Chapter 1
MELANIE
NOW
“Same shit, different day,” I mutter to myself, swiping a bar towel across the sticky counter, still tacky from the happy hour rush. Soon it will be the dinner rush and the open mic night rush.
I sigh, dreading the evening ahead of me.
There was a time when I loved this job. Being a bartender means you get to talk to people, hear their stories, sometimes be their therapist. The same people come back to me, again and again, and I have come to look forward to my regulars.
Except for today. Today, I am drained. I’m tired of it.
Life is monotonous and boring. I am forty-one years old, single, living in an apartment above a storefront, and managing a bar.
I used to think I was going places and now the only place I’m going to is the kitchen walk-in for more maraschino cherries.
“Mel, earth to Mel.” My boss and friend Andrew is waving his hand in front of my face. “You good here? Chelsea has a track meet, and I missed the last one.”
“Yeah.” I let out a breath and give him a tight smile. “I’m good. Wish her luck for me.”
“Open mic night. Should be a good one.” Andrew arches his eyebrows.
“My favorite,” I say sarcastically.
I’ve been working at The Ugly Mug for longer than I care to admit.
After high school, my life went a little off track.
I thought I’d work here for a couple of months and then figure out my future.
Maybe even go to college. But months turned into years.
Waitressing turned into bartending, which turned into managing.
Andrew treats me well and quite frankly, I don’t know what else I would do. I don’t know what another life looks like for me. But I am sick of it. I just don’t have the courage to find out—to pick up and try something or somewhere new.
“Why don’t you sing a little tonight?” Andrew gestures to my guitar case, leaning against the stage area. “You bring that thing with you everywhere, but you never sing.”
I shake my head. “It’s always a full night,” I say, not meeting his assessing gaze. “The bar is always packed, and the list of performers is always too long to squeeze me in.”
“Then put your name on there now,” Andrew urges, handing me the sign-up clipboard.
I let my gaze linger on the empty spaces, mulling it over for a moment before shoving the clipboard back at him. “Don’t you have a track meet to go to?” I roll my eyes.
Andrew laughs softly, holding up his hands. “Okay, okay.” Then softer, “I’m just worried about you, Melanie. You seem…sad.”
The truth is, he’s not wrong. Up until a year ago, some of my friends were still single so I had people to do things with. I had plans every weekend. It didn’t feel like I was on my own. Gradually though, everyone started to pair off, each finding their person.
I wanted to find mine too. I tried fix ups and dating apps.
And it’s always the same—awkward small talk that fizzles out, or someone who’s only looking for a hookup.
After a while, it just didn’t seem worth it to keep swiping.
I’ll admit, I’m lonely. When I come to work or on the rare occasion go out with friends, I put on a happy face.
But continually going home to an empty apartment wears on a person.
I turn away from Andrew and tap the computer screen, distracting myself from uncomfortable emotions. “Well, I’m not,” I retort.
Andrew is about ten years older than I am, but he’s known me a long time. He knows when I’m not okay.
“Okay, I’ll leave it alone.” He starts for the door but turns back. “Mel? I’m always here, you know.”
I soften at this and offer him a tight smile. “I know.”
“Have a good night,” he says. Then he’s gone.
A Friday night in the beginning of June picks up fast. The dining room and outdoor seating are packed and on a wait.
I’m tending bar faster than I have in weeks.
Our open-mic night attracts bands and singers from all over the area since there aren’t too many places offering this opportunity.
Every performer gets a twenty-minute time slot, serving as the perfect background noise for a busy shift.
When things get underway, I am finally able to get out of my own head. There’s no time for anything else when there are customers to be served and lines out the door. Finally, around nine thirty, things calm down enough that I can take a break.
“I’ll be back in a bit. I’m going to see who can be cut,” I tell Kasey, the twenty-something girl tending bar with me tonight.
“Sounds good.” Her eyes light up.
I know she’s hoping to get cut early because she wouldn’t shut up about going to Atlantic City with her friends after this. My body aches just thinking about going to a club after working a bartending shift. Oh, to be young again.
“Start rolling some silverware,” I say, gesturing to the quiet corner of the bar. “I’ll try to get you out of here.”
“Thanks, Mel,” Kasey chirps.
I push through the double doors to the kitchen and duck straight into the closet-sized office.
The spinny chair creaks as I drop into it, and I kick the door shut behind me.
Finally, some silence. Just me, the hum of the ancient mini fridge, and the stack of shift schedules I don’t want to look at.
I check my phone like someone might’ve called me in the last couple of hours.
Spoiler: nope. No texts, no missed calls, no nothing.
Most of my friends are posting pictures of their kids’ soccer games or anniversary dinners.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting in a bar office that smells like fryer oil, muttering to myself.
