by Karli James
“Wow. You’re talking about her as if she’s it. The one.” I kept silent as I looked at her. Nina’s jaw dropped. “Wait…Jude, is she…is she your fucking lobster?” I sighed at one of her endless Friends references, but slowly nodded my head.
“I really think she is. But I fucked up so hard. I mean so hard that there’s no way she would ever believe me at this point. I let one stupid little comment she made about how she was like most girls because wanted time to change and get herself put together, completely rattle me. She saw it all over my face before I even spoke, and then I spoke and it was like word vomit spewing into the air and spraying shit all over everything that had just been gleaming with hope and goodness. The look on her face…I’m such an idiot, Nina.” I groan into my hands, peeking through splayed fingers at my sister’s expression.
“Okay, well while I’m feeling as if I’m missing some pieces I can kind of put together what went down. And while yes, I agree that you are an absolute idiot—you do realize where this immediate reaction stems from, right?” I’m frowning at her. Clearly still an idiot.
“What are you talking about?”
“Natalie.” I gasped. Oh no, she didn’t.
“Don’t you dare say her name right now! You know you’re not supposed to ever say Satan’s name.”
“It’s true though. Natalie fucked you up inside the head, man. So much. You really need to evaluate that before you try to get this girl to forgive you and have your spawn.”
“What are you even talking about?! Natalie has nothing to do with this. Why, why are we saying her name so many times? We need to speak her name less. So much less.”
“Bro. Natalie was a bitch. She was a two-timing whore yes, but before that she was also a materialistic, superficial bitch. She never left the house without being dolled up to the millionth power. Do you realize how many times you guys were late to family functions or friend outings because she took so long to get ready? ALL.THE.TIMES. She would straighten and curl and blow out her hair. All in one night. Then her makeup, her outfits, etc. Little did we realize at the time that so much of this was because she was always using every outing as an opportunity to snag someone with deep pockets, and turn into the skankbot that she is.”
“How did I stay with her for so long? How did you guys not stop me?” Nina’s eyes widened like saucers and I thought, oh shit, this is it. This is what’s going to end me. Here comes that murdery swipe. Not the Barbie incident of 2001. Not the “You’re never going on a date ever because you’re my little sister and I know how guys are” phase of 2007. No, this is it…right here, the “Are you fucking kidding me you fucking fuck?” of 2019.
“Okay wait, can I retract?” She’s still breathing hard, catching her breath, nostrils flaring. I watch her lift the mug to her mouth and take a generous gulp of candy coffee.
“Jude Henry Lawson. Are you fucking kidding me?” Told you.
“Yes?”
“Yes? Is that a question? Jude do you not remember how many times all of us tried to warn you about that twatwaffle?” I stare down at my breakfast…hmm, interesting topping choice. I’d eat it.
“Liam and I sat you down for a damn intervention at one point and you got pissed at us. Pissed. At us. Like we were the enemy. We tried so hard to lovingly get you to see that your choice in female was fucking terrible and you refused to listen, or see. You wanted the idea of her. You wanted the idea of what that relationship could be. You held on without seeing, which is why you were so blinded when she strolled her bony ass home one day and calmly announced that she had been swapping genital fluids with someone else for the past three months, and oh yeah she was leaving you.” So. Much. Ouch.
“Thank you, Nina, for that endearing synopsis of my past relationship with Satan. If you hadn’t actually retold everything in such glory I may never have remembered. After all, it was only my heart she ripped out and poked her five-inch stiletto through on her way out the damn door.” Nina sighed, smiled, and covered my hand with hers.
“No Jude, she didn’t.”
“She didn’t what?”
“She didn’t rip your heart out, or poke any holes.”
“Umm….” I’m blinking at her. Literally blinking at her trying to figure out if she slipped into a coma at some point. Short term memory loss? Amnesia? “What the damn, woman? What are you going on about? You don’t know me.” I fear she does though. Like accurately so.
