2. 2
2
“ I don’t know if I’m up for it.”
“Did Reya Barry really just say she isn’t up for something? Where are the flying pigs?”
I snort.
“Dahlia hasn’t been sleeping well the last few nights. I don’t think exhausted is even an adequate word for how I feel.”
I can picture her pouting. A combination of feeling sorry for me, and feeling sorry for herself to miss out on my presence.
“She won’t sleep in her own bed?” Vic asks.
“I knew it would be difficult, but I might give up. I’d rather sacrifice space in my own bed forever,” I admit. That would be better than the heartbreaking sound of my daughter crying when I know I’m what’s causing it.
“Don’t do that. Have you tried laying with her until she falls asleep?”
“Of course I have!” I snap.
“Well, don’t take it out on me,” she admonishes. “I sleep just fine in my own bed.”
“You know how irritable I get without sleep. I’m going on night four.”
I grab a Pepsi out of my fridge, one of my only vices these days. I stopped drinking alcohol over a year ago, after I was responsible for a really uncomfortable situation involving our friend Autumn, her boyfriend, and her ex.
Then I fell asleep while the good stuff was happening. That’s the worst part. What’s the point in drama if I don’t get to watch it unfold?
“But she’ll be at Caleb’s.” I can hear that pout in her voice. “You can drink a couple of your sodas, put on something sexy, come to karaoke night with me, and then sleep! Peacefully! I really, really don’t want to go alone, babe.”
And the entire thing is Autumn’s worst nightmare, so Vic can’t exactly ask her. Otherwise that’s exactly what I’d suggest. Why does it have to be karaoke, and not a trip to the library?
“Why do you have to go at all?”
“Because I see this woman at yoga twice a week, and I promised her I’d be there to support her business. I really don’t want to hear the disappointment in her voice while my ass is in the air, Reya.” She pauses for emphasis. “Amanda always catches me off guard when my ass is in the air.”
Okay, I do understand. I don’t want Vic to suffer through that. She has to go.
“Plus, I want to hear your beautiful voice,” she adds, really pulling all the stops she’s got.
“It would be cruel of me to deprive you of my talent.”
“It would!” She yells it so loudly that I wince and pull the phone away from my ear.
“Okay, calm down over there. What are you wearing?” I ask.
“You know that blueish green dress? It’s the only one that fits me at the moment.”
I gasp. “Not the one with the tassels.”
“Yes, that very one. I refuse to go shopping for clothes that won’t fit me in a couple weeks.”
It’s a boho-chic nightmare. I fully believe Vic can pull off anything she wears, but… does anyone really pull off any clothing with tassels?“But you still have that black one from when you were pregnant with Eli, don’t you?”
I switch the phone to my other ear, grimacing. When you’re too stubborn to hold your phone in your hands, it kind of hurts to smush it against your ear with your shoulder. I find my common sense somewhere, shaking my head at myself and pressing the speaker button before setting it down on the counter.
“I wish I could still fit into it, but I never got this big with Eli. I’m honestly worried this girl is going to come out weighing fifteen pounds.”
I shudder at the thought. Dahlia was a little less than nine, and even that seemed impossible at the time.
“Then there goes any chance of us coordinating our outfits. What time am I picking you up?” I ask defeatedly.
I end up in a pair of emerald green woven pants, and a long sleeve black top with lace around the collar. One thing about me is that it’s always one or the other: big pants and a tight shirt or tight pants and a big shirt. Another thing about me is that I will religiously coordinate my outfits with whoever I’m with. I’m grateful that this is the outfit I came up with tonight, because I’m incredibly comfortable, and Vic and I look super cute standing next to each other.
It better be warm inside this bar, because neither of us are dressed like we know it’s the middle of winter.
I’ve never been here before, which is surprising. Not that I make a habit of visiting many bars, but my girls and I had a phase. When Autumn was freshly twenty-one, we made sure she had the full experience.There wasn’t a single weekend for months where we weren’t getting drunk together.
Tall Glass is technically a town over, but that means very little when the towns are this small. We arrive less than ten minutes after I pick up Vic, to a brick building with an edgy blue neon sign.
“There are a lot of pregnant people here,” I whisper once we’re inside.
“She did invite everyone.”
“Is everyone in your yoga class pregnant?” I ask with a chuckle.
She looks at me sideways.
“That’s the whole point, babe. Prenatal yoga?”
Wow, okay . I missed that fact, but it makes sense.
“Then why the hell is this happening at a ba r of all places?”
She fully turns to look at me, a disbelieving look on her face.
