Anything for You

by Kristan Higgins

  And being around Jessica, in any way, was preferable to the alternative.

  "Bartending? Colleen already asked me."

  "No. Marketing."

  She raised her eyebrows. "O'Rourke's needs help?"

  "No. The brewery. You know."

  "Um...no, I don't."

  Right. It was quite possible that Connor had never told her, since they'd never had a normal relationship with talking and meals and all that. "Well, I've been working with Tim Parsons about opening a brewery, and it seems like a good time." Because now that you left me, I have quite a bit of time on my hands. "I figured it could be...you know. Good." Captain Eloquence, that was him.

  "Connor, that's great," she said. "I think that's a fantastic idea."

  "Really?"

  "Yes! Who better than you, right? You know food, so you'd know what to drink with it."

  "Yeah. That's what I had in mind. You know how restaurants always recommend a wine pairing. No one recommends beer, and why not? So I'd consult, basically, and Tim would do the real work, but I'd tell him what flavors I wanted to go with different kinds of food, and serve them at O'Rourke's, and kind of...go from there."

  She was smiling. Just a little, but he felt it in his blood cells, all of which were marching south, whistling happily.

  Get up, doofus. Her answer to his proposal echoed in his mind.

  The whistling stopped.

  "Let me check with the Hollands and see if they'd mind," Jessica said. "If they say it's okay, I'd love to help."

  Connor stood up. "Great. Work me up an estimate if they say yes."

  "You don't have to pay me."

  "Yes. I do."

  Those words shut down the warm light in her eyes. But he did have to. They could be friendly, and maybe they could work together, but he couldn't go back to begging for scraps from her table.

  A door opened, and the hallway was suddenly filled with chatter. "You're going to love it, it'll be so fab! And I love your idea of having people arrive by horse and carriage! Oh, my God! Connor! Hi! Are you looking for me?"

  It was what's-her-name. His date. "Hey," he said, standing up. "How are you?" Molly? Mary? Maybe? No, not Maybe. Marcy, that was it.

  "Elizabeth, this gorgeous guy is Connor O'Rourke," Marcy continued, stepping aside so another woman could peek in. "He owns the cutest little tavern in the Village here. You should book him for your rehearsal dinner! Seriously. The food is ah-mazing!"

  "Hi," said a smiling woman. "If Marcy recommends you, it must be great."

  "Thanks." Maybe he should say something else. "You're getting married at the Barn?"

  "I am," she said. "Totally fell in love with it when I saw it online. And Marcy is so helpful."

  Connor glanced at Jessica, who hadn't yet been acknowledged, then back at the bride. "Good."

  "By the way, Connor, I got your text," Marcy said, leaning in Jessica's doorway. "I totally can't wait. Where should we meet?"

  "Uh, your choice," he said.

  "Okey-dokey," she said. "I'll text you later. Come on, Elizabeth, we have tons to go over! This will be the most special day of your entire life! I promise you! That's what every one of my brides says to me. Without fail. I kid you not."

  They went into her office and closed the door.

  That had been fairly exhausting. Marcy was very cute, if you somehow silence that voice and cut her energy level by, oh, ninety-eight percent.

  And now Jessica knew he had a date with her. She sure didn't seem to care. He looked at her another minute. She returned his look, calm as Buddha. Three feet away, pal.

  "Send me that estimate," he said. "And thank you, Jessica."

  With that, he went back out, waved to his mom again and turned his five-mile run into ten.

  Maybe exhaustion would get Jess out of his head.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  JESSICA'S HANDS WERE shaking as she got out of her car in front of Hugo's. She took a calming breath, looked out over Keuka Lake, and took another.

  When her father had just appeared like that, Jessica thought that maybe, for the first time in her life, she might pass out. Her skin crawled in a massive, wriggling wave, and her heart started thudding so hard she could feel it in her eyes.

  Davey, the traitor, hugging him.

  And then Keith called her his baby girl.

  She'd grabbed Davey by the arm and dragged him to the car. "I want to see Dad!" he said, and she could feel his anger building up and knew she'd be faced with a huge rage storm back home, and she didn't care.

  "Get in the car. Now," she ordered.