“You didn’t love her Jude. You never ever once talked about her the way you’ve just talked about this girl you barely know. You’ve never had that much passion for her. She didn’t rip your heart out. Sure, she hurt you, and she wronged you, and she betrayed your trust. But she didn’t rip your heart out bro, because you never actually fully gave it to her to do so.” I’m gaping at my sister who apparently should just stop being a nurse and be a therapist instead. How is it possible that she was able to tell me the exact truth of it in a whole two minutes. She’s made me see and feel my past relationship with that she-devil, with such clarity that I actually feel lighter; like I’ve let it go because she never really had me anyway. She’s so damn right. Dammit Nina.
“How did I not see this? Am I really this dense?” She quirks her brow at me. ‘Nuff said.
“We’re all dense about our own hearts and our own lives. It’s easier to see things clearly when it’s not your life; you were too in it Jude. A stuck figurine in the middle of a very cold snow globe. You could not see her for what she was and every time you got even a bit close to clarity, she would tip things over, shake it all up again, and leave you standing there in the gusts and the swirls of beautiful snowy lies. She was a master at her craft, manipulation at its finest. And it doesn’t make you bad for not recognizing it. The fact that you didn’t is what makes you so damn good.” I’m not going to lie. I feel a little choked up at her assessment and all together unworthy. I’m not crying, you’re crying.
“I’m not that good Nina. I was hurtful to this beautiful woman, who I’m pretty sure already has some insecurities regarding her amazing appearance, and I just…stepped on it. You’re right, I had a total instant reaction based on my past relationship, and just the thought of someone caring too much about appearances had me acting like a total tool.”
“So. Fix it.”
“I can’t. We met online, remember? She deleted her profile, I don’t have her number, or email, and apparently, she’s a ghost to the internet because I can’t find her anywhere. Not a freaking trace of her. All I know is that she’s a mixologist for some trendy little bar somewhere around these parts, and unless I want to go to every single one, I’m not going to find her.”
“So, go to every single one.” I laugh but her face remains serious.
“Oh wait, you’re serious?”
“Yes, Jude. Go to every single one. This town isn’t that big Jude. How hard can it be? Organize a bar crawl with some friends, that way you look less pathetic when you find her.” My sister is a genius.
“You’re a genius.” She grinned wide and smug.
“I know. I’ll go with, and you can ask Liam, right? I’m sure he could snag a couple more dudes, and I might have some girlfriends from work I can wrangle. I’ll help you find her. I’ll help you fix this. If she is the one, then you gotta go for it.”
“So, you don’t think I’m crazy?” She laughed a big hearty belly laugh. Well…okay then.
“I didn’t say that. You’re absolutely crazy. Certifiable. However, I also can’t relate because I’ve never felt that way about anyone. Ever. I also have no desire to be in a relationship, pretty much ever. Never, ever.”
“You’re so weird. One day we’re going to flip this and talk about why that is; really hash out your issues.”
“Mmmm…nah. I’m good.”
“What happened to you, though?” She just laughs, but I’m seriously wondering…what happened to you, girl? Why you closed off, yo? Okay I’m sorry about that. It’s random, but it does happen.
“Maybe
someday brother. Maybe someday.” She stares out the window and I wonder if she’s thinking about our Dad, but I don’t ask. Maybe someday.
Chapter 4
Kara
It’s been three weeks since my impromptu hanging out date with Jude. I should be over it, I really should. I shouldn’t feel this weird ache whenever his name plays peek-a-boo with my brain, but I do. Thoughts of him sneak in and out, just enough to remind me that though brief, his presence in my life was enough to make me feel…something. I don’t understand it; I barely know the guy. However, there is this part of me that has gone back to that night and wonders if I jumped on the defensive too quickly.
