5. He Doesn’t Keep Things Bottled Up
A cross Washington Square Park, below bushy green garland and white string lights was O’Malley’s hand painted sign; a once old Irish pub now turned liquor store.
“You could at least get rid of the menu that’s still hanging in the window.” I brushed Manhattan snow off my shoulder, shivering in my topcoat as I climbed the warm steps into the entrance.
“I like the charm of it, besides, nobody would actually go to a pub to eat. It’s all about the spirits, mi mano .” Luis greeted, wiping down the original sticky bar top.
I laughed and nodded around, lifting a twelve-year-old bottle of WhistlePig from one of the built-in mahogany shelves.
Outside of the missing barstools and newly added Dominican flags, this place stayed completely untouched from how it used to look; its intricately carved banisters and dark crown molding aged by the wear and tear of generations that had traversed its chestnut floors for over a century.
Even Luis knew it’d be criminal to ever remove the hanging Tiffany lights that were strung about, their warm glow casting perfect cozy shadows along the copper tiled ceiling and forest green wallpaper.
“Let me guess, Marty’s driving you to drink again?” Luis leaned on the counter, scratching his mustache. “Or did the ol’ pooch send you on an errand for himself? I’m guessing he’s a peppermint schnapps kind of dog.”
I shopped around and shook my head. “I’m actually here for my very thirsty sister. You wouldn’t happen to have a barrel of wine handy, would you?”
Luis whistled, “How about a box of it?”
“I’m sure anything with a handle would suffice.”
“I second that.” A customer in the whiskey section added, dragging his freshly cut Christmas tree across the floor to the counter. His face was stricken with holiday horror. “I just spent two hundred dollars on this Nobel Fir… TWO HUNDRED . All because my insufferable mother-in-law had to have it!” He stomped the tree trunk onto the floor, gritting his teeth. “Well, guess what lady… you may need this overpriced fire hazard, but I need a stiff drink just to make it through the holidays with you! Believe me when I say, I’d much sooner dress like an angel and sit on top of this tree than have you ruin the single drink I waited for all year long. So help me god, I’ll have my eggnog how I like it, even if you say it spoils my breath!” he announced loudly, as if rehearsing before his final performance.
Luis quickly bagged a bottle for the man, sympathetically punching numbers into the cash register before wishing him a Merry Christmas.
The bell at the door chimed as he exited, trudging out into the street with his tree.
We both got quiet and stared at each other.
“ Feliz Navidad , Nick!” Angela, Luis’s wife, greeted me as she made her way from the cellar, bags of heavy bottles in hand. “Are you here to pick something up for Marty?”
“Why does everyone think my dog’s an alcoholic?” I arched a brow, concerned about his reputation. “I’m actually here for my sister.”
“Tiffany?” she asked, yanking a receipt from the register, stapling it onto the bags.
Luis and Angela seriously know way too much about my life.
“She wants wine, but I’m guessing she needs something much stronger,” Luis added, side eyeing the TV mounted in the corner of the bar. It’s a Wonderful Life flickered on the screen.
“I think she’d settle for horse tranquilizers if you have any,” I muttered, arbitrarily lifting bottles and putting them back down.
I didn’t know why I was so sheepish, but I hesitated reaching into my coat pocket, removing the piece of folded paper I brought from home.
Carefully, I opened it up, keeping it close to my chest.
“One can of condensed milk… one can of evaporated milk… cream of coconut… half cup white rum.” I said under my breath, studying it while moving to the rum section.
I obsessively searched online for an authentic coquito recipe after leaving Mrs. Caporali’s this afternoon, because I just couldn’t shake how Elena’s face lit up when she shared a little piece of her holiday tradition with me.
My face hurt from grinning, my rosy cheeks heated like a crush stricken middle schooler.
What was this spell Elena had over me? This ability to make me melt in the middle of a liquor store aisle, to turn every moment we shared into an impossible task of keeping my hands to myself.
I replayed her day-defining, mood-lifting smile in my head, my memory like a delicate sketch artist to her cherry blossom lip gloss. I couldn’t get over her beautiful apple cheeks, her addicting laugh like a drug I desperately wanted all to myself. Hell, that pretty face of hers, matched with her incredible soul was the very reason I spent hours searching online for the perfect coquito recipe, writing it down, checking it twice.
And no… just because I scoured the internet for this invaluable concoction, didn’t mean I was actually going to do anything about it.