  "But it's Dad! He came back for us!"

  "Get in the car, Davey! Right now!" Right now was their code for emergency, and Davey's eyes widened. He did as he was told, shoulders bent, and Jess felt two inches tall.

  Their father was running down the street to catch up. "Jessica, honey, I know I have a lot to make up to you--"

  "Shut up." She turned to her father, her fingernails digging into her palms, her fists were clenched so hard. "You don't get to do this," she hissed. "You don't just pop in and start hugging. You stay away from my brother or I will kill you."

  She hadn't meant to say that. It felt true, nonetheless. And it felt evil and powerful and good.

  "You have every right to be mad," he said. "I accept that, and I take full responsibility."

  "So what?" She got into the car, shoved the key in the ignition and peeled away from the curb.

  "Jess?" Davey's voice was small. "Aren't you happy to see Dad?"

  "No, sweetheart. I'm not." Her voice was odd, and she ran the stop sign. Shit. She took her foot off the gas and slowed down.

  "I love Daddy."

  Jess glanced in the rearview. His eyes were wider than usual. He was scared.

  She had scared him.

  The lump in her throat was strangling her. "Let's talk about this later, okay?"

  "Will Dad come live with us?"

  "Later, Davey."

  "I want Dad to come live with us."

  She tried to relax her choke hold on the steering wheel. "He's not."

  "Well, I want him to!"

  "That's too bad, Davey. He's probably only in town for a day or two. To go to the casino, not see us."

  "He said he missed me! He said he loves me!"

  He doesn't.

  The words practically tore her chest apart trying to get out.

  The next day, she'd found a note taped to the front door. Keith--he didn't deserve the title of Dad--wanted to talk. He'd been sober for a thousand days. He wanted to make amends and try to rebuild his relationship with his children.

  The only thing missing from the note were kitten stickers, a drawing of a rainbow and the winning Powerball ticket.

  But he was in Manningsport, and Jess couldn't see a way around talking to him, because if she knew her father, he'd take the path of least resistance. And that was through Davey.

  So she called the number he'd left and tersely agreed to meet him at Hugo's, because O'Rourke's would be too busy and full of people she knew. Hugo's catered more to the out-of-towners.

  And Connor didn't work there.

  When he offered to get rid of her father for her, she almost cried. Wanted so, so much to find herself in his arms and let him take care of her, and yes, let him beat the shit out of her father, and scare him so bad he'd never come back.

  But if she started to let stuff like that come out, who the hell knew when it would stop?

  She could deal with Keith Dunn on her own. She had to deal with him on her own. And she would. No one else could do it.

  "Hello, Miss Beautiful," Hugo said as she came in. "I have the corner reserved for you."

  Good old Hugo. He knew about her history with her father.

  Keith Dunn had been a pretty high-functioning alcoholic. Better than Mom, who truly was addicted, who once drank hand sanitizer at the hospital when she was desperate, who tried over and over and over to quit, failing each time.

  No,
Keith was a beer man--Pabst Blue Ribbon, a twelve-pack a day even when they were on food stamps. Though he was skinny, he looked bloated, as if beer would leak out of his pores if you brushed against him.

  But he never seemed drunk the way Mom did. It made it worse somehow; like he made the conscious decision to let everything fall to Jessica, and he'd just pop another beer and watch TV.

  The corner table was as private as Hugo's had, often reserved for marriage proposals. Today, the interaction that took place here wouldn't be so pretty. Jess sat down and straightened the butter knife.

  She hadn't gone home to change first, wanting to look as professional as possible. Gray pencil skirt, white blouse, black pumps with a strap across the ankle, hair in a plain French twist.

  "You look hot," said Felicia, who, like Jess, had been here for years. She handed over a menu. "The whole corporate thing...you look like a porno about to start. Just let down your hair and start flipping it around."

  "Not really the look I was going for."

  "I'd take it in a heartbeat. Don't tell me you have a date."

  "My father."

  Felicia winced. "Shit."

  "Don't take our order, okay? We won't be long."

  Felicia put her hand on Jess's shoulder. "Gotcha."

