The Weight of Life

by Whitney Barbetti

  He touched my shoulder. “You have goosebumps. I didn’t think this through.”

  “I don’t think either of us were thinking too much.”

  His smile softened and his touch moved to my face. “I can’t seem to sort my thoughts when I’m around you.”

  I covered his hand with mine. “Likewise, babe.”

  His eyes closed for a moment and when he opened them, he seemed different.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I watched the tick in his jaw. “I’m glad I could say goodbye to this place with a bang.”

  “Nice pun.” But I was sad for him.

  “I don’t want you freezing,” he said, and sat up, holding me with him. His head swung around the room. “I have no clue where I threw your clothes.”

  I stood up and walked in the direction I’d seen him throw at least one of my undergarments. I spied the black lace halfway under an open cabinet space.

  “Is this where the stove is going to go?” I asked as I slid the straps over my shoulders and fastened it behind my back.

  Ames pulled up his jeans and zipped them. “Was. And yes, it was going to be a wall of them there.” He bent over and grabbed his shirt.

  I found my panties draped over the top of an empty paint can and pulled them on. “I’m not sure where my shirt is,” I said on a laugh, picking up newspapers and seeing nothing.

  Ames tossed his tee to me. “Put this on until we find it.”

  I didn’t protest, just shoved my face into the warm cotton, breathed in his scent. He even smelled warm. When I looked up, Ames was looking at me. “You’ve gotta see this.”

  I walked across the room, to where the island lay haphazardly, pushed against some cabinets. I was expecting to see my shirt in some funny position, but instead what greeted me was an amalgamation of blues and reds from spilled paint cans, splashed across an unfinished white cabinet.

  “Oh, shit.” I put a hand to my mouth. “I don’t suppose you were going to paint those tie-dye, were you?”

  He laughed and put an arm around me, guiding me around the mess of cans and newspaper. “No. But it doesn’t matter anyway.” He pointed to the spot on the ground, where the paint was already spreading across the gray concrete. “That’ll probably stain.”

  “Oops.”

  He shrugged. “I like it. If I was keeping the place, I’d probably keep that stain.”

  Like the way the red seeped across the concrete, red spread in my face, and down my neck. If Ames could keep the restaurant, he could keep this. A small piece of us.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The moment I opened my hotel room door, anxiety hit me faster than my mother’s perfume.

  “Mila!” she exclaimed, wrapping her bony arms around me in a brisk hug. “Have you even brushed your hair today?”

  I sucked in the eye roll and ignored her, facing my father. “Hey, Dad.”

  His arm was wrapped around Jude’s shoulders, and he gave me enough attention to rub the top of my head before he pushed past me into the room that was theirs for their stay.

  Jude didn’t wait, just stepped forward and gave me the hug I’d needed from him. He was my only buffer between our parents, though I didn’t like putting him in that position. But because he was also my best friend, he stepped up to the plate time and time again. “Her hair looks great, Mom. It’s the style,” he called over my shoulder, and I squeezed him harder. When he pulled back, my anxiety had lessened a bit. “You look good, Mila-moo.”

  I leaned into him after closing the door. “Didn’t we discuss losing them in the airport on your way here?”

  “Yeah, well, they practically have me on GPS—hard to lose them.” He squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. “It’ll be fine. It’ll be great. Don’t worry.”

  But I couldn’t not worry.

  “I thought we were getting a garden view,” my mom said by the windows, frowning as she pulled off her gloves. My father was already hitting the liquor I’d purchased and placed on the cabinet by the television.

  “Sorry—this was all they had with two rooms next to each other. Like I told you on the phone, I could’ve stayed on this side and you on the garden side if you didn’t want adjoining rooms.”

  “Don’t be silly, Mila. We didn’t come all this way to spend time apart.” Her voice was cutting, and I felt immediately like I was a small child, being told to wait in the waiting room, being pushed aside so easily. I exhaled a deep breath and nodded, remembering my lines.

  “Of course, Mom.” I exchanged a look with Jude, whose face radiated apology. “Where’s Trista?”

