3
I pull into the Casadoro parking lot and the place is fucking packed. I manage to find the last spot in the overflow lot, just as a light rain starts to spit on my windshield. I sprint from the car to the door, holding my hand over my head in a dismal attempt to stop the water.
Inside, the restaurant is loud and the line of people waiting zigzags the entrance. Alex knows the bar manager and, despite how busy it is, can always secure us a table.
I see him sitting at a two-top on the perimeter of the bar. I sit down, finding a limonata and an order of gnocco fritto waiting for me.
Alex, as always, looks amazing. Once he made partner at his law firm he really began to invest heavily in his wardrobe. Tonight, he’s wearing his blue Armani suit with, as always, a pocket square for a pop of color. Today it’s yellow.
“I thought you’d already be hungry so I ordered an app.” I grab one of the gnocco fritto and pop it in my mouth, the dough practically melting in my mouth. Most days I bring lunch to campus but between running late, and office hours, I only managed a Clif Bar.
“Thank you, and also for remembering the limonata.” The limonata is a perfect blend of gin and lemon, with some effervescence from the prosecco.
“So, I’m gonna cut to the chase. I think you should move in with me.” The second gnocco fritto I just grabbed falls out of my hand.
“I…umm—”
“And I think you should also skip the whole Dublin thing.”
I look up and catch Alex’s eyes. He’s staring at me, but it’s matched with this self-righteous smirk splashed on his face. He takes a sip of his wine, then leans back a bit and sloshes the remaining liquid around the glass.
“We’ve talked about this before. Ad nauseam. We haven’t even been dating a year. I can’t just drop the…how’d you put it? Dublin thing? It’s my job Alex. I’ve signed a contract and someone’s already taking my course load here.”
“Take the semester off. Hell, take more than that off. You know I make more than enough to cover it.”
Ahh. There it is. This fucking prick. Michael, and others, had caught this vibe from him early on, but maybe I’ve been too blind to see it. He thinks he’s that much better than the rest of us just because his name’s on a plaque outside a building. Stereotypical asshole lawyer.
“And do exactly what? Keep house? Be your little tradwife and just fucking give up on everything I’ve worked for? I actually fucking like my job and what I do, believe it or not.”
Alex laughs. “What you’ve worked for? Please Daniel, don’t flatter yourself. You funded your bachelor’s, your master’s, and your doctorate off life insurance money. Don’t pretend things weren’t just handed to you.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “That’s rich, coming from the almost law school dropout who barely passed the bar exam and only made partner when his daddy threw a hissy fit in a boardroom.
At least I worked hard for my degrees and been published multiple times over the past couple of years.
Tell me, Alex. When was the last time you actually won a court case? ”
His face goes through the full Pantone range of reds in a matter of seconds. “How fucking dare you.”
I stand up from the table, now noticing we have caught the attention of almost the entire bar.
One of the bartender’s literally frozen in place, mid-shake of a drink.
“I know you’re pretty entitled and used to everything going your way.
And definitely not used to people telling you no.
I will make this as crystal clear as possible just to make sure you can comprehend it.
No. Noooooooo. I won’t be fucking moving in with you.
Yes, I will be going to Dublin and fuck the first hot guy that even looks my way.
Someone that doesn’t have an awful spray tan, or,” and I make sure to look around the bar, “tattoos of Mickey and Minnie Mouse on each ass cheek. You might have money, but I would bet anything I have more than you. Which is sad, because your supposed wealth is really your last redeeming quality.”
I take out my wallet and throw two twenties on table, just because, and turn to walk to the door.
“I guess you can now run home to Michael and finally get to live your shitty little ever after.”
I spin around and take a few steps back towards the table.
“What is your obsession with him, anyways? He’s my fucking roommate, for the better part of a decade.
And a friend for triple that. Don’t you think if anything were going to happen it could have on, I don’t know, any night of the last twenty plus years?
This weird jealousy you have of him is just pathetic. ”
“Not as pathetic as being almost thirty-eight years old and having a roommate.”
“What’s truly pathetic is having a naked painting of a cartoon prince hanging in your bathroom.”
He truly does.