  "Wait, Felicia. Um...bring me a glass of wine, okay? No, a beer. It doesn't matter what kind."

  Because a beer was his drink. It would be a challenge, would weaken her father, distract him and remind him.

  She twisted her thumb ring. Man, she didn't want to be here! The urge to bolt back home and lock the door shimmered like a mirage. Davey playing with his Avengers figures, a big bowl of pasta with garlic and olive oil for dinner, HGTV or Robert Downey, Jr. on the TV.

  Instead, she was here, waiting for her worst nightmare to arrive.

  Felicia returned with her beer, gave her a smile, then went to wait on a large party that had just come in.

  Shit on a shoelace. Jess felt suddenly, horribly alone.

  And then, like a miracle, there was Pru and Carl, Honor and Tom. Felicia led them to a table a little ways away; out of earshot, but close enough. Honor gave her a reassuring nod, Tom a little salute. Carl waved, but Pru came over.

  "I happened to run into your father today," she said. "Asked him why he was back in town, and he said he wanted to make amends. He mentioned you were coming here. Thought you could use a little backup."

  Sometimes a knight in shining armor was actually a woman dressed in flannel. "Thank you," Jess whispered.

  "We're here. But you got this, Jess. You do."

  It was very, very hard not to cry. Prudence smiled at her. "Besides, Carl and I have exhausted every superhero sex game we can think of. We're going old-school tonight. Just two middle-aged married people having dinner with family."

  Jess gave a shaky laugh.

  "Good luck, hon." With that, Pru went over to her husband.

  For most of her life, Jess had hated the Holland family, hated them for being everything her family wasn't. And here they were, backing her up. Being her friends.

  This was going to be an emotional night.

  Jess took a sip of the beer just to remind herself that she could. She was better than her parents. She'd never been drunk in her life.

  Then in he came. Looked around the restaurant, saw her and smiled.

  It was the first time Jess could recall seeing him at Hugo's sober, since he used to visit her here when he needed her tip money for an "emergency." Happy times, Keith talking too loudly, Jess trying not to have their business broadcast to everyone, inevitably giving him money to make him go away.

  Now, Keith walked over to her table, and Jess's hands curled into fists. She was sweating. Hopefully, she looked like fury encased in ice.

  "Hi, Jess. I really appreciate you meeting me," he said. "Is it all right if I sit down?"

  "Sure."

  He looked healthier, Jess had to give him that. His bright blue eyes weren't bloodshot; his shirt wasn't stained. And aside from a few lines around his eyes, he was the same.

  "You look incredible," he said, smiling. "You look like you could be the President, you're so classy."

  "Why are you here?" she asked. No point in bullshitting.

  "I want to make amends."

  "The program works if you work the program?" Hey. She knew AA. Or at least, she knew Al-Anon. Some kids in high school played soccer, some were in drama club, some worked twenty hours a week and went to meetings for kids whose parents were drunks.

  "Exactly," Keith said.

  "Don't get your hopes up." She took a slow, deliberate sip of beer.

  "My hopes are pretty low," he said, his eyes on the drink. He tapped his forefinger against the tablecloth. "Jessie, I've been sober for one thousand and fifteen days." He fished something out of his pocket. A coin from AA. Big deal. You could buy those on Amazon, probably.

  "Congratulations. Don't come around here anymore."

  "I'd like to have you and Davey back in my life."

  "Permission denied."

  He nodded, not quite looking at her. "You're angry, I understand that. And I can't undo what I did. But I love you and Davey--"

  "No, you don't."

  "I have a disease, Jessie."

  "I don't want to hear it. Mom had a disease, remember? She died, if you recall, and right after that, you blew out of town, took out three credit cards in my name and put me fourteen grand in the hole while I waitressed to support your disabled son."

  There was a clatter from the Holland table. Jess had the impression that Pru had just grabbed a sharp object, God bless her.

  "Yes," Keith said. "I did all those things. And I regret them, and I'll never do them again, and I am very, very sorry."

  "I don't care. I really don't. You're as dead to me as Mom."

  He looked out the window, blinking. "I'd like to earn a place in your life, Jessie. And Davey's. I've been sober for almost three years."