  Jude looked pointedly at our parents, explaining without words that the reason he didn’t bring his girlfriend along was for this very reason. I tried not to be disappointed, because I genuinely liked Trista, but the fact that I’d stolen Colin from her still weighed heavily on me—which meant her absence was probably for the best.

  My father sighed as he sat with his glass of whiskey and turned on the television. My mother pulled out her phone and started tapping on the screen with her fake nails. If I could be consoled by anything, it was that nothing had changed, for better or worse.

  I sunk onto the bed nearest the door. “How was the flight?”

  “Ugh, long.” My mother tossed her gloves onto the stand by the television. “Already, George?” she asked my father, one auburn eyebrow raised.

  He ignored her—his special brand of love—and flipped to a channel that had sports on it.

  “Your father spent nearly thirty dollars on liquor just on the flight over,” she said, the disgust neatly tucked in the sides of her mouth, which were turned down.

  Despite my anxiety, I found a strange kind of comfort in how consistent my parents were toward each other. Nothing had changed there—which meant that this trip would be entirely predictable.

  “The flight was good,” Jude said, standing by the window with one hand holding the curtains back. “I slept most of it.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me.” I gave him a wry smile.

  “Well, I didn’t sleep.” My mother’s hand was over her throat, and she acted as if she was personally offended by the fact that Jude had dared fall asleep instead of listening to her manifesto on the seven-hour flight across the Atlantic.

  “You must be tired.” I waved a hand at the bed I sat on, and stood up, already ready to make my exit.

  “I could use a nap. I’m sure your father will be snoring after his second one of those.” She pointed at the drink in his hand, and he ignored her, just as she had ignored him in speaking of him in third person. “But I want to go out tonight.”

  I’d prepared a list of restaurants, knowing how my mother was the exact opposite of “easy to please.” But before I could list them, Jude turned to me. “Let’s go to Free Refills.”

  My mother turned to me with a question in her eyes and I turned to Jude with murder in mine. “No, it’s super casual. I’m sure Mom and Dad would be happier elsewhere.” Mentally, I kicked myself for keeping Jude apprised of my goings-on while I’d been in London. And mentally I kicked him too, for having a big mouth.

  She sat on the bed and released a sigh. “I don’t think I have the energy to get dressed up for a dinner anywhere upscale tonight.” She leaned back against the pillows, and I tried not to laugh at the picture she made, which contrasted completely with what she claimed. “What is this Free Refills?”

  “It’s a pub,” I said, smiling to myself for using Ames’ preferred term. “But really, you don’t want to go there, there’s—”

  “If it has food and drinks, I’m sure it’ll suit your father and I just fine,” she interrupted. She closed her eyes and her face relaxed, making her look years younger than usual. “I’ll just take a short nap and we’ll go.”

  Jude walked me out of the hotel room and once we were in the hallway, I turned to him. “Seriously, Jude? I don’t want to take Mom and Dad there!” I tried to remember if Ames was working. He knew my parents were coming to town, but we’d
never made actual plans for me to bring them by. That felt too … official for whatever it was that Ames and I had.

  “I want to meet this guy you’re blowing off work to spend time with.”

  Even though he hadn’t chastised me, it still felt like it. I gave him an awkward smile and walked down the hallway a ways, so I wasn’t right outside our parents’ door. “Sorry. I’ll work on that.” I rubbed my eyebrows. “And I’m fine with you meeting Ames, but I don’t want them to meet him.”

  “GPS, remember? They’re not going to let me go traipsing around the city without them on an invisible leash, being tugged along.” At my forlorn look, he put his hands on my shoulders. “It’ll be fine. It’ll be great. We’ll go for a couple drinks—Dad will get drunk enough that Mom will have to babysit him back to the hotel. I won’t make them suspicious about Ames at all.”

  I shrugged away from him. “Fine. But make sure Dad has a few here before we go. Shorten his time there, you know.”

