his Jersey boy charm on Mila and making her dance with him to this undanceable song.
My first instinct is to march on the floor and shove my brother to the side, then throw Mila over my shoulder.
But, I have a suspicion that a girl with a feminist poetry tattoo isn’t going to be alright with that.
My next option is to break in on them more subtly, but then I’d have to dance, and it’s really not my thing.
“Isn’t that Mila Eby?” Tyler asks, following my line of sight.
“How the hell do you know Mila?” This douche ex-business partner of mine is seriously a step and a half away from getting his ass kicked out into the cold.
“Remember Reggie, the guy who DJ’d at all those underground clubs? He had a thing for her, big time. I don’t know if he ever got around to asking her on a date or whatever. Yet. He said she intimidated the shit out of him.”
Tyler’s looking her up and down appreciatively, and I’m two seconds away from bashing his teeth in.
“Reggie? Wasn’t he the guy who did the music for the party for that French socialite, then MTV Euro picked his one song up and played it all over?” I ask.
“That’s Reg,” Tyler confirms.
What Tyler said finally clicks. “Wait, yet?”
“Yeah, if he hasn’t asked her out already, I know he was going to ask Mila to some big comic book thing because he did some soundtrack work for some video game and they invited him. I don’t have all the details, some nerd fest.”
I’m all ears, and Tyler’s taking advantage of my willingness to hear him out. I guess he thinks he can worm himself back into my good graces if he gets on my good side.
Of course, he had no clue I want to break his nose over the information he’s giving me.
“So, was Reggie going to do this all soon?” I ask. I’m competitive by nature, and I never actually had to compete for girls before.
But there was never a girl like Mila.
And I was never up against some asshole DJ with connections to the comic book get together that makes her all swoony.
The info about Reggie coupled with watching Mila and Henry sway to “Baby It’s Cold Outside” while she tilts her head back and laughs is making my temper shake Incredible Hulk style.
How could I have been so dense to not see any of this coming?
How, only a few days ago, was Mila just my roommate?
“Yeah, the nerd-fest is this January, maybe, or something? Reggie is going to do this whole big production when he asks her. He’s got big plans, I guess.” Tyler is eager to move on to topics that have more to do with him, and he thinks he’s being suave by meshing conversation about Mila into them. “So, Mila came out here with you? Are you guys together? Or is she tending bar for you? I thought she worked in a bookstore or something.”
“She works in a library,” I mutter, starting to walk away from him and over to her, determined to get my romance on before some semi-famous DJ with the keys to the nerd romance that will make her dreams come true swoops in and steals my thunder. Two can play at this game. I can Google and order nerd-fest tickets as well as the next guy can.
Tyler grabs my arm. “Hey, man, so, can we get together? Maybe talk about the bar? That money is just sitti
ng in my bank account. I know we went through some shit, and that was stupid as hell on my end. Bros before hoes is definitely the moral of the story for me, man. So, what are you thinking?”
All kinds of things come to mind. Things that have to do with split lips and black eyes and revenge so sweet, I can smell the open wounds.
But I don’t go there.
I’m not at the point where the Grinch’s heart grew two sizes and he carved roast beast or anything. But I am probably at the point where he turned the damn sled around and decided to leave Mount Crumpit.
But I’m still a goddamn grinch.
I grab Tyler by the freshly ironed collar and pull him close enough that my dad can’t overhear me threatening customers on his premises.
“I wouldn’t piss to put your money out if it was on fire, Tyler. As far as I’m concerned you’re a lying sack of shit who’s not worth wasting my damn breath on. And, to be honest, I don’t give a shit that you slept with Heather. You helped me dodge a huge bullet. But I’m about to change things. I’m about to make everything right with the right girl. And the last thing I’d goddamn want is some waste of space like you making things difficult for me. Fuck off and don’t come bothering me again.”
I let go of his shirt, and Tyler presses the hair out of his eyes and calls to me. “C’mon, Landry! You didn’t even hear me out.”
But I’m not in the mood to hear him or anyone else out.
The thing is, Reggie is a pretty good guy. So is Henry, much as it kills me to say it. They both knew Mila was amazing, was worth going after, when I was still slowly pulling my head of out my ass.
It took seeing her in that red dress to see her in a new light, to make all of my feelings click into place. And that makes me feel shallow as hell.
But it doesn’t change the solid fact that what I feel right now is real, and it doesn’t make me want to be with her any less.
When I saw her outside the bar just a few hours back, it felt like the Christmas miracle she kept joking that I should watch out for. She is, no doubt, the girl Toni told me to keep my eyes open for. She’s that one person I might be able to have a real connection to, the kind Rusty and Karen kind of glowed with when they were together.
But she wasn’t sure about us. She backed away before we even started, and now Henry’s got her in his arms and Reggie’s got some big plans to sweep her off her feet.
What did Toni tell her? The only stories that girl has are shitty ones where I’m concerned.
I watch her for a little bit longer, but I don’t go any closer. I feel someone next to me, and prepare to tell Tyler to fuck off again, but it’s Dad.
“That the girl your mother called me to rave about before?”
The action at the bar has slowed to a crawl, but I’m still shocked he’s standing here next to me. My father never, ever leaves his station behind the bar.
Ever.
As if he wants to give me a full coronary, he hands me a mug.
“Hot toddy?” I inhale the scent of cloves.
This was my grandfather’s go-to winter night drink. He and my father drank them all the time, and Granddad used to give me a sip of his every once in a while, even though Dad frowned about it.
“I miss the old man most around the holidays. Sometimes this bar feels lonely as hell without him back here telling me every damn thing I’m doing wrong.”
There are so many snide remarks right on the tip of my tongue. So many ironies ripe for exposure.