This needs to end, on a final note with flair. I look at his suit, which probably cost him more than one of my paychecks. I grab his wine glass, and throw it left-center of his chest. Making sure the wine hits not only the jacket but also one of his beloved pocket squares.
“Go fuck yourself Alex.” I head towards the door, catching looks from a couple of the bar patrons. A woman at the end claps as I pass, throwing the door open and heading back out into the rain.
* * *
I enter the condo and throw my bag down, along with my keys that ricochet off the wall. Michael pops his head up from the couch, his eyes going wide. “Dude. What the fuck happened to you?”
I go over every detail of the fight, including how upset I am that I didn’t even get my chicken parm. When Michael rolls his eyes, I throw my hands up in the air. “It’s not funny! After that little bit of dinner theater there’s no fucking way they’d let me step foot in there ever again.”
“Couldn’t you just order takeaway and send Michael?” Niall, of course, is on fucking FaceTime and heard all that.
“What time is it even over there? Shouldn’t you be sleeping or something?”
“Danny. It’s barely midnight and I’m thirty-six. Not gonna turn into a pumpkin or anything.” He shifts his gaze over to Michael. “He’s kinda cute all riled up.”
“Barf,” Michael and I both say in unison. I immediately head to the freezer and pull out our bottle of premade espresso martinis. After TikTok taught us the trend of freezer door drinks, we’ve begun stocking them both here and at the bookstore.
I pass Michael his, automatically assuming he’d want one, and plop down on the couch next to him.
“So,” Niall begins, with a chuckle, “was all that Disney shit you told the whole restaurant true?”
“Unfortunately, One Direction, yes. While he had a very toned ass, even I had trouble looking beyond the tattoos on them cheeks.”
“Especially when riding him.” I push Michael over, Niall cracking up on screen.
“I’m sorry you had a shit night. But he did seem like a true arse. Silver lining? You’ll be single when you head over here in a couple months.”
That’s true. Maybe Niall has some cute friends he can hook me up with. Or at least point me in the right direction of where to go in the city.
“You’ll have to be Daniel’s shepherd once he’s over there.” As if Michael had been reading my mind.
“Erm…I cannot promise anything. Haven’t had much luck myself with the lads as of late. Bit of a dry spell. It’s fine though. Given me a lot of opportunity to make improvements at the book pub, really refine the bakery menu.”
“Speaking of,” Michael says, reaching into a box on the coffee table, “we need to talk about what this thing is you sent us in this month’s care package.”
Michael pulls out what appears to be a cake or…
no. Maybe it’s a bread. Whatever it is it’s still half wrapped in cellophane.
There’s a bit cut off the end already. He takes the knife, still on the table from what I’m assuming was the first round of sampling, and cuts off another slice, handing it to me.
“So you did get it! That’s a brack. Well, technically it’s called barmbrack”
“A what now? How’s that even spelled?”
“Michael. I included the recipe in the box, spelling and all. I think it has history with something to do with Halloween. Basically, I think it just gives us another vessel to slather butter on at breakfast.”
I take a bite and immediately it reminds me of something akin to a cinnamon raisin bread. But also, not quite. There are other flavors and fruits going on here. I can see why Niall slathers butter on it, as it does feel a tad on the dry side otherwise.
“I’ve made some VERY specific notes on that recipe card that are nonnegotiable.
The tea you soak the dried fruit in must be an Irish black tea.
Not anything from England and certainly not any of that garbage you call tea in the States.
You can feel free to experiment with whatever combination of dried fruits you like but make sure it’s more than just raisins.
Otherwise, you’ve made some variation of a soda bread.
And, most importantly. It must be served with Irish butter.
I know you buy things in bulk in America, but do not use some store brand American butter with this.
Especially when selling it to customers. ”
I turn to Michael. “You should do this for the fair. Like set up a table of books made up of Irish authors. You could offer a package deal for a book and a slice.”
“For a silent partner you sure have a lot of opinions.”
“I think it sounds like a great idea,” Niall says, winking at me.
Michael shoots dagger eyes at the screen. “You both better not gang up on me when I come visit. I remind you we were friends first, then you unfortunately met Daniel.
I throw back the rest of my espresso martini. “Don’t worry Michael. One Direction and I would never think of doing such a thing.”