by K Carr
He watched them walk off in search of the bathrooms, remembering a time when they used to have family meals out. Megan had been a calm baby who grew into an inquisitive but cautious toddler. Connor and Jen never had any issues with her when she was little and they dined out. A small smile flickered across his lips. Cory on the other hand, oh he was loud, constantly demanding their attention and wanting it immediately. Yet just like his big sister, Cory had the sweetest smile. Some minutes passed before a delicate but pointed clearing of throat behind his back led to him twisting slightly in his seat and turning his head towards the woman.
She was fiddling with her napkin and looking directly at him with a remorseful expression etched on her face. “I am so very sorry. I really didn’t mean to offend you,” Her eyes darted to his left hand. Yes, he still wore his wedding band even if Jen didn’t wear hers. “Or your wife. I’m terribly sorry. Please accept my apologies. I didn’t mean to speak out of turn - ”
Connor nodded mechanically as her apologetic words washed over him. They were clumsy, her desperate attempts to smooth over her previous gaffe, but there was no perfect way to acknowledge the death of a stranger’s child.
And even though he did think his wife had been slightly harsh, she was right. The woman should’ve minded her own business. Yeah, yeah, her intention was one of niceness – compliment the pretty little girl, but she tipped over from niceness into nosiness with her unwanted suggestions about the size of their family. Shit. He would never presume to make such comments to a stranger. Why the fuck did some people do this?
“Honestly,” he interrupted her apology, it was becoming more forlorn with each passing second. “It’s fine. You weren’t to know.” Connor forced a friendly smile to his face. “Enjoy your meal though.” That should be enough to staunch her quest for forgiveness. Hopefully she would just -
“I feel so bad,” the woman continued.
For fuck sakes…Connor nodded once and let his gaze dart to his table then back to her face. Maybe if he did that a couple more times she would get the hint to end the damn conversation.
“Let me pay for your meal,” she offered.
“No,” Connor was literally waving her offer away with his hand. “No, please, there’s no need for you to pay for anything.” Why was she making this worse than it had to be? “Honestly,” he tried again to assuage her guilt. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you sure?” she hesitated. “I just feel so terrible.”
Connor could understand why Jen sometimes became visibly detached whenever this particular situation occurred. How in the hell did it end up with him trying to console someone else when the painful topic of his son’s death arose?
“It’s fine,” he gritted out between his teeth. His mouth was still stretched in a false smile.
“But I want to,” the woman pleaded. “It would make me feel much better about putting my foot in my mouth. You must let me do something to make up for it.”
Connor was eternally grateful Jen and Megan hadn’t yet returned from the bathroom. He knew his expression was changing into a not so nice one, and the words he wanted to hurl at this practical stranger were starting to choke him.
It would make her feel much better. The fucking gall of her.
“No.” Connor enunciated crisply. He did add a cool, “Thank you, but no.” When he saw her open her mouth to undoubtedly insist some more, Connor finally shed his politeness and said, “You’ve done enough.” His comment was open to interpretation, he hoped she read between the lines and got his intent.
“Oh, ok. Sorry.” She turned back around and suddenly found the menu on her table extremely interesting.
Connor sighed softly. He did feel a small prick of conscience at her slumped shoulders, but overall, he felt relief that she had finally shut the fuck up. And not a moment too soon as he could see Jen and Megan walking back. He really did like that green dress his wife wore. It complimented her figure perfectly…and now he was picturing her naked. Had she forgotten green was his favourite colour? Or the fact he adored the shade on her? Taking a deep breath he averted his gaze and spotted two waiters with trays on approach to their table. Good. The food was here. The waiters got to the table before Jen and Megan. Connor leaned back in his chair as his dish was placed in front of him and gestured to where the other dishes went.
“Daddy,” Meg closed the little distance between her and their table with a little sprint.
“The plate’s extremely hot, sweetie,” he warned, pulling out her chair so she could sit down. “Be careful.” He glanced up as Jen took her seat, asking, “You ok?” She nodded once and silently unravelled the linen napkin before placing it on her lap. Connor shook Megan’s napkin loose and placed it on her lap with a smile. “For you, my little lady. Are you hungry?”
