Chapter 12 Salty Meats Fix Everything
SALTY MEATS FIX EVERYTHING
Ronnie: Is your boyfriend coming camping?
Jeff: No kissing.
Matt: Can he throw an axe?
Charlie: No.
Matt: Fishing? Spear throwing?
Charlie: No and no.
Jeff: Sounds like Mr. Survival needs to teach his boyfriend a couple things.
Charlie: We’re using Jeff as bear bait.
Jeff: Hey!
I sent a GIF of a man being chased by a grizzly bear.
If somebody had asked a week ago what made me chuckle, three boys texting me dumb GIFs about camping would have never made the list. They were pains in the butt, but at least they provided a bit of humor.
Maybe they didn’t know my history with Firefly, which made them a safe space.
It mostly came from their obsession with wanting to go into the wilderness like savages.
I continued down the street, keeping my hands in my pockets and head down.
I picked up the pace, trying to make it to the store before it closed.
How an entire community shut down at five pm was beyond me.
I kept my eyes to the ground as I passed folks, not wanting to prompt a discussion by making eye contact.
I glanced down at my texts.
Nick: Up for dinner tonight?
Charlie: Sure.
Nick: Meet you at Seamus’s house.
Charlie: What?
The only response was a photo of him grinning from ear to ear.
I had stared at it long and hard, admiring the slight hint of teeth.
When he smiled, he went from handsome to downright alluring.
If he were some random text from a dating app, we’d have already fucked and made vague plans to repeat it.
The thought of climbing on top of him got me plenty excited, but I was equally interested in the way he made me laugh.
Of all the people here, he didn’t just evade my defenses; he stealthily sidestepped them without me knowing.
Charlie: Looking forward to it.
Nick: Good. Bring whisky.
I stood in front of Ivy & Cask, a store that didn’t exist the last time I visited. Checking the time on my phone, I breathed a sigh of relief. Seventeen minutes to spare. It’d be just enough time to head inside, grab a bottle, and be out. Even if the cashier wanted to talk, we had a time limit.
If I were lucky, I’d grab the only decent whisky on the shelf. Then I could go shower and make myself presentable for this… double date? It sounded like something the gremlins would say. Grown men having dinner didn’t constitute a date, even if two of them were a couple.
Right?
As soon as I pushed open the door, I discovered this wouldn’t be a quick process.
Bottles filled every square inch of the walls.
Above them hung labels. Tequila. Rum. Vodka.
Gin. Finally, the whisky. Thirty… no… forty types.
How did a town the size of Firefly give a place like this enough business?
Was the entire town hoarding its booze for the apocalypse?
Toward the back of the shop, barrels were used as tables.
Two gentlemen were talking as they worked their way through a flight.
I had to admit that in a place with little to do, tastings were a pleasant alternative to sitting on the couch.
Though, with the way the two men giggled, I suspected they’d be staggering home, and it wasn’t even five.
“Ignore them. They’re like that sober.”
A woman in a brown apron came out from behind the counter. I wonder if she intentionally picked bold browns to blend into the shelves and flooring. The more I looked around, the more I liked the industrial design. It’s not the type of look I’d expect in Firefly.
“I’m Julie.” She held out her hand. Her face scrunched up as she tried to figure out how I fit into Firefly. It was only a matter of time before the gossip traveled far enough that the look vanished. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”
“I’m Eleanor Sanford’s son.”
Her eyes lit up. “You’re the big shot tattoo artist. Visiting? Opening a shop? I have a tattoo on my shoulder that could use some covering up.”
If Firefly could sustain a liquor store of this size, then who knew?
Would the veterans come in droves, filling their chests with medals?
The ladies from the quilting guild would get cute stitching or swatches of fabric.
I shook the thought from my head. Nope. I remained on the outside, the only one willing to become a human canvas, at least openly.
“I know some folks in Bangor if you need a referral.” It dodged the question in the friendliest manner possible.
Instead of stewing and giving me curious glances, the woman spun about. “What are we looking for?”
The question didn’t register as I glanced at the two men standing over a barrel, whispering.
Every few seconds, they burst into roaring laughter.
The volume would have been irksome if they weren’t cackling grandpas.
If they were natives, I should have known them.
Decades of wrinkles and gray hair made it impossible.
My paranoia set in. I couldn’t tell if they were laughing because of me, but every few seconds, they stopped jostling one another to glance in my direction. I could only imagine the rumors they had heard about Ellie’s son.
“Whiskey.”
“You mean whisky.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Whiskey with an ‘e’ is from America. No ‘e’ is from Scotland.” I raised an eyebrow. She turned back with a smile. “It’s a joke. Have any preferences? Rye? Spicy? No, you strike me as a sweet kind of guy.” She gave me an elbow to the belly.