  Jude promised and went back to our parents’ room. My own room was blessedly quiet, even with the low hum of Dad’s television show against the wall. I turned on my television for background noise, locked the door that adjoined the two rooms, and collapsed onto my bed with my phone in my hand.

  Me: Are you working tonight?

  I waited a very long time for Ames’ reply—an entire thirty minutes. It was long enough for me to know the answer before his Yes flashed across my screen.

  Me: Can you save me four seats around nine?

  Summoning Jude’s promise, I tried to agree with what he’d said. It would be fine. It’d be quick, painless, and my parents wouldn’t know about my little romance with a London bartender. I knew they wouldn’t object to my having a romance, but having a romance with someone on the opposite side of the world was more than they could actually endure. And while it didn’t matter to me what they thought, I didn’t want to listen to more badgering than necessary.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The pub was slammed, and Jennie was my only help up front for the night. My part-time employee was sick, and Lotte was alone in the kitchen with Sam, who was serving as her slave for the night—chopping vegetables, seasoning chicken, and washing the multitude of dirty cups that were stacked along the counter.

  But despite the noise, the bodies swarming what little available space existed around the dance floor, the moment she walked in the door, I knew immediately. It was after nine, so it was already dark outside—but it was that crazy kind of light that followed her like shadows followed everyone else that drew my attention to the entrance.

  Unlike all the other times she walked into my pub, the expression on her face was less than jubilant. And in seeing who followed her, I understood. A man much taller than her followed her, his eyes scanning the crowd, and based on how much they resembled one another with their coloring, I knew this was her twin brother, Jude. And judging by the older couple that followed them, I knew she’d brought the whole gang with her. Which explained her mood.

  They took the four seats I’d had Jennie save at the end of the bar, and I nearly laughed at Mila’s face—she looked like she was facing an executioner. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her eyes wide, and she mouthed, “Send Jennie,” to me.

  I shut down the disappointment I felt, and sent Jennie to their end to take orders while I filled an order for a hen party happening across the room.

  Jennie brushed past me to fill two glasses with lager. “We’re not going to survive this crowd.” Jennie was one of the most confident women I knew—often annoyingly so—so to hear that she was afraid of what the night would bring gave me pause. Tonight’s crowd was so unlike anything we’d previously had, so Jennie wasn’t wrong—we were wholly unprepared.

  “We’ll be fine.” I turned around, and accidentally bumped into her.

  “Shit!” she exclaimed as cold beer poured down her shirt. She looked at me with death in her eyes. “Ames!” She whipped off her apron to see the damage of her shirt.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, and handed her a rag. “See if Lotte has a shirt you can borrow.”

  She held the wet shirt away from her body and muttered a hundred obscenities. “I know you didn’t mean to, but it’s taking everything in my power not to destroy you right now.”

  I believed her, especially because the look in her eyes scared me enough that I couldn’t look too long. “Go on. I’ll hold down the fort.”

  “No you won’t. It’s mad in here.” She stepped through the door to the kitchen and I took a steadying breath and grabbed the beers she’d been pouring.

  “Hey,” I said softly when I got to the end of the bar where Mila and her family were. She smiled instantly and the fog lifted from her eyes. “Two lagers?”

  “Mine and his.” Mila pointed at the older man, whose beer I set down first. When I set hers down, I let my finger graze over her pinky before I pulled away.

  The woman I assumed to be Mila’s mother wasn’t talking to Mila at all—her attention completely focused on Jude. She seemed pushy in her affection for him, brushing his hair away from his forehead even as he resisted her touch.

  “Sorry, what did you order?” I asked Jude and the woman.

  Jude was eyeing me, but not in an intimidating way. It was the first time I’d ever met the brother of a girl I was interested in, and I wasn’t exactly sure how to play it, with her parents here. Mila had told me that she’d told Jude a little bit about me, about us, but I was at a disadvantage with knowing how much talk was appropriate at the moment.

  “Water for me.”

  “Mom, the sangria is really good.” Mila’s eyes flashed over to mine, her smile a little secretive.

