Living Backwards

by Tracy Sweeney

  Danielle hopped in place, clapping her hands. “Yay! It’s fabric time. If you’ll excuse me.”

  “I’ll…won’t you need help?” Jillian asked.

  “That’s what delivery people are for,” she replied, shaking her head. “I’ll be right back.”

  After a week of thinking of nothing but this girl, I found myself wishing that I had gone directly to the bar. I wasn’t ready for this conversation. I was too aware of what I was doing with my hands. I ran one along the back of my neck, tucking the other in my coat pocket.

  While I was still trying to think of a safe topic to broach, Jillian broke the silence.

  “I sent you a message,” she said softly. “On Facebook.” This was exactly the conversation I wanted to avoid.

  “I’ve been really busy,” I lied. “I haven’t been on my computer in awhile.”

  “Oh,” she replied, looking down at her shoes. “Well…I did.”

  “Jillian! Luke!” Danielle called, walking through the doorway. It was a relief that our awkward exchange was over and we could focus on something else. “Wait until you see how beautiful the colors are against the grain.”

  Jillian walked over to Danielle, who was holding a roll of the material up against the wall.

  “Nice, right?” she asked, beaming.

  “It’s great,” I replied. “Listen, I need to get to the bar, but I stopped by to talk to you about the marquee.”

  “Oh yes!” she exclaimed. “Have you decided on a name?”

  “Um…yeah,” I replied, suddenly self-conscious. “Grace’s Fire.”

  “Aw, Luke,” Danielle sighed. “That’s so sweet. Don’t you think that’s sweet, Jill?”

  “That’s a lovely idea, Luke,” she said, gazing at me. Embarrassed that I had stared a little longer than I should have, I decided to make a quick exit.

  “Well, I need to get going. I’ll probably stop by tomorrow and check in.”

  “Actually, that won’t be necessary,” Danielle replied, happily. “We’re coming to the bar tomorrow night.”

  “We?” I asked, even though I knew who she meant.

  “All of us. Me, Josh, Nate, Meg, Jillian,” she explained, looking at me like I was crazy. I suddenly felt like there was a lump in my throat.

  “That’s…great. Um, I’ll see you tomorrow night, then.”

  “Bye, Luke,” Danielle replied, with a cheerful wave.

  I glanced at Jillian just as she was looking up at me.

  “Bye,” she added, with a tight smile.

  Once I got into my car, I grabbed my phone, praying that Carter had responded. Fortunately, he replied that he’d meet me at the diner around eleven. I needed that talk with him now more than ever.

  By ten forty-five the following day, I was settled into a corner booth, waiting for Carter to arrive. I fidgeted with the salt shaker, spinning it in place absently as I watched the door for him to arrive.

  At eleven on the dot, Carter breezed in, heading straight to the booth we always occupied. He slid into the seat, watching as I rolled the salt shaker between my hands.

  “So, are we going to exchange pleasantries, or should I just ask now why you look like hell?” he asked, nonchalantly.

  “I was going to say hello first,” I replied. “But that’ll do. Thanks for that, by the way.”

  The waitress made her way over to us, filling the empty cups in front of us with coffee. Carter looked up at her and smiled, pausing to speak until she’d walked away.

  “Seriously. Are you even sleeping?” he asked, searching my eyes. There were dark circles underneath them when I looked in the mirror that morning. That tends to happen when you wake up at five o’clock every day to run on a treadmill like a lunatic. “What’s her name?”

  Startled by his assumption, I knocked over the shaker, spilling salt all over the table.

  “Why would you assume—”

  “So you’re saying this,” he began, motioning to my face, “is not about a girl?”

  I suddenly felt very uncomfortable—embarrassed to be falling apart over a girl from so long ago. I should be over this by now. I shouldn’t be acting this way, and I sure as hell shouldn’t be feeling this way. Biting back my nerves, I drew a deep breath, closing my eyes and resting my head against the back of the booth.

  “Do you remember Jillian Cross?”