“Valuing Elena’s interest isn’t wrong… nor does looking for the ingredients to her favorite holiday drink mean I’m headed towards some romantic downfall,” I told myself, fearing the inevitable tipping point that would spiral me into some chain of relationship failure like my sister. I cleared my throat. “Luis… what would you consider to be a good choice of white rum?”
“Depends. What’s it being used for? Pi?a Colada? Mojito? Cajun Lemonade?”
“No. None of that.”
“Is it for a strawberry daiquiri?”
I scratched at my chin. Why was I being so weird?
Luis made his way from behind the counter to the rum rack where I stood, sighing. “Don’t get too specific and bore me with the details,” he said, amused.
Christ. My hands got so stuffy in my leather gloves.
Luis looked down at the paper.
“Coquito?” He nodded approvingly, a shot of realization washing over his face. “We have lots of options for that. Bacardi, Don Q… Havana Club is a good one. Distilled in Puerto Rico.”
“Puerto Rico?!” I gasped, instinctually reaching out and taking it. Why did it feel like I had the world’s greatest treasure in my hand?
Elena would like this one. I held onto it like it was the last life vest on a sinking ship.
“What about the wine?” Luis pointed to the other side of the store.
Wine? I didn’t care about wine at all right now. All I cared about was how this little bottle of rum made my heart skip. My intentions of coming here were totally hijacked with the desire to grab everything I needed for Elena’s favorite seasonal drink.
“Do you know what Tiffany’s wanting?” Luis asked again, taking the bottle of rum from my hand so I could shop easier.
He had to pry it away.
“Damn. I really don’t know.” I patted my pockets for my phone but felt nothing. “I left my cell back home.”
“You can use ours if you want?” Angela pulled out an old rotary phone from behind the bar, setting it next to the register with a loud thump. She grunted from the weight. “Try and keep it domestic.”
“No promises… I’m pretty sure New Jersey is considered its own country at this point.” I checked my watch, realizing how far I had to travel still. From this point it’d take me well over an hour to get to Tiffany’s.
Patiently, I dialed her number, spinning my finger on the janky rotary wheel, waiting for it to reset after each digit. The phone rang and rang.
I braced for the noise.
“Hello!” Tiffany finally answered, my nephews once again shouting in the background, along with cousins, uncles and aunts.
“Tiff, it’s Nick.”
“Nick… please tell me you’re just around the corner.”
She was going to kill me.
“I will be…” I hesitated, hoping she could hear my smile, “in just about… an hour and forty minutes.”
“Nicky!” she screamed.
“Relax, relax. I’m getting your prescription wine. I just need to know exactly what you want.” I slid my coquito recipe across the bar top, pointing to the ingredients. “Do you have condensed milk?” I mouthed to Luis, and he nodded, taking my list in hand.
“What about dinner for the boys? They’re starving!” Tiffany said.
“I already ordered them pizza before leaving my apartment. Two boxes of piping hot pepperoni are headed their way. Extra cheese.”
Luis came back to the register, piling cans of ingredients next to my rum.
“Could you call them back and order three more boxes? I sorta burned my tenderloins.”
“ She nuked them!” Hank—Tiffany’s awful ex—barked behind her, his husky cackle carrying into my receiver.
I massaged the headache in my eyes, holding the phone away as they argued over the definition of nuked.
The brass bell at the entrance chimed, and a gusty winter wind rolled towards my feet.
“There’s a guy out front who needs help tying his Christmas tree to his car.” A shivering delivery man announced, walking up to the register with his bike helmet still on.
Luis and I looked out the window, watching as his customer from earlier windmilled his arms before slipping on black ice. His ass hit the floor, and his tree rolled off the roof of his car and into a gutter.
The delivery man paid no attention, unzipping his backpack to pull out a bag of food.
“Sichuan Garden?” I gasped, unexpectedly surprised by its bright red letters and swirling long dragon.
What were the chances of seeing this now? Right in the middle of getting ingredients for coquito.
Elena had a takeout menu for this very same place on her kitchen counter this morning, and now, I was smelling the most delicious sweet and sour scent from a bag with its logo on it.
It felt like the universe was tapping my shoulder.
“Do you have a menu?” I asked the delivery guy, taking it from his hand while uncapping a red pen next to Luis’s register.
Hypothetically… if I were to ever pick up food for Elena, what would she even like?