“Where else would you host a karaoke night? Starbucks?”
I don’t think that’s a terrible idea. Why make it strictly a nighttime thing? Get my iced tea in the morning, a cake pop, and a show. All before work? Someone should make that happen.
I think a lot less people would complain about Monday mornings.
Or a lot more, depending on who’s doing the singing…
Okay, scratch that idea.
A woman approaches us with a smile that takes up most of her face. Her outfit actually looks eerily similar to my own, colors and all, except hers is complimented by a very large, round belly.
“Thanks for coming, cute stuff!” She wraps her arms around Vic and squeezes tight. “This is the best turn out we’ve gotten at one of these.”
“Of course! I love that for you!” She points to me. “This is my best friend, Reya. Reya, this is Amanda from my yoga class. We actually have the same due date.”
“March first?” I ask cautiously, because I might not be so sure that’s the date. Vic has told me a hundred times at this point.
It’s a leap year, so the odds are good that one of these children isn’t going to have another birthday for the next three years if I’m right.
“Initially, yep.” She nods. “It’s looking like little Caleb is going to be ready sooner than that now.”
I quickly look at Vic and she smirks.
What are the odds? Why can’t I escape?
“Caleb?” I ask, gesturing towards her belly. She puts her hand over it.
“After his grandpa.” That huge smile is back on her face, despite the fact that I’m sure I look ill.
There are too many Caleb’s in the world. I’ll never escape.
“How exciting,” I manage to say. “It was nice to meet you, but I am desperately in need of a soda.”
Maybe even something a little stronger, given the hoarse voice currently belting out the wrong words over the speakers. My eyes land on the bar.
“Great to meet you, too! I’ll see you both up there!”
She gives Vic a friendly pat on the shoulder before turning away.
Vic bursts into laughter as soon as we start walking.
“Yikes.”
“I thought you might feel that way.”
“That reminds me,” I tell her as we sit on a couple of stools. The bartender looks overwhelmed, so it’s a good thing we’re patient people. Actually, Vic is the patient one, and it makes me want to do better whenever I’m around her. I try not to let my leg shake too aggressively while we wait. “I have a date with his new girlfriend coming up.”
She shakes her head.
“I know you hate the guy, but you can’t go stealing his girlfriend. You’re supposed to be peacefully co-parenting.”
My jaw drops.
“Not a date date, wow Vic. I’m going to pretend you don’t think I would stoop that low.”
“You called it a date, what else am I supposed to think?”
“I call everything a date. This is a date right now,” I say, pointing between us.
“Don’t tell my husband that.”
I tilt my head to look at her through my lashes.
“Your husband loves me, he’d be happy for us.”
“Maybe,” she admits with a shrug. “But he’d still be a little jealous.”
I notice the woman working finally make her way down to us and I give her my best smile. The kind that says, ‘I also work in customer service, and I know your pain, and we will be the easiest customers you have to deal with all night:’
“What are we drinking tonight?” she asks us in a husky voice. The kind of voice I bet makes her lots of tips. The kind of voice I wouldn’t mind bossing me around.
She’s attractive. Blonde hair in a messy bun, tattoos covering her arms, shoulders, and chest. She’s probably out of my league. Probably straight, even though I mentally slap myself for making the assumption. I hate when it’s done to me.
“We’ll do a Pepsi and a Sierra Mist please.”
“I’ve got Coke and Sprite,” she offers. My heart sinks.
“Sprite is fine for me,” Vic quickly responds. When she looks to me, there’s concern on her face. I am a picky, particular person. I would choose not to be if I could, because I hate this feeling right here. Like a normal person would decide on a different drink, but I can’t be normal.
“Nothing for me then, thanks.” I try not to sound disappointed.
A small frown forms on the woman’s face, before she turns to look at the other customers sitting at her bar. None of them are looking her way, needing her attention. Instead of turning back towards us, or to grab Vic’s drink, she ducks down and out of sight.
We share a confused look.
When she appears again, standing, there’s a can in her hand. One of those mini ones that isn’t ever enough to curb the craving.
But I don’t care, I am so happy to see it. There’s practically a heavenly, glowing light illuminating it before me.
“I keep these hidden for a regular of mine, but I can spare one or two.” She cracks it open, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. I watch as she pours it into a glass filled with ice.
I must have been so transfixed by the miracle she performed for me, that I didn’t realize she’d already poured Vic’s as well, until she was placing both drinks in front of us.
“You’re my hero,” I tell her. I’m in awe.
“Do you guys have mozzarella sticks?” Vic asks.