“It’s not for me.”
I waited for the inevitable follow-up question.
She’d ask who. I’d sheepishly reply. She’d say “A-ha” and begin a thirty-minute monologue of how she knew them.
The owner had probably befriended Grace.
On the weekends, she shot rifles with Seamus.
Every week, she met Patrick for… okay, so I didn’t know anything about him.
“It’s for Seamus.”
“Plenty of men come in here shopping for him.”
Shit. I didn’t want her to get the wrong impression. “It’s a dinner party.”
“And he didn’t invite us?” The grandpa on the right waved about his glass. “I’m going to take it personally.”
Julie hid her face in her palms. “Please ignore Walter and Harvey.” I said nothing, but I’m sure my expression spoke for me. “Stop acting like you’re drunkards. Three of those glasses are water.”
Both men feigned confusion.
Walter stared at his glass. “You said it was your finest bourbon!”
“I need to speak with your manager,” added Harvey.
Shaking her head, Julie couldn’t hide the smile. “Tell Audrey if she wants me to babysit the two of you again, I’m expecting her to buy more wine.”
Walter suddenly sobered up. “It’s a friendly hangout, not babysitting.”
“She gives me five bucks an hour,” Julie snapped back. She leaned closer, whispering from the side of her mouth. “And it’s not nearly enough.”
Decades later, and nothing about the two men had changed.
They laughed as if they had escaped the asylum, a deep belly roar that infected all within earshot.
As a teenager, I assumed they were in a relationship.
Seeing them now, I still couldn’t tell. Was Audrey a wife?
Daughter? Caretaker? I wanted to ask, but it’d turn into a story, and I didn’t want threads connecting humorous moments.
With enough threads, Firefly would have the rope it needed to keep me tied down.
“How much do you want to impress Seamus?”
She walked toward the whiskies, gesturing for me to follow. The collection was impressive for any store, but especially for Firefly. Ivy & Cask had taken displaying alcohol and turned it into an art form.
I mulled over the question. I hardly knew the man, but he had always been cordial to Pops. That alone made me want to do something special. It didn’t hurt that winning his favor might also charm a certain cub. If the night went to total hell, then we’d at least have good alcohol.
“Extremely impressed.”
Her right eyebrow crept up her forehead. “You can’t afford extremely.” She turned to the wall, her fingers dancing along several bottles. I stopped at the price and let my jaw drop. Extremely impressive would have been as much as a full color back piece. I couldn’t afford that kind of admiration.
“Here.” She grabbed a bottle. “This is how you get yourself invited to the next dinner party.”
I spun the bottle in my hand. Knowing good alcohol from swill had never been my strong suit. I’d have to take her word for it.
“Seamus gets the same thing every time he comes in. I’m trying to expand his palette. I know he’ll like this. He’ll think you’re bold. Then he’ll show up in a few days and order another bottle, I’m sure.”
Julie might only know Seamus through his liquor selection, but the depth, that’s what scared me about Firefly. How many assumptions did she make from pure conjecture? What if he had a reason for buying the same bottle week after week? Did she do it because she honestly knew, or was she imposing?
In Firefly, I could never tell.
“Okay.”
Walter raised a glass in salute. “Tell Seamus he owes Audrey and me a double date.”
Harvey looked appalled. “What about me?”
“You can’t go on dates with your sister.”
Harvey snatched the glass from Walter’s hand. “She said the same thing about you,” Harvey said with a smug look. “And look at us now.”
I guess that answered my burning questions.
They might not be gay, but they were closer than most couples I knew.
I tried imagining myself leaning over the table with them, joking about nothing and everything all at once.
What would we laugh about? What would we even have in common?
Small talk? No, that didn’t exist here. They know me inside and out, and I’d either have to join along or… the image of me vanished.
“Anything else? If you really want to impress, you could pair it with some tequila.” Her eyebrows wiggled up and down.
“Just this.”
She sighed. “I’m just saying, you’re missing out.”
I know she meant the booze. But I couldn’t help but glance back at Walter and Harvey as they linked arms and tried drinking from their glasses.
They didn’t care who caught them in an act of…
glee? Stupidity? No. Happiness. Somewhere deep down inside, I had to admit I envied them.
Neither of them had any doubt they belonged.
They were the epitome of Firefly, and not in a bad way.
Before my brain could latch on and turn it into a production, I finished the exchange. Taking the bottle, I bolted and left the envy at the door. On the sidewalk, I ignored it and instead focused on the event ahead of me. Four bears, dinner, and some damned expensive whisky.
The thought of seeing Nick again? Pure smiles.