  “Of course I remember Jillian Cross,” he replied, as if the answer were obvious.

  “Well, the girl we ran into at the grocery store last month is a friend of hers.”

  “I see.”

  “So I’ve seen her a few times during the past month…not a date. Just…casually.”

  I knew I was probably driving him crazy drawing this out but I sounded like such an idiot already. Telling him that I was screwed-up over a girl I knew in high school was going to take some time.

  “How’d that go?”

  “Not great,” I replied. “We left things…there were a lot of unresolved issues.”

  “She didn’t want you to go to New York with her,” he said flatly. “She was right, you know. I know you don’t want to hear that.”

  “Carter…I can’t…how can you even say that? She just left. Who does that?”

  Taken aback by my outburst, he raised his eyebrows which I was sure was a signal for me to get a grip. I wished it was that easy.

  “I’m not saying that she went about it the right way. Not everyone reacts well to stress, Luke,” he replied, with a pointed stare. “I’m just saying that it would have been a mistake to give up the opportunity Jonas was offering. Clearly, it was a good decision.”

  I groaned, burying my head in my hands and raking them through my hair.

  “So, I’m assuming you still have feelings for Jillian,” he hedged.

  “I don’t know what the hell I’m feeling anymore.”

  “I think you know exactly how you feel,” he countered. “What about her? How does she feel?”

  The words she said and the way she said them played over again in my head. I thought about the email, and how she claimed that she meant everything she said. Even though I had thought of nothing but that declaration all week, repeating it out loud was something else entirely. I closed my eyes, drawing a breath before continuing.

  “She said she left because she was in love with me. She wants to get to know me again.”

  Carter stared at his coffee mug and for a moment I thought he wasn’t going to say anything at all.

  “Do you remember that first time I took you to the cliffs?” he asked, looking up at me cautiously.

  “Of course.”

  “We talked about your dad.”

  He stopped, lost for a moment in his thoughts. “Forgiveness is a tricky thing. You can really want to forgive a person. You can really not even be all that angry anymore. But as much as you want to move on, you just can’t. It’s just a natural instinct we have to protect ourselves.

  “Jillian didn’t set out to hurt you. She actually thought she was helping you. You may not be ready to see that now, but I think in time you’ll see things differently.”

  While it felt good to talk to Carter about Jillian, I didn’t feel any less confused. I was still pissed off that she left, but at the same time, she was all I could think about.

  We spent the remainder of the time discussing the plans for the restaurant. I told Carter that I was going to name it after Grace and ask her to plan the menu. He agreed that she would probably cry throughout the rest of the conversation, but once she recovered, she’d dive right into planning the restaurant’s signature taste.

  After we said our goodbyes, I drove back to my condo, deciding to freshen up a bit before heading to the bar for the night. I told myself that I was showering to wake myself up, but that really wasn’t the only reason.

  When I arrived at the bar, the place was already packed. Peter had his hands full so instead of going straight to my office, I headed behind the bar to help him out.

  There were some nig
hts that went by without incident. The patrons behaved. The crowd stayed under control. Then there were some nights when you knew right away that the amateurs had come out to play. An hour into the evening, I shut-off two drunken coeds and escorted a belligerent frat boy off the premises.

  Not long after, I was forced to call a cab for one of our regulars who had decided he could match some kid celebrating his twenty-first birthday, beer-for-beer. He was pushing sixty, and his wife would not be pleased.

  I helped Frank get into the cab out front, handing the driver some cash for his fare. Just as I was walking back to the bar, I heard someone shouting my name. Spinning around, I caught a glimpse of Josh through the crowd. The line at the bar was still two- and three-people deep. I waved, motioning for him to give me a second so I could help Peter out for a bit. As soon as I was back behind the bar, I glanced over to where I had seen Josh, finding Jillian instead. She was sitting with a wine glass in front of her, twisting it slowly as she listened to the others talk. Her hair was up, and because nothing in my life was fair, she was wearing a tight red shirt with lipstick that matched.

