Chapter 15 A Green-Eyed Boy
A GREEN-EYED BOY
A man dressed in black with the bar’s logo on his breast stood just inside the door. He said something, but it was drowned out by the thump of bass.
“What?” I leaned closer. He reeked of BO and cigarettes.
“ID!” he yelled.
I dug it out of my back pocket, searching the crowd for a hint of Zoey or Callie or the Shell sign.
He stamped my hand, and I stepped into the mass of people.
The room was dimly lit, making everyone look the same.
I scanned what I thought was the eastern side of the room and then saw the Shell sign on a different wall.
Thankfully I wouldn’t have to depend on my navigation skills to find the new world.
After too many excuse mes and oh sorrys, the mass of bodies spit me out in front of the steel and wood bar that sat in the middle of the large room.
It was raised up slightly, and bright lights shone down on the bartenders, whose patrons cheered as they tossed shakers and lit orange peels on fire.
The massive collection of liquor was in the middle with enough light under the bottles to land a plane. Christ, I was really too old for this.
I pushed my way closer and waited for one of the bartenders to make their way down.
They, too, fit the aesthetic of the bar.
The men were dressed in tight black T-shirts stretching over their muscular frames.
Most had tattoos and piercings. The couple of females had low-cut tank tops on and black lace bras showing.
This was the place to be. I was making note of where the Shell sign was when I heard it.
“What can I get you?”
A low timbre I could pick out of any room cut through the music and the noise. A voice that had haunted my dreams. A voice that belonged to Tristan Anderson. There he stood. Bright green eyes and sharp edges. Edges that the years had cut deeper.
“Evan?” He narrowed his gaze.
The bar fell away. The elbows in my back, the Shell sign—all gone. He was here. All of him and more. His neck, arms, and hands were covered in dark ink. He looked different and yet the same. He still had that stupid, perfect mouth. “Tristan? What? I mean, you’re here.”
“Yeah, I am. And… so are you? Uh… Can I get you something to drink?”
I never thought about what it would be like to see him again.
What I would say, what he would say. I hadn’t gone over the conversation in the shower or planned it out during my commute.
Because I never intended to run into him.
But this was not how I wanted it to go. He looked at me like he wasn’t sure what to do with me.
Or was it that he didn’t care I was standing there?
“Um, yeah. Uh, vodka soda with… with a lime. Please.” And that was all I said. Not why are you here? I’ve missed you. I still hate you. Where have you been? People pushed their way to the bar, yelling their drink order. The other bartenders teased him. And I just stood there, watching him.
“Anything else?” He nodded at another patron who held up an empty beer. “Another Stella?”
“No. How much for the drink?” I asked.
“This one’s on the house.” He winked, pushing it my way before moving to the next person.
I pulled a twenty out of my back pocket and pushed it on the bar before I moved away. He wasn’t supposed to be here; this was my life. My city. A place he hadn’t wanted to go to. Somehow, I managed to make my way to the Shell sign.
“Ev!” Callie jumped up and pulled me into a hug.
I closed my eyes, willing the tears back. He wasn’t supposed to be here. I inhaled the soft scent of her perfume. I hugged her tight, hoping this life would win. That my old life would stay buried deep.
Callie pulled away. “Are you okay?”
I shook away whatever this was. Tonight wasn’t about me. This was Callie’s birthday. “Yeah, I’m fine. Work shit.” I forced a smile.
Zoey stood, pulling me into a hug. “What’s wrong?”
I pulled away. “Nothing. Nothing. Just work.”
“Everyone, this is Evan. We were roommates in college, and now we work together. Ev, this is everyone.” Callie held her glass out to the girls who sat in the horseshoe-shaped booth. A couple of pink balloons were tied to a bottle of champagne.
“Hey.” I smiled at them and sat down next to Zoey. “Happy birthday.” I raised my glass and cheered loudly for Callie, who was dressed all in white with a sash that read Dirty Thirty. “Is she wearing a crown?” I leaned over to Zoey.
