Grant
“This is a bar,” she says as we pull up to spot in front of Harry’s Tavern, a little hole in the wall down the street from Roger and Mel’s place.
“Yeah. I’m sure they have ice,” I reply. Then I climb out and wait for her in front of the truck. Finally, she gets out and stares at me.
“, I’m nineteen,” she says in a whisper like anyone around is going to care.
“Come on, it’s Christmas.”
“It’s December 23rd.”
With a laugh, I open the door and hold it for her. Reluctantly, she finally enters, but she’s holding her head down like the police are going to throw her to the ground at any second. “Go have a seat at the table,” I say before going to the bar to get us a couple beers.
My day has suddenly turned around since I found that little red-headed firecracker smoking outside my RV. When I agreed to come to Christmas with Roger and his new wife, I knew the whole weekend would be terrible. They’re still in honeymoon bliss, and I’m six months straight out of a painful and expensive divorce.
But where else was I going to go? My ex got the house, the resort is closed down for the winter, and as terrible as this is, I convinced myself it was better than some RV park with strangers. So, I’ve settled for this. Sneaking moody teenagers into bars because I don’t want to be alone.
“Two Bud Lights,” I tell the pretty bartender who looks at me skeptically, looking around for the other person drinking. I toss in a little wink and a smile, and before I know it, she’s taking my card and handing me two cold ones.
“Drink up,” I tell Audrey as I set the beers on the table. She hides against the wall as she puts the beer up to her lips.
“Hope you like beer.”
She shrugs and manages to not grimace as she downs half the bottle. It’s quiet for a moment like she doesn’t know what to say. The minute I met Audrey this morning, I knew she’d be my best bet at having anyone decent to talk to this weekend, which isn’t often something I think about nineteen-year-old girls.
She has long cherry-red hair, artificially dyed with bangs and in dire need of a brush. She’s not wearing a lot of makeup except for red lipstick and black liner. Everything about Audrey says that she doesn’t fit in molds. She’s a little bit feminine, a little bit wild, and seems to create a style all her own. The icing on the cake is the constant expression on her face like she’s thinking horrendous things about every person she’s around but won’t come out and say any of them. I wish she would.
“Can I tell you something awful?” I ask. “There’s a good chance you won’t want to be anywhere near me once I tell you.”
Instead of looking horrified, her eyes actually light up.
“Tell me.”
I lean in, our faces only inches apart. “I fucking hate Christmas.”
“Oh, thank God!” she says, leaning back. Then she holds up her bottle toward me, and I tap my beer against hers.
“You hate it too?”
“Yes! It’s so commercial and pretentious!”
“I don’t like anyone telling me that I’m supposed to be all joyful and merry,” I reply.
“Exactly!” she says with a laugh. “Maybe the Grinch was onto something.”
“We don’t give him enough credit.”
She laughs and finishes her beer. “So if you hate Christmas so much then why are you here? Why not spend the weekend on a beach in Florida?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, really. A glutton for punishment, I guess.”
Then after a moment of silence, I add, “Actually, I just got divorced over the summer, and I didn’t really want to spend it alone. It just felt too fucking sad—divorced loser alone at Christmas.”
“Yes, because drinking with a teenager at a bar definitely doesn’t make you a loser.”
A laugh bubbles up from my chest as I stand to get us another round. “Maybe you’re right, but being here with you, so far, is better than some shitty beach in Florida.”
Then, I turn and walk away. I manage to catch the subtle smile on her face as I do.
I’m certainly not flirting with my brother’s new step-daughter.
Well...step-brother’s new step-daughter, I remind myself as if one more separation in our family tree makes any of this okay. It is definitely not okay, but I’m just buying her a couple drinks and commiserating about how awful the holidays are. I’m not even going to touch her. That would be highly inappropriate and just the thought makes me feel like a creepy old man.
As I’m waiting at the bar, I turn and take a peek back at the table. She’s facing the wall now. There’s an old shuffleboard scoreboard there, and it looks like she’s writing on it. My eyes land first on that bright red hair and drift slowly down her back until I notice the way her ass fills out that skirt.
Holy shit. What is wrong with me?
After I grab two more beers, I head back and set them on the table.
“What are you doing?”
She peels away from the wall, and I notice the chalk in her hand. On the old green board is a bearded man with a scowl and a Santa hat. It’s very clearly me, and I laugh although I’m half-amused and half-astonished.
“Did you just draw that?”
“Yeah,” she answers with a shrug. “I thought since the board was green it gives you a nice Grinchy hue.”
A laugh escapes my lips again. “Holy shit, Audrey, that’s fuckin’ awesome.”
“Thanks.” She dusts her hands off and heads back to the table to grab her drink. Her cheeks are a little pink now either from a blush or the beer. Either way, it makes her look cute.
And really, she doesn’t need much to be cute. She has big round eyes and full lips with soft, pale skin. She may look nineteen, but she doesn’t act like it. At least she’s way more mature than any teenager I’ve ever met.
“I’ve never seen a pre-law student with so much talent,” I say, easing onto the barstool and onto the subject of her major. I could tell from the second she came out with it that she was not enthusiastic about being a lawyer.
“It’s just a hobby,” she replies.
“That,” I say, pointing to the wall, “is way more than a hobby.”
“It’s not like I can make a living and build a future by being able to draw.”
“Says who?”
“Says my mother,” she answers with a sigh.
“Aha.” I take a drink, feeling Audrey’s eyes on me.
“Say whatever you’re thinking,” she says, leaning toward me with her arms on the table.
“I was just thinking that...your mother, as lovely as she is, who just married a man she knew for less than three months, shouldn’t be giving out advice on living sensibly.”
Audrey has a tight-lipped smile as her eyes narrow. Finally, she tips her beer in my direction. “Touche.”
We each finish our drinks in comfortable conversation, and I hate to admit how easy things are with her. Why can’t I find women like her my age? Why don’t women my age even act like her?