  When we got the crowd at the bar under control, I made my way over to their table. Nate was in the middle of a story.

  “So, I was like ‘No, Olbermann, it’s not cool for you to compare the game to Hannibal’s trek across the Alps. This is football, man. We got rid of Dennis Miller for a reason.’”

  I couldn’t help but laugh when I caught the end of his diatribe.

  “Hey, Luke,” he said. “You agree with me, right? Olbermann needed to haul ass back to MSNBC.”

  “Yeah. I wasn’t a big fan,” I replied.

  “Is it always like this in here?” Josh asked, nodding over at the crowded bar.

  “Some nights, but I usually have a backup bartender. He’s on vacation so I’m pulling double-duty.”

  “Well, I personally love when a place is jumping like this,” Danielle began. “Jillian was just saying that she wanted to do some body shots.”

  God hates me.

  “What!” Jillian exclaimed. “I never…Danielle, I swear to God…”

  “We’re not a body-shot type of place, Danielle,” I replied, anxious to change the subject.

  “I was just kidding. God, neither of you can take a joke.”

  Yes, Danielle, it’s hysterical for me to think of Jillian laying on the bar, waiting for someone—me—to lick salt off her skin. So funny.

  “And you pay to spend extra time with her,” Megan interjected. “I thought you were smarter than that, Luke.”

  “Oh, can it, you,” Danielle replied. “I’m wonderful and you know it.”

  “Well, I have to grab something from the supply room,” I explained, looking for a clean exit. “I’ll be back to check in on you in a bit. No body shots while I’m gone,” I added, pointing at Danielle. She put her left hand over her heart and raised her right hand, swearing to behave.

  When I reached the supply room, I took a moment to pull my shit together. If I could just make it through the evening, I would sit down and respond to her email. I’d be honest. I’d tell her I needed time.

  After I grabbed a case of wine, I pushed awkwardly through the crowd to get back to Peter. Glancing over at the bar, I stopped dead in my tracks. Jillian was standing behind the bar—my bar—with Peter behind her. She had an empty martini glass in front of her and Peter held a silver shaker in his hands. He reached around her to bring the glass close, while Danielle leaned over the bar watching attentively. His face was practically in Jillian’s hair.

  I was going to kick his ass.

  Incensed, I made it to the bar in a few quick strides. If anyone had been watching, it would have looked like I was about to kill Peter. It wasn’t completely out of the question.

  “Am I interrupting?” I asked, setting wine down and glaring at him.

  “Oh, hey boss! I was just showing your friend here how to make a cosmo. We were just finishing and I was going to get her—”

  “I think you need to get those people at the end of the bar some drinks. Right, Pete?” I suggested, lacking any obvious subtlety.

  “Right, sure,” he replied, looking at me like I was crazy. I honestly didn’t care. I clearly was crazy. “You’re the boss. Enjoy, ladies” he added, handing me the shaker.

  “We didn’t mean to get anyone in trouble, Luke,” Jillian began nervously. “We were just joking about how hard it is to mix a good drink and Danielle practically begged him to show me.”

  She glared at Danielle, who just shrugged.

  “Just having a little fun, Luke,” Danielle added. “Don’t blame Peter. I’m the sinner here.”

  “I’m not upset, Danielle,” I replied. Because I wasn’t anymore—at least now that Peter’s face was out of Jillian’s hair. I turned to Jillian, who was shifting uncomfortably in front of me.

  “You wanted to learn how to make a cosmo?” I asked, changing my tone, attempting to sound like I wasn’t ready to commit capital murder a minute ago.

  “It’s not a big deal, really,” she stammered.

  I held up the container and began shaking it.

  “We keep the shakers chilled. When you pour the drink into a glass, you should notice small plates of ice forming across the top. Some bartenders don’t take the time to chill both the glass and the shaker. You’ll still get a good drink, but that’s the difference between good and great.”

  I poured the red liquid into the glass and small flecks of ice rose to the top.