“A fucking lonely loner,” I say out loud, because apparently, I’m also my own best company. “How did I get here?”
Once upon a time, I thought I’d be somewhere else entirely.
A singer-songwriter under the neon lights of Broadway in Nashville, playing sets until someone offered me a record deal.
I had notebooks full of lyrics, the guitar, the voice people said could take me places.
Instead, I’m here—scrubbing spilled beer off sticky counters and cutting servers early like it matters.
The worst part is, I don’t even know when I stopped believing Nashville was still a possibility.
I still carry my guitar everywhere, but now I only play music for myself.
The clock on the wall ticks slowly, a stark reminder of life passing me by.
If my parents cared, I’d imagine they’d be disappointed in me.
They split up just after I graduated high school as predicted, and my mom doesn’t even live here anymore.
She and her new husband live on a lake in the Pocono Mountains, and I’m lucky if I see her for Christmas.
I sigh, swiping a stray water bottle cap into the trash, imagining her with her new husband in their beautiful lake house.
If I think about it too hard, it makes me bitter.
My dad worries about me, though. He lives locally and I see him regularly. Every time I see him, he asks if I’m okay. I think he hoped I’d eventually find someone to settle down with but…it’s complicated. Now, I can’t help but think it's too late for me.
A knock at the door interrupts my pity party. “Melanie?” It’s Tyler, one of my best servers.
“There’s a table out here asking for a manager.” His voice sounds pained.
I paste a smile on my face. “Be right there.”
It’s another hour before I’m back behind the bar.
The restaurant has quieted down, and most of the patrons are sitting around the bar, listening to various singers and bands.
I’m refilling a Cape May IPA for one of my regulars when the door swings open, bringing with it a gust of air and a face so familiar to me, I think I might be hallucinating.
The man is tall, easily six-foot-two, with a five-o'clock shadow and sunglasses propped on his head, despite it being dark out.
He wears a tight gray T-shirt and has a soft black guitar case slung over his shoulder.
It can’t be. I squeeze my eyes shut and then open them again. Just someone else showing up to try to sing tonight. I shake my head in disbelief and turn away, allowing the man to sit down and settle in before I approach him.
“Mel, can I have a refill?” my good friend Miles calls from the corner. He and his fiancée, Jenna, are open-mic night regulars.
My neck tingles and my cheeks flush. “Yeah, sure.” I zoom over to Miles and take his empty pint glass, replacing it with another full one.
He side-eyes me. “You okay, Melanie?” Miles’s brow furrows.
“Yeah, you look pale.” Jenna reaches for my hand.
I suck in a steady breath. “Yeah. Yes. I just saw a ghost, is all.” I force a smile.
But when I turn around, he’s still there, perched on a stool on the opposite corner, out of Miles and Jenna’s sightline.
The furthest thing from a ghost. He’s perusing the menu, and since I cut Kasey, I’m the only bartender left.
I have no choice but to go over and take his order.
I watch him carefully for a moment or two from behind the post in the middle of the bar.
If he’s noticed me already, he hasn’t let on.
He looks the same, just older. His hair is still that dirty blonde color with traces of honey.
His body is lean but muscular, his forearms sinewy, probably from always holding and strumming a guitar.
He glances up at the young girl singing a Taylor Swift song and smiles, showing his twin dimples that I never could get over. Josh.
It’s him all right. He has aged gracefully; he’s got to be forty now.
Close to forty-one. I am suddenly extremely self-conscious.
The makeup on my face is hours old by now, probably settled in the crow’s feet around my eyes.
What does my hair look like? I try to catch a glimpse of my reflection in the computer screen.
I pull my lip gloss out of the apron tied around my waist and smear some on, then pressing my lips together, I walk over to him. Maybe he won’t remember me.
“Hi,” I say tentatively, placing a bar napkin in front of him.
“Hey.” His voice comes out husky, but he doesn’t look up, still scanning the menu. “Is your kitchen still open?”
“Yep,” I squeak. “What can I get you to drink?” I’m desperate for a reason to turn around.
“Just a Coke, please.” Finally, he tears his eyes away from the greasy laminated menu and offers me a tight smile.
“Coke, got it,” I breathe nervously. “Coming right up.”
I whirl around to safety. My heart is hammering in my chest like it might just break through it. My palms are sweating, and the back of my neck is tingling. But he didn’t immediately react to my face so maybe I’m in the clear. I’m scooping ice into his glass when his voice catches me off guard.
“Melanie, is that you?”
Then
Mel,
I had fun playing guitar with you the other day. Want to jam again soon?
Josh
Josh,
I’d like that. But let’s keep it between us for now.
Melanie