  "So what? Davey's all grown up, and I've finally managed to get out of that trailer park. I have a decent job with health benefits. We don't need anything from you."

  "I'd like a chance to do better."

  "I'm thirty-two years old. I don't need a daddy. Not anymore."

  "Davey might."

  Her hands went ice cold. "Well, I've been mother and father to him all these years, so if you think you're going to waltz in here and take him to a ball game or a movie and make everything right, think again. Best thing you can do for us is leave and never come back."

  "I have a job at the salt plant over in Dundee. I rented a little place there. I'm here to stay, honey. And I don't care how long it takes. I'll make this up to you."

  "How do you make up someone's childhood? How do I get a do-over on that, huh?"

  "Okay, you're angry. I accept that."

  "How generous of you."

  He sighed. "But I have to say, I think you're exaggerating how bad things were," he said, and that's when Jessica completely surprised herself and threw her beer in his face.

  *

  CONNOR WAS IN a particular circle of hell known as the date who never stopped to draw breath.

  Marcy.

  "So there we were, and not to toot my own horn--" as if she'd been doing anything else since they sat down "--no one wants to be the one responsible for an Oscar winner's wedding disaster, am I right? So I say, in Italian, did I mention I'm fluent? I say, 'You there! Put on this striped shirt and row! I don't care if you can't swim! Ah ha! Ah ha! Ah ha ha ha!"

  That was her laugh. The first time she'd let it rip, Connor thought she was coughing up a hairball. Also, she yelled all her sentences. People were looking at them, but Marcy seemed unaware.

  They were in the little bar at Hugo's, because he hadn't wanted to go to O'Rourke's, since Colleen would be there. Also, it was Wednesday, when the volunteer EMTs and firefighters had their meeting there, which consisted of pool-playing and dirty jokes.

  And Jess was on the fire department. He
didn't want her to see him with another woman. It just felt wrong.

  Marcy sounded like a flock of geese, honking incessantly. No, geese sounded too nice. That comparison wasn't fair to geese. Chickens. She sounded like a thousand chickens. A stadium of chickens.

  Fortunately, his participation in the conversation wasn't required. Marcy told stories. Namedropped a lot, not that Connor knew who any of these people were, but he'd already learned to simply nod and pretend he did, because otherwise, she'd tell him in excruciating detail.

  His phone buzzed, and though he hated when people checked their phones while out with real live humans, he suddenly understood the urge.

  Whenever he'd been with Jess, he'd turned off his phone completely.

  The phone buzzed again, urging him to sneak a peek. It was Colleen.

  Stop being so negative. There must be something you like about her. Try being positive for once in your life.

  He glanced around Hugo's tiny bar area to see if his sister was there. Nope. The magical twinsy bond struck again.

  He looked at Marcy, who was laughing at her own joke. Positive, positive. Well, she was cute, he'd give her that. Her hair was black and shiny, and though her eyes were small behind her glasses, they were a nice blue color. Average rack. A little thick around the middle, which he only noticed because she kept sucking in her stomach like she was about to blow out the candles on a centenarian's birthday cake.

  In the twenty minutes Connor had been on this date, Marcy had probably said more than Jessica had said in ten years.

  But Jess could say one word, and it would mean everything. Yes, for example. Yes would've meant everything.

  "So I'm standing there, and this guy says 'I love your outfit,' and I'm like, 'Hello? This shirt is ten years old! You have pretty lousy taste, pal.' And then I realize it's Michael Kors! I kid you not! Ah ha! Ah ha! Ah ha ha ha!"

  This date would never end.

  Then all of a sudden, Tom Barlow came through the bar, half dragging Keith Dunn by his collar, and escorted him none too gently out the door.

  There was only one reason Jess's father would be here.

  "Excuse me a second," Connor said. Without waiting for Marcy to answer, he went into the main section of the restaurant and saw Jessica at the corner table, surrounded by her friends--Honor and Pru and Hugo. The tablecloth in front of her was sopping wet.

  "Jess?" He knelt down in front of her and took her hand. If anyone didn't realize he was in love with her, they were blind or stupid. Her hand was icy, and he rubbed it between his. "You okay?"