  “Sangria? In a pub?” Mila’s mum made a face and peered up at the menu above my head. “Just give me a martini, please.”

  I nodded and moved down the bar, but not before poking my head into the kitchen. Sam was fending for himself, unloading the dishwasher and drying the wet dishes. I ran a hand over my head, realizing that Jennie was absolutely right. We were in trouble for the night.

  When I returned to Mila’s end of the bar with the drinks for Jude and her mum, Mila gripped my wrist, halting me from moving.

  “Mom, Dad, Jude, this is Ames.” Her eyes were unsure, worried. I turned my wrist enough so that I could curl my fingers with hers. “Ames, this is Jude—my brother. And George and Emma—my parents.”

  “How do you do?” I nodded at each of them.

  “Ames manages this bar,” Mila said without taking her eyes off of me.

  “Do you own it?” Emma asked. The answer seemed important to her.

  “No, my father-in-law does.”

  “Father-in-law?” She flicked her gaze to my ring and then sighed. “Mila…”

  Mila’s face went red. “Mom, it’s … never mind.” She wouldn’t look at me.

  “My wife passed away two years ago,” I butted in, surprising both me and Mila, judging by her expression. “I stayed on with my in-laws after that.” I laughed and looked around. “I’m doing a terrible job of it right now. We’re short-staffed.”

  “Where’s Jennie?” Mila asked.

  Mila’s father seemed oblivious, eyes focused on the television mounted on the wall above the bar. But Mila’s mother was watching our exchange with a singular focus that made me nervous.

  “Ah, well, when she was pouring the lager, I accidentally stepped into her.” I hooked a thumb toward the back of the pub, beyond the kitchen. “She’s getting a shirt from Lotte.”

  “Need help?”

  “Mila.” Emma’s tone held warning and I wondered at it.

  “What, Mom?”

  “We came all the way here to visit you.” She raised an eyebrow that I expected was meant for Mila to cower to it.

  “I know, Mom. I won’t be long.” She turned to me. “Ames is a friend.”

  A friend. Was that what we were? We hadn’t really defined it. But it seemed to be an inadequate word for what we were.

  �
�Ames, need help?”

  She said it so earnestly, and under any other circumstance, I would have refused her help in order to keep her on the stool. So I could keep looking at her. But I sensed that she was seeking a reprieve, so I nodded. “Can you take orders?”

  She nodded and jumped off the stool so swiftly that it was almost funny how keen she was on escaping. I lifted the bar top and she walked through it. “Where are the aprons?”

  With my hand on the small of her back, I led her into the kitchen, toward the utility closet. Once inside, I grabbed a black apron with our logo across it and turned to her. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “One billion percent,” she said as I looped it over her neck.

  When her hands were behind her back, tying the strings, I leaned in and dropped a kiss to her lips. It’d been so long since I had the last time—since I’d taken her to the restaurant a handful of days earlier. Seeing her tonight had lifted my soul a little bit, and having her alone for the space of a minute in the back meant I needed to do whatever I could to make the moment last.

  She stopped tying to grip my shirt. When I pulled away, she smiled. “Hi,” she whispered.

  “I’m glad you’re here.” I tugged on the apron. “And not just for the help.”

  “I’m glad I’m here too.” She tugged on my apron, mimicking me. “Sorry, I had to bring them along.”

  “Don’t apologize.” I stuffed a pad and a paper into the pocket of her apron. “All you need to do is take orders from the tables and the bar. I’ll fill them. If it gets to be too much, I’ll have you do simple refills—like water and soda.”

  “Okay.” She looked determined. “I think I can manage that.”

  “I know you can.” I rubbed her chin. “Jennie will be down in a few and she’ll line you out on the register, logging the drink orders. For now, just write them down.”

  She nodded and pulled the pad out, pen poised and ready. She looked adorable like that, all official and excited, that I couldn’t help but steal another kiss from her. So I did, making it last long enough that I heard Lotte’s heavy steps trotting down the staircase before I finally pulled away.