“Mhmm,” Megan grabbed her fork.
Connor placed a restraining hand on hers. “It’s way too hot, Meggie. Give it a couple of minutes.”
“Blow on it, Megan,” Jen advised quietly.
“Mommy’s right,” Connor flashed Jen a smile which she didn’t return. “It’ll cool quicker if you blow on it.”
“You blow on it,” Megan decreed and leaned back in her chair.
Connor raised an eyebrow but did as commanded. He caught Jen’s gaze on him and absent-mindedly sent her a wink, after which she immediately looked away. He hadn’t meant to do it, a playful show of amusement which was second nature between them, or used to be.
When Megan’s food was cool enough to be eaten, she twisted her mouth into an unhappy line as she suddenly stared intently at her plate. “Daddy, it’s not right,”
Jen was already looking around for a waiter and Connor rubbed his temple as he apologized. “Sorry, sweetie. I forgot to tell them to put parmesan cheese on top.”
Still frowning, Megan picked up her fork. “It’s ok.”
Jen caught the attention of one of the staff who immediately came over. “Can we get some parmesan cheese, please?”
“Of course,” the man hurried away.
“Mommy to the rescue,” Connor said. Neither one of his girls responded. Megan stared glumly at her food while Jen pushed her meatballs around her own plate with her fork. Connor picked up his utensils, determined to make this meal a happy one. “Meggie’s been trying to recruit me,” he said to Jen.
She raised her gaze from her plate to his face. “Hmm?”
Connor grinned at his daughter then sent a smile to his wife as he explained, “She wants me to help convince your mom to get a kitten.”
“Ah,” Jen swirled some pasta around her fork. “Yeah, not going to happen.”
Megan was looking in the direction the waiter had rushed off to, but she did state, “Grandma will get one. You’ll see, just wait.”
Connor shared a bemused glance with Jen as the both observed their daughter. He smirked. “A touch over-confident there, Meggie. You know how grandma feels about animals in the house.”
Megan’s face brightened, the waiter was hurrying back to their table with a bowl in his hand. Under Megan’s intense gaze, he spooned out some parmesan cheese over her pasta and meatballs.
“More, please,” Megan said. She got another spoonful of grated cheese then said, “Another.”
The waiter grinned. “Are you sure?”
“Yep,” Megan picked up her fork and spoon, closely watching him dish out the third spoonful of parmesan cheese.
She opened her mouth and Connor quickly nipped it in the bud by stating with unrelenting firmness, “That’s enough, sweetie. You’ll end up with more cheese than pasta on your plate if you have any more.” He gestured with a small wag of hand to the waiter enough had been given. “Thank you.”
“Is there anything else I can get for you?” he asked. When Connor gave him a slight shake of head to indicate no, the waiter smiled and moved off with a pleasantly murmured, “Enjoy your meal.”
They all started eating and Connor couldn’t help his gasp of surprise as he finished che
wing. “Wow, this is really good.”
“Mhmm,” Megan mumbled as she noisily slurped a piece spaghetti through her lips. It sent a few droplets of sauce flying and Connor chuckled under his breath. With her mouthful not fully chewed, she asked, “Daddy, can I try yours?”
Connor nodded as he prepared a forkful for her to try. He looked over at Jen. “How’s your food, babe?” The term of endearment had slipped out of its own accord.
“Fine.” Her one word answer was jarring, enough so she subconsciously winced. Jen added a soft, “Thank you.” She raised her gaze to meet his. “How’s yours?”
Connor smiled. Small steps, small steps were good. “It’s nice.” He held his stacked fork out to Megan to give her a taste of the dish and she eagerly gobbled it off his fork. “Did Daddy pick a good restaurant?”
Megan nodded enthusiastically while Jen’s features lent an air of disgust. She shook her head at them. “Yucky. Now you’ve both shared germs.”
Connor’s grin widened. He nudged Megan with his elbow. “We don’t have germs, do we?”