However, his obvious disappointment in me “being like most girls”, did shock me. And offend me. Hello, asshole, what exactly is your problem? I had felt shamed and embarrassed for being myself, which honestly does not sit well with me. I will never compromise myself for anyone ever again. He also suggested friendship, as if that wasn’t the most insulting end to the evening he could have come up with. However, again, I keep thinking about him. I keep thinking about all the conversations we had prior. The way we clicked, and bantered. I hadn’t felt that giddy thrill you get when you’ve found a person that just seems to fit with who you are, in every way, in so damn long. Maybe ever. In fact, I don’t think I ever bantered with anyone the way I did with Jude; not so effortlessly. I miss it. I miss our talks and our flirting. And I wish I never had seen his stupidly handsome face because it’s stuck there now like a stamp on the backs of my eyelids. Every time I close my eyes, I see his smirk, and that lock of hair that continued to fall forward on his forehead. What an asshole. I’m so mad he looks like that. Who has that much right to look that good anyway? Give the rest of a chance, you dick.
I look at my phone and notice the time. I have to be at Stir Mix-A-Lot in two hours. I know, I know, that name, right? Don’t pretend you don’t love it. It’s so clever, and I do stir…and mix a lot. I’m a mixologist and, no I’m not in the mood to go into how that’s different and more advanced than a bartender. But it is. So please don’t call me a bartender. Work has been crazy busy the past few weekends, which I’ve been very thankful for. When I’m behind the bar, and creating, shaking, stirring, mixing, pouring, garnishing…all of it, I’m in a zone. I’m making boozy dreams come true and I feel pretty damn good about it. My wallet also feels good about it because people tip, and tip generously for expensive martinis with sexy names that get their blood flowing.
I didn’t grow up thinking I was going to be a mixologist believe it or not. I started to go to culinary school, but do you even know what they make you try to eat? I started to head down to the mixology classes prior to weird tasting days to get a little liquid courage, and that’s when I became fascinated with The Cocktail. The whole process of it; learning about different alcohols and how they’re made, what pairs with what, what tastes good with what, what’s going to be a sipper and what’s going to get you hammered. I found my niche and left the culinary world behind. I still love to cook; I just don’t want to do it professionally. Not worth eating all those strange ass bugs.
Shaking my head at my own memories I head to my bathroom to strip and take a shower. Gotta get dolled up for work and that takes some extra work. Semi short black skirt, fuck me heels, cleavage shirt. Out in the dating world, I don’t have tons of luck, or right, confidence, details, but I’ve learned that if you dress it up just right, then feed people liquor for dinner they’re bound to see things a whole lot differently by the time they start tipping. Wink. Wink. No shame.
In the shower I scrub away some stress and lingering melancholy feels about Jude. Using my wild orange scented shampoo and conditioner, I take the time to massage my hair and scalp. I scrub down with a citrus sugar body scrub, and shave my legs. Standing under the spray I thoroughly rinse and enjoy the hot water rushing over me, easing away tension and anxiety little by little.
Once out I dry off and start my “getting ready” process. Lotion, undies, bra. Then I blow dry my hair, twisting the brush to create beachy waves that roll down my back. My hair down always garnishes more attention than when it’s up. However, this doesn’t mean I won’t be bringing a pony holder for the inevitable, “ok that’s enough of that” moment I always have. Once dressed I check the time on my phone and realize I need to grab my shit and go, I hate being late.
The drive there is quick and easy. I sing along to the radio and find my smile as I pull up to the brightly lit Stir Mix-A-Lot sign. Someday I’ll own my own bar, but for now I couldn’t ask for a better place of employment. I’ve gained so much experience and exposure. I’ve already got some demonstration gigs lined up for this summer. I love demonstrations. I love being able to show off all my skills. Anything can be an art, and when you get people caught up in what you do it makes them want to keep buying just to see it again and again. Demonstrations really allow me to be creative and I feel freer. During demonstrations I have my own clients, I’m not an employee but a very well-paid contractor of booze. It’s a good life.