My stomach growls at the last two words. I haven’t eaten enough as it is today, but there’s something about the dim lighting of a crowded bar that makes fried food sound so much better than it actually is.
“We do. Just one order? Comes with six.”
“Probably two, just to be on the safe side.”
Okay, so maybe we aren’t the easiest customers, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
I give Vic a high-five, ecstatic that we’re on the same page. Neither of us need to eat that much cheese and bread in one sitting, but life is all about the small things that bring you joy, right? Eating all six mozzarella sticks will bring me joy, despite the inevitable tummy ache.
The woman behind Vic taps her shoulder, and it’s obvious when she turns around that they also know each other from their class.
And the woman on the other side, apparently. The three of them get caught up in what looks to be a very exciting conversation. I wouldn’t know for sure, I can’t hear it over the sudden sound of another terrible singer on the stage.
I watch their performance for a beat, but I’m just not entertained by sober karaoke. They either try way too hard, or they’re too reserved. Either way, not fun.
Given the amount of women here that can’t consume any alcoholic beverages tonight, I think I’m in for a lot of it.
I glance at the bartender again to find her expression probably matches my own. I don’t know how I’d last, having to listen to this every week.
I say as much the next time she’s close enough to hear me.
“It’s not always so bad. The drunk ones are usually pretty entertaining.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Are you going to get up there and give us a song, pinky?”
Oh, no .
I loathe that nickname, but I manage not to cringe.
“It’s Reya,” I put my hand out for her to shake and she does just that. “And maybe, but it won’t be nearly as fun considering–” I point to the Pepsi.
“I’m Bailey. You sober?”
I nod, and then realize her question probably goes deeper than this current moment.
“I mean, it’s not like I can’t drink. I don’t need to stay sober or anything, I’ve just taken a long hiatus at this point.”
She smirks at me.
“So it doesn’t make me a terrible person to offer you a shot or two? For entertainment purposes.”
She suddenly nods at someone to the left of me, and starts pouring their drink without saying a word. She’s clearly a natural, her movements fluid and confident.
I wait until she’s done and handed off whatever whiskey-filled monstrosity she just created. Not that I doubt what she’s doing, I just don’t like whiskey.
“Sure,” I say when her hands stop moving for a few seconds. “I’ll take a shot, whatever you recommend.”
Vic hears enough that she looks over her shoulder to raise a brow at me, but she goes right back to talking, like she just had to pause and do that mid-sentence. She’s adorable.
But Bailey? Bailey is hot. The more I watch her, the more I want to keep watching her. Anyone would feel the same if they paid attention to how she works in her space. I bet she’s been at this bar for years, knows every inch of it like the back of her hand.
When she hands me the intimidating sized shot glass– did they start making these bigger or something?– I ask her.
“How long have you worked here?”
And then I down the shot. It’s smooth enough that the burn doesn’t make my eyes water, and I allow a few seconds before taking a sip of my soda.
“A few years. My uncle owns the place.”
“I take it you enjoy this?” I point towards her busy hands.
She smiles at someone else, grabbing their empty glass.
“It has its good and bad days, but it’s what I know how to do. And I make decent tips, so that’s a good enough reason for me to stick with it. I feel bad for anyone who has to live paycheck to paycheck.”
I tilt my drink at her.
“Thanks for your pity,” I say.
“What do you do?” she asks.
“I manage a store.”
“That sounds like quite a workload.”
“It’s all I know how to do,” I say, repeating her earlier words. “There are worse things than selling band t-shirts to angsty teenagers.”
Bailey’s nose crinkles.
“There are much better things.”
I look around the bar exaggeratedly. The way she can’t let her focus stay in one place for too long, because there’s always someone else that needs a drink, or has something to say. It looks like utter chaos.
And I’m probably her worst nightmare, the kind of person getting her caught in a conversation when she has other things to do.
It’s too bad I don’t really care.
“I couldn’t imagine doing what you’re doing. I’d lose my mind.”
She smirks.
“I lost my mind a long time ago, pinky.”
She’s seriously going to need to not call me that again.
I’m spared at least for the moment when she walks away, answering to a raised hand on the opposite end. I get irritated with customers as it is, she’s practically a saint for dealing with drunk, obnoxious ones.
Vic is finally done with her own conversation, seeming to come back to the real world when she looks at me.
“How long does it take to get mozzarella sticks made? They just fry them in oil, right?”
I nod. “Might be my fault. I’m quite distracting.”
“Are you flirting with the bartender?”
“Not yet, I’m not.”