Megan shook her head and Jen raised one eyebrow at them. “Meg’s been sniffling the past few days,”
Connor turned sideways, eyeballing his daughter with mock horror. “No,”
“Yes, you’re compromised now. No grown up can fight kids’ germs.” Jen was actually smiling now. It was a tiny smile, but small steps, he would happily take the small steps.
“I don’t have the sniffles,” Megan assured him in-between her chewing.
Connor narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he watched his daughter eat. “If I get the cold, I’ll give it right back to you.” he warned. “Sneeze all over-”
“Yuck,” Jen’s sharp reprimand halted his words. “That’s nasty.”
Megan nodded in agreement with her mother. “That’s very nasty.”
Suitably chastened, Connor observed his girls with a smile of contentment. “Alright. I’ll be good. No more talk of germs. How about we discuss birthdays?” Connor drawled. Megan sat up straight in her chair. He pretended to look confused. “I’m sure someone has a birthday coming up?”
“You know it’s me,” Megan rolled her eyes then danced in her seat. “I want a big party with all my friends. I want a swim party, Daddy!” She looked at Jen for support. “You said I could have a swim party, Mom,”
Jen nodded in agreement as she sliced one of her meatballs in half. “I did.”
Connor was glad he had brought up the subject of Megan’s birthday. They would have a pleasant meal, smile with each other as they planned her party, and when they left here he would hug them both tightly to remind them how much he loved them.
“Too much, Meg,” Jen warned when Megan tried to pile two meatballs and a swirl of spaghetti on her spoon.
Connor amended his intent. Jen would refuse his hug no doubt, but she couldn’t stop him from verbalizing his feelings. In fact, he cleared his throat and said, “I love you both very much.”
Megan looked up at him. “We love you too, Daddy.”
Jen evaded his gaze and filled her mouth with spaghetti, removing the expectation of her seconding Megan’s declaration. With a mouthful of food it would be rude to attempt speech.
“How’s your tummy?” Connor asked Megan. Small steps. He would figure out a way to work on Jen. “Still feeling ok?”
Megan nodded and gave him a messy grin. This was all that mattered for now, keeping a smile on his daughter’s face. Connor returned her grin, but from the corner of his eyes he caught a glimpse of the nosy woman peeking across at their table. The expression of pity she was directing at them was unwelcomed. He was sick and tired of the pity.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better, Meggie.” he murmured as he resumed eating. He noticed Jen watching them both from lowered eyes and sent her a warm smile. It took a couple of seconds but the edges of her mouth did curl up slightly. Connor would take whatever he could get. Small steps.
Chapter 7
I was a hypocrite. A big, disgusting hypocrite, but no one knew so it was perfectly fine. I held my hand up, catching the attention of the bartender and pointing to the not yet empty glass in front of me. She nodded and immediately went about fixing me another drink. I quickly downed the whiskey, my fourth, and mumbled a thanks when she slid the fresh drink in front of me and took away the empty glass.
“You ok?” she asked, terse and with narrowed eyes.
I raised my head, held her gaze and nodded once. She squinted at me for a few more seconds before moving off. Whiskey. I had never been a whiskey drinker before…before the death of my son. Wine, yes. Champagne, oh yes. Definitely beer. But whiskey? Whiskey, in my eyes, was for the hardened drinkers. The ones who had livers of steel, or whose livers had already been pickled to a state where it didn’t matter how much they drunk.
Hypocrite. I took a dainty sip, conscious of the bartender’s not so hidden observation. I could appreciate her female concern, looking out for another woman even though her job was to serve drinks. There had been a couple of occasions when I’d plonked myself at the bar and it was a male bartender. The silent concern for my well-being was almost non-existent. They just poured my drinks, took my cash and moved on to the next patron.
I was a hypocrite. I had been coming to this bar once a month for the past nine months. It was easy enough to do now; tell my mom I would be spending the night at Lala’s, tell Lala I was spending the night at a hotel for some much needed solitude. Neither one would question me, both would just give silent support to whatever I said. If only either one of them knew I spent the time sat in a bar getting drunk, they would be devastated…and worried. When I had lived at home with my husband it took a bit more orchestrating. Or had it? Connor had been so spaced out at one point I don’t think Meg and I even crossed his mind.