  “Time,” I added, looking at Jillian as I slid the drink to Danielle, “and a little patience. That’s the key.”

  “Time,” she replied, echoing my words. I hoped she understood what I meant. I hope she understood that I couldn’t offer much more right now. I couldn’t even coherently explain to Carter how I was feeling. Time was what I needed.

  “Ooo-kay,” Danielle drawled, grabbing the glass. “On that note, I’ll meet you back at the table, Jill.”

  Before she could protest, Danielle was lost in the crowd, leaving us alone and me feeling self-conscious.

  Did I really just make a martini metaphor? What the hell am I doing?

  “What was he making you?” I asked, breaking the silence.

  “Oh, just a glass of pinot grigio,” she replied. “Please.”

  I showed her the brands we had in stock and she chose the one she wanted. She still seemed very uncomfortable, and I was sure I had only made it worse.

  “I read your email,” I said, pouring the wine, only able to mention it because I had something else to focus on.

  “I figured,” she replied, softly. “You seemed a little…tense.”

  “I meant to reply but it’s been a crazy week.”

  “No, it’s fine. Really,” she said, focusing on her glass. “I just…I just wanted you to know.”

  When she looked up at me through her lashes, I felt as though my chest was caving in. It reminded me of the way she looked the first time I kissed her. It reminded me that I wanted to kiss her again. But as soon as the thought entered my mind, I was reminded that I still didn’t trust her.

  “Luke,” she began. “I’ll wait—”

  “Um, boss,” Peter shouted from the other side of the bar. I looked over to see two huge guys shoving each other right in front of him.

  “Jesus. Stay here,” I told her.

  As a general rule, once a couple of guys started pummeling each other, the other yahoos in their vicinity usually took it as an open invitation to slug anyone they wanted. If a big fight broke out, I wanted Jillian to stay put.

  Peter and I managed to pry the juiceheads apart, shoving them into opposite ends of the room. Their friends soundly decided to usher them out of the bar before any further damage could be done.

  When I returned to the bar, Jillian was where I left her, but Danielle and the others were standing there as well.

  “We’re taking off,” Josh announced, draping his arm over Danielle’s shoulder. “Seems like you have your
hands full tonight.”

  “Yes, and Luke, I’m planning a dinner in your honor this week,” Danielle added. “We need to celebrate your new venture…and the amazing designer you hired. What works for you—Tuesday or Wednesday?”

  Jillian was glaring at Danielle again, but Danielle seemed to be ignoring her.

  “Um...either is fine,” I stammered.

  “Fantastic. Tuesday it is,” she replied.

  We said our goodbyes, Nate insisting on some fist-bump, and I was suddenly left alone with Jillian.

  “Thank you…for the lesson,” she said, looking at me that way again.

  “Anytime.”

  And for a moment, neither of us said anything, but just stared at each other.

  “Well, I’ll see you on Tuesday,” she added, finally breaking the tension. With a small smile, she turned and headed to the door.

  I was left to obsess over ever word, every smile, every motion she made until Tuesday when I’d be subjected to another night of wanting her and hating myself for it. I guessed I’d be hitting the treadmill when I got home.

  Everyone handles stressful situations in different ways. They bake. They focus. They fight. They run. They do whatever they can do to stop thinking about what she said.

  They spend all week thinking about what she said.

  They get by.

  Then the really stupid ones do it all over again.

  CHAPTER 23

  Jillian

  As we get older, our memories become less vivid—some get hazy, while others simply fade away. You may only remember parts of an event. You may forget some of the details. You may not know what you wore, or who said what. Sometimes, as we get older, it’s just hard to sort through all of the names and dates and places. Everything gets jumbled.

  I had a great memory during my first life. For some reason, I was able to retain the most useless details about the most random things. I would never forget where I parked my car and I never missed paying a bill. I remembered the birthdates of second cousins and the names of our mailman’s kids. When someone told me a story, I remembered it—every detail. It was something I always felt came in handy.