“Yep, her bestie Stephanie brought it.” Zoey held up her glass. “To Callie, the only person who still throws herself birthday parties.”
“Until the day I die.” Callie swallowed down her drink and swung her hips to the music. “I need another drink. Zoey? Ev?”
Zoey shook her head no.
“Yeah. Whatever you’re having.” I swallowed down my drink.
The vodka was strong and the soda a chaser.
But not strong enough to erase his face.
To erase the memory of his kisses. How the fuck did he still affect me like this?
It’d been twelve years, six years of college boys, a term of exorcising the Tristan demon, and more debt than a small country.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You looked like you saw a ghost.” Zoey turned her back to the other girls.
“Oh, and watch out. Stephanie has already established she is Callie’s best friend.
And she has the stories to prove it. If I have to take another trip down Delano High memory lane, I am going to strangle her with those balloons.
My god, the girl was homecoming queen, not the queen of Sweden,” Zoey hissed in my ear.
I looked over Zoey’s shoulder to see the girls watching the dance floor, sucking on brightly colored drinks.
“I assume she’s the one wearing all pink.
People are going to think we’re celebrating a birth.
Probably not the best place for that.” My head hurt from the music, the lights, and knowing I was in the same room as him. The same city.
Zoey shrugged. “Don’t ask her about her cult. She already wants to give all of us makeovers. Now, what the fuck is wrong?”
“I’m not feeling well.” I pressed my fingertips to my forehead.
“Maybe I’m coming down with something.” Yeah, like heartbreak.
There were so many questions I wanted to ask him.
But what would that solve? I went over this in my grief class.
Knowing the why wouldn’t change the ending. It wouldn’t unbreak my heart.
Zoey placed the back of her hand on my forehead. “You don’t feel hot. Speaking of hot, did you see—"
Callie came back carrying three drinks. “Fucking hell, that bartender is hot. I would really like him as part of my research. Tattoos and piercings. Even his name is hot. Tristan. Fuck. I’d like to scream that name out a couple times.”
Zoey looked at me. “I knew it. Ev, come to the bathroom with me.”
“I don’t have to—” I didn’t want to talk about this.
“Yes, you do.” She yanked me out of the chair and through the crowd. I looked back to see him. He was smiling at some girl. Zoey pushed me to the bathroom and into the handicapped stall.
“That’s your Tristan, isn’t it?” She pointed to the bathroom door.
The first tears started to burn. “Why would you say that…?”
“Fuck, I knew he looked familiar. He looks the same minus the tattoos. Are you alright?”
I leaned against the stall wall, the sound of the bar filtering in each time the door was opened. “I don’t know. I thought I was. I mean, I should be. It’s been twelve fucking years.”
“Do you want to leave?”
Yes, I did, but I didn’t want him to think he still had some weird pull over me. I should have been over him. I had a life, a job, friends. And now I was crying over a boy in a bar bathroom.
“Don’t cry. I’m not good with tears.” Zoey tore at the roll of toilet paper. Little pieces fluttered to the ground. “Here.” She handed me a wad of thin paper, then pulled me into a hug. “Fucking men.”
The door opened again. “Ev and Zoey?” Callie called.
“In here.” Zoey opened the stall door.
Callie pushed her way in. “What the fuck? Ev, are you crying? Did Stephanie say something to you? I told her not to—”
“No.” Zoey pinched her. “The bartender. That’s her Tristan.”
Callie shook her head. “What?”
Zoey threw her hands up. “Freshman year. The one she’s not supposed to google.”
“Oh. Oh!” Callie’s eyes went wide. “That would explain this.” She held out a napkin. “He wanted me to give it to you. I thought he was just hitting on you. But…”
I looked at the small white square with his writing on it. His number. It had a different area code than Parkfield. I wanted to take it. To hold it to my cheek and feel his touch. I wanted to blow my nose on it and flush it.
“Throw it.” Zoey reached for it. “He broke her heart.”