I was a hypocrite. I remembered my judgemental looks, the viciously whispered arguments over his drinking. Of course, I was right in calling him out. Where I had a few hours of drinking, always timed in a way it never affected my ability to deal with my daughter – I used to conveniently plan it around days my mom had her – Connor used to literally drink himself into a stupor. For three full months, he moped around the house, trying and failing to hide his drinking. Trying to find some comfort at the bottom of a bottle. Trying to comfort me, and failing. It was a haze back then. Everything was so…so unreal. Was I even remembering it correctly? But back to the fact I was a hypocrite. I downed the whiskey in one, simultaneously hating and enjoying the burn as it made its way down my throat to settle in my stomach. Once a month for the past nine months I allowed myself this most egregious of habits. I allowed myself to completely wallow in the ruins of my life. Good thing I hadn’t been sold the religious life stock. ‘Let he who was without sin cast the first stone’ might’ve tripped me up when arguing with Connor about his drinking. Or ‘judge not lest ye be judged’, yeah that was another one. I snorted to myself and wondered how long to wait before calling the bartender over again. I would give it five minutes, maybe ten, then call her over. Another derisive snort escaped me. For someone who wasn’t religious, I sure knew a lot about religion. But my mom had grown up in a very religious family. It was her upbringing which had ensured the exact opposite in mine. A tiny smile flitted across my mouth as I remembered the discussions she would encourage me to join when I was young, many times well above my immature understanding, yet she would sit there and allow me to clumsily attempt to explain my point of view while Daddy nodded encouragingly.
Reason. My mother was a staunch believer in reasoning, in logic, in seeing things for what they were and not what we foolishly wanted them to be.
My marriage was fucked. I could see it. Connor had yet to accept it. Meg would learn to accept it once I explained it to her…eventually. Kids nowadays were used to their parents divorcing, right? I knew of three classmates of Meg whose parents had gotten divorce over the past two years. The sudden movement at the edge of my peripheral vision had me turning my head sideways. Shit.
“Hey,” He was grinning, it was a friendly grin, definitely designed to put me at ease.
My mouth pulled into a tight line and tugged up at the edges for a split second. A sort of ghost smile, a polite leave-me-the-fuck-alone smile. His grin widened, he obviously didn’t sense my unwillingness to engage in any form of interaction.
“Congratulations,” the man who had decided to intrude on my solitude plopped himself down on the stool next to me. I exhaled softly, weighing up whether I should just ignore him or give up the two minutes it would take to send him on his way. Before I could reply, he continued. “Or is it commiserations? It all depends on who started it.”
I squinted in confusion. “Excuse me?”
A triumphant look flashed over his round face, he obviously thought he had successfully gotten the ball rolling. Stranger-danger man pointed to my hand. “Your ring is gone.”
His comment had me tensing up, had me leaning away from him and instinctively gripping my shoulder bag tighter. Thank goodness I had chosen to wear sneakers instead of the pretty flats I had been deliberating over earlier.
He immediately saw my alarm and raised his hands, palms facing out in an attempt to show he meant no harm. “I come here a lot, and I’ve seen you here before,” He cleared his throat, still maintaining his grin. “Uh, you used to wear a wedding ring, erm, but you don’t now,” His grin started to falter. “Um, I’m not a stalker or anything.” Then came that weird partially uncomfortable, partially determined laugh all guys do when their ego might be in line for a kicking. “So you don’t have to worry or anything.” He cleared his throat some more and straightened his shoulders. “Can I buy you a drink?” Once again, he pushed on without getting a reply from me. Quickly catching the bartender’s attention, he said, “Another drink for the lady.”
The bartender came over, eyed me, eyed the guy, then asked, “Coke, yeah?”
“Yes, thank you.” I murmured and ignored the man’s perplexed expression as he peered at my empty whiskey glass.