“Their egg rolls are my favorite. Plus, their wontons taste like the crispy yaniqueque my mom used to make.” Luis split his chopsticks, rubbing them together.
“Taste like what?” I asked, circling the wontons on the menu.
“It’s a Dominican thing. Have you ever had fried dough? Never mind. The important thing is that it tastes like home.”
I scratched under my chin, sitting with Luis’s words that somehow struck a chord in my heart.
Like home, he said.
Home was what I wanted Elena to feel like, and damn … I knew Elena liked Sichuan Garden, but savory Chinese food wasn’t exactly the staple of a Puerto Rican Christmas dinner. Could it be a decent substitute?
I chewed on the end of the pen, thinking about what else she’d like, deciding to circle both the chow mein and sesame chicken.
“How’s the shrimp?” I asked Luis, ignoring Tiffany as she continued to argue with Hank.
“It’s my favorite,” Angela added, bringing me a few sticks of cinnamon for the coquito.
The delivery man nodded in agreeance.
I circled the shrimp twice.
“Nicky!” Tiffany finally got back on the line, her background less hectic.
“I’m still here,” I answered, writing out the imaginary details to my hypothetical dinner with Elena. I wonder if she’d like fried rice?
“Scrap the wine. Bring me whatever they gave The Civil War soldiers before amputating legs.” I could hear Tiffany fall into a bed, either her own or one of the kids.
“I’m not sure if they have any chloroform here…”
“A pillow over the face will suffice.” She let out a sigh.
“Sounds like you’ve stepped away from the party,” I muttered, watching as the man outside finally gave up, tossing his Christmas tree into his trunk, slamming half of it shut. Pine needles exploded everywhere.
“I’m in the boys’ room right now.”
“Napping?”
“I’m hiding chocolate bars in their pillowcases. I’m going to tell them it’s reindeer poop.” Tiffany cracked a smile.
I chuckled, knowing my nephews would love that. They had exceptional humor.
We were quiet for a moment, and I watched as Luis fed Angela a piece of crispy honey chicken.
They laughed.
They kissed.
They’d been married for longer than I’d existed, and they worked harmoniously in a liquor store together. But if boozy holiday drinks were the secret to long term love, then it sure as hell didn’t work for Tiffany and Hank.
“I have a headache,” Tiffany admitted with a groggy voice.
I hesitated.
“How about I bring you some water instead?” I asked, half joking, half serious. There was no doubt in my mind she already finished the bottle of moscato from earlier.
“Water is good,” she yawned.
“Do you still want me to order more pizza?”
“Mmmm…” she muttered undecidedly.
She went quiet.
“Tiffany?”
More silence.
“Tiff?” I asked.
What the hell happened to her? All I heard was ambient room noises, followed by the most obnoxious snore.
God, she fell asleep!
“Tiffany, are you serious right now!” After a few more moments of calling her name, I finally hung up.
Resting my elbow on the bar, I looked at the pile of ingredients for coquito and a Chinese takeout menu scribbled with indecisive choices for a dinner I wish I could have, but was afraid would lead to inevitable disappointment.
I watched as Luis wiped wonton crumbs off Angela’s cheek, unsure if my fear of ending up like Tiffany was even valid anymore. I was wrecked, my mind and heart an endless, revolving carousel of Elena’s beautiful face.
“How have you both stayed married for so long without it ending badly?” I asked. They were both surprised by the impromptu question.
They looked at each other, then averted their attention to the man outside punching his Christmas tree.
Luis and Angela came to some silent agreement and shrugged. “You have to find the person you want to drink with … not the person you have to drink because of.”
The crunch of an egg roll ended the most succinct piece of advice I’d ever heard.
I opened my mouth. Then shut it.
I felt like I’d been an idiot this whole time, dumbstruck by Luis’s casual liquor store advice. I stared down at the rotary phone, at the pile of coquito ingredients, and the Sichuan Garden menu.
I was headed this direction all along, but I was just too stubborn to go after what I actually wanted this Christmas.
I knew the risk.
I knew the reward.
And while Tiffany fell asleep in my nephew’s bed, and the man outside drove away (not realizing his tree had fallen out of the trunk), I lifted the rotary phone blindly, and let my heart take control with each spin of the numbers until the phone started to ring.
There was no going back now.
“Hello? Sichuan Garden? I’d like to place an order to go…”