“No.” Callie clutched it to her chest. “This is her one. Plus, he made me promise I would give it to her. I’m not about to upset the sex gods. I’m sorry, Ev, but that man is fucking hot. If I had to give sex a face, a body, a voice, and a mouth—”
Zoey swatted at her. “You’re not helping.”
I snorted out a laugh. This was still my life. I still had control. These were my friends crowded into a bathroom stall that smelled like fake vanilla and too many kinds of perfume. I’d be okay.
Someone banged on the stall door. “Hey, whatever you’re doing in there, go find somewhere else to do it.”
“Oh, go fuck yourself. We’re not doing lines off someone’s ass,” Zoey called. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”
“No.” I pressed the heel of my hand into my cheek. “I’m fine. It’s Callie’s birthday. Plus, Stephanie will hate me.”
“I have to piss,” the voice said, still banging on the door.
“Good for you,” Callie yelled. “Use the other stall.” Callie put her arm around me. “Stephanie can go fuck herself.”
“And I can go kick him in the balls if you want.” Zoey tore more toilet paper off the roll.
The bathroom door opened, and a male voice filled the small space. “Ladies, is there a problem?”
Callie rolled her eyes before cracking the stall door open. “Yeah, you’re in the wrong bathroom, asshole.”
“We have a complaint that you three are—”
“Are what? Safety in numbers.” Callie shut the door, then flushed the toilet. “Okay, my turn.” Callie shifted to sit on the toilet. “Better?” she yelled. The door opened and closed again.
“You look ridiculous,” I said, looking at her sitting in her white pants and white silk shirt. Her bright pink sash and crown looked sad. “I’ll be okay. Let’s go drink and be merry.”
“Sounds like a good idea. Just not here,” Zoey said.
“Agreed.” Callie took some toilet paper and dropped it in the toilet before flushing. “What? Habit. I’ll tell Stephanie you’re pregnant by the hot bartender. And now you’re throwing up,” she teased as she pushed the stall open.
“And I’ll get us an Uber. Or do you want me to wait with you?” Zoey asked.
“No. I’m going to pull myself together, and then I’ll meet you outside.
” Zoey left, and I checked my reflection, wondering if Tristan saw the changes.
My face had lost its youthful roundness and, like him, I had my own edges.
They were not as sharp as his. Mine were more worn down from heartbreak and loss.
From years of telling myself he was okay.
I never searched for Tristan because I was afraid that something terrible had happened and I wasn’t there to stop it.
I took a deep breath and told myself the same thing I told my clients.
I am not responsible for others’ actions.
I closed my eyes, telling myself it would be okay.
I would walk out of this bathroom and never see Tristan Anderson again.
I pushed the bathroom door open to find him standing there. Away from the bright lights of the bar, he looked even more like Tristan.
“Ev.” His voice hurt and soothed at the same time. “Can we talk?”
“I… um…” The fucking tears started again.
All the years I thought I had dealt with my feelings for him.
I had boxed them up and had no intention of ever opening them again.
And now all those feelings tumbled out making me drunk off them.
I wanted to rush into his arms and kiss that stupid fucking mouth.
Bury my face in his neck and beg him to take the hurt away.
I wanted to scream I hated him. And cry at his feet.
“Ev, please.”
“I don’t know.” I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t put together a cohesive thought.
He touched my wrist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your night. I’ll leave or something… Please don’t go.”
On his hand was a broken skull with a cigarette hanging out of its mouth.
The letters F-U-C-K were still there. But they were no longer on the thin fingers of a boy but on the hand of a man.
I looked up at him. “It’s okay. We were leaving anyway.
Besides, this is your job.” I took a deep breath.
Don’t break for him. Don’t let him see the cracks he’s made.
“It was good seeing you. I wish you, um… good luck.” I went to walk by him, but he grabbed my arm. His touch sent heat through my body.
“I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, losing you is my biggest regret. One I’m still paying for.” He let go and slipped into the crowd.
I looked down at my arm where his hand had been.
I was still paying for it too.