Once inside I head back behind the bar, set my stuff down and begin taking stock of the inventory. All of a sudden, I hear a squeal as I’m grabbed from behind. I instantly smile because I know that squeal and that hug. My best friend and coworker, Allison. Allison is the girl every other girl on the planet wishes to be. She’s beautiful, beyond beautiful. She has long golden hair—like thick silken sunshine that is never ever out of place or frizzy. Not a single fly away ladies. Her pale skin is blushed with rose and creams and her eyes are the biggest most fabulous Disney princess eyes you’ll ever see up close in real life. They’re so blue they’re almost violet, and they shimmer when she’s delighted, or being mischievous. She’s got legs for days and a killer rack. Also, she’s so damn genuine. It’s sickening. Someone that beautiful should just naturally be a bitch so you could justify disliking them. Unfortunately for me, she’s got a pure heart, is always happy, and is the greatest friend a gal like me could ask for. If I didn’t love her so much, I would hate her.
“Kara! I’m so glad you’re working tonight. Word on the street there’s a group of people planning a bar crawl, and ugh, quite honestly I do not want to deal with that bullshit alone.” I sigh. Bar crawls are both awesome and horrible. Awesome for sales, horrible for getting out on time.
“Shoot. What’s the reason? Did we miss a holiday?”
“No…I heard it through a friend, some guy’s just on a mission I guess? I don’t know. Gathered a bunch of friends, plans on making his rounds about town. No clue. Boredom maybe? I mean, this is South Valley, NY.” I smirk. True. Story. Out here in South Valley you’ll be lucky to find a cell tower, let alone a wide range of extracurricular activities for the twenty to thirty- somethings.
“So glad you told me though because now I can make sure I have the traditional things extra stocked.” I start wiping down the bar when I notice she’s rather quiet, staring at me in a weird way. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
“Sorta. That expression has been living on your face for the past three weeks.”
“What are you talking about? What expression?”
“The one that says someone pissed in your cornflakes or killed a bunny. Seriously, what is going on with you? Is this about the online guy still?” Sigh. I love Allison, but she doesn’t get it and I can’t explain it to her without sounding totally crazy. Because it should NOT be about the online guy. It shouldn’t. It was a few weeks of conversation. What is my problem? And why is she just now telling me I’ve had stank face for almost a month over this shit?
“It’s not the online guy. Well it sort of is. I hate dating. I hate online dating. I’m so sick of it. Everyone is a liar, or a cheater, or a whore who doesn’t have any real interest in a relationship anyway. I’m so over it. Do you know how many bad dates I’ve gone on because of that stupid online profile? I’m done with it. I’m done with the weird fetishes that have been revealed, I’m done with mommy issues, and unemployment. I�
�m done with people who are clearly bipolar and in need of some serious medication. And I’m done with all the dang dick pics.” Allison raises one perfectly arched brow.
“Dick pics you say?”
“That’s what you focus on? You slutty-slut you. Yes. Dick. Pics. I have gotten so many I could create my own album and sort it by size and shape; straight, curvy, eeny-peens, lobster rolls, eggplant emojis…” Allison is laughing but I’m not kidding. Men are pigs. Absolute pigs. Why do you think a woman wants to see your dick? I promise you, we really don’t. We wanna treat your dick like it’s brail and just feel our way to success. A dick is not attractive. I’m sorry. It’s just not. I’ve never met one cock and thought, “Damn, you so fine….” No! It’s a lie. A big lie. Or a small lie, if you catch my drift. Stop reading those romance books where they describe it as the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen. It’s bullshit. I wanna feel, not see. Just do your job and then tuck it away. Thank you kindly.
Allison is still laughing when I look back at her.
“Can you please explain…a lobster roll?”
“Uncircumcised.” She barks out a laugh.
“Ooooh my goodness, no girl. I’ve never heard that description. How…ew. I liked lobster rolls! Now I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to eat one again.”
“You’ll live. Just get drunk first.”
“Well that is how my sex life usually goes so…” We start laughing when I look up and see the first few guests start piling in.