But it’s Christmas Eve and my father just handed me a hot toddy, the drink he shared with his father only, and he’s breaking his own ‘never drink in your own pub’ rule. It’s a wacky ass day, and I’m willing to just roll with it and not be an asshole.
“I miss him, too. I think he would have liked Mila, you know?” The dance floor is getting rowdier, and she’s dancing to an upbeat version of “Jingle Bells” with a group of other sweaty, giddy revelers.
“He would have. He had a thing for brunettes. She one of your bartenders?” Dad asks, sipping his drink piping hot, even though it’s got to be making welts on his tongue.
“No. Mila’s a librarian. And my roommate,” I say, and instantly realize that that one word carries an implication that’s not right. Not yet anyway. “Platonic roommate. Until last night.”
Dad’s bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows go up to his hairline. He hates TMI in any capacity, and especially when it comes to sex, so I clam up and veer in another direction.
“I don’t think she’s gonna stick around with me, though.” I sip my toddy, letting the combined temperature and the alcohol burn singe my mouth and throat.
“What do you mean?” Dad’s voice is testy, like he has no patience for this train of thought.
“I mean, I think she’s realized that coming out here to see me was more about fantasy than reality, I guess. And there’s a guy back in Boston who I just found out has a thing for her—”
“You have a thing for her,” my father interrupts. “Am I right?”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “I do. But you know I’ve had a thing for girls before.”
“Dumb ones. Except Antonia. She was a nice one, but you burned her, and I was never so proud of any girl as I was of that one for dumping you.” As if she knows Dad’s singing her praises yet again, Toni looks over, and Dad raises his glass with a big, stupid grin. “A toast to good women we don’t deserve.” He holds his mug up to mine.
I look right at Mila, twirling in a circle around my brother, her dark hair curling from the sweat, her laugh ringing out and catapulting other laughs out of other peoples’ throats.
Our mugs clink in solidarity, and I mumble a half-hearted, “Cheers.”
“You’re a decent guy, Landry. Girls don’t drive hours on Christmas Eve for guys who don’t mean anything to them. Don’t sell yourself short all the time.” Dad takes a long sip and sucks air through his teeth. “I haven’t been fair to you all the time, son,” he starts. I’m about to interrupt him, but I hold back. My dad isn’t one for big speeches, and I want to know what he’s got to say.
“I let Paisley get away with murder, but she’s my little pumpkin. I know it seems like I go easy on Henry, but that’s because I know that boy needs a long leash. He won’t be happy staying put, staying close. He’s gonna have circumnavigated the Earth twenty times over by the time he’s my age. It’s not that I’m harder on any one of you than I am on the others. It’s that I know my kids. Like I know this bar. And you,” he turns and pokes me in the chest hard, “are the one most like me. I guess that’s why we butt heads so often.”
I think about what Rusty told me and about this whole business, and a new swell of shame threatens to choke me.
“Dad I just want to tell you that I’m so sorry I—”
“Nevermind,” my dad cuts me off. “Let me tell you, I was chomping at the bit to get out of this hole-in-the-wall when your grandfather was talking about passing it on.”
I take a long, honey-soaked sip of the whiskey-laced drink and shake my head. “You wanted to leave this bar? That’s ironic. Since, you know, you never leave this bar. Ever.”
Dad laughs, a deep, scratchy sound that comes from low in his throat. “I didn’t just want to leave. I left. I left to take a job selling cars.”
“Selling cars?”
I almost spit my drink on my shirt. My dad can talk to a drunk guy until the dude’s weeping on the bar. He’s got a gift like that. But trying to bamboozle someone into driving off in some lemon? It’s so not my dad’s bag. At all.
“I just wanted something different, I guess. I couldn’t come to terms with the fact that the bar was in my blood.”
He shrugs his massive shoulders. The shoulders I expected to be weighted down with worry.
“What changed your mind?” I ask, curious to know more about this secret side of my father I never even realized existed.
“Your mother.” He looks over at Mila, one hip balanced on the pool table, my brother racking up the balls. “
She was so passionate about you kids and keeping a home. It made me realize that you don’t have to run away, you know, to find what’s good for you. Not always. So I came back to my home and started our life, here, together.”
I close my eyes for a long second and try to imagine this bar the way Mila and my father see it; as a place exploding with energy and happiness and goodness. Not some falling down shack that needs major repairs to every single, solitary corner.
“And you’re happy?” I make sure.
He claps a big hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, I am. And I know I acted like an ass about your grandfather’s money. When I thought you and that Tyler idiot were really pulling through together, I wanted to rip your head off your shoulders. But you got rid of that dead weight, and the bar is doing well. Money is just money, we all have to make our own choices about what to do with ours, and the rest…” Dad pauses. Getting all sappy isn’t his thing. “Well, I noticed your place got a write up in the Herald.”
“You saw that article?”
It was a write up in Boston’s paper that proclaimed us the “best place for an old-fashioned drink mixed properly with good atmosphere that will improve as a stable base crowd finds its niche within the simple walls.” My favorite write-up of the seven that chose to feature us. It made me proud to know Dad read it.
“Of course. And I’m glad. I really am, son. Putting your love and heart into a bar is a commitment that’s gonna last a lifetime. Gonna satisfy you for a lifetime.” He nods to Mila, who’s turned the tables on Henry and is showing him how to shoot properly.
I can practically see my brother’s blush from here.
“You like that girl.” It’s not a question the way my dad says it. “Here’s my advice, son. Stop worrying about other guys who are better and fuckups from your past. Because there are better guys and you have been a huge fuckup. But you deserve that girl more than anyone else, because you understand a true vintage. You know how rare it is, among all there is to choose from, to find something so delicate and sweet, but also fulfilling and robust. She’s the champagne son, and you’ll be able to celebrate with her for the rest of your life. You need that. You really do.”
A Toast to the Good Times Page 12