Chapter Eighteen
Caleb and Marcus have just taken off to go deliver today’s catch while I remain down at the marina trying to cram in my monthly maintenance routine before another mid-April shower rolls in, when suddenly my phone rings.
“Sup, T-dawg?” I answer, perplexed as to why Taryn would be calling me and yet, in the same token, let down that it isn’t Gordy.
Why would it be, though? The guy hasn’t even bothered to text me back since he all but threw himself a going away party for me and the girls finally vacating his apartment.
Well, maybe a party is exaggerating a little, but he sure didn’t hesitate to help us gather all our things and slam the door on my ass.
Thankfully, I was already outside before wood met fanny.
Now, I’m pretty sure I’m blocked, since all my texts haven’t even been read.
I half figured what we did in the shower the night before we moved out would send him spiraling. That’s why, I’m sure, he waited until I was asleep to spring out of bed to go sleep out on the couch. I showed him an ounce of affection, and he got spooked, of course.
“Hey, uh, I was wondering… are you going to be busy later this evening? I hate to ask, but you’re, like, my last resort,” Taryn asks.
I snort. “Nothing makes a guy feel more special than being told he’s a last resort,” I snark. “Whaddaya need?”
“Well, I only say last resort because I know you, uhm, don’t come around the pub anymore because you’re trying to stay sober, but, uh, I need a bartender tonight, and, uhm, I was hoping you might be able to, I dunno, work a shift or two? At least until I can train the new guy or track down my dad…”
Track down his dad? Huh. Apparently, I’m not the only one Gordy’s fuckin’ ghosted. That’s… concerning. Me, I can see, but his own son too?
Pushing away at the niggling worry, I ask Taryn, “New bartender you hired didn’t pan out?” No shock there, really. Wagner’s had nothing nice to say about the new face behind the bar. Not that he’s much for doling out compliments anyway, but still…
“Third no call no show in under a month,” Taryn scoffs.
“And people bitch about the work ethic of my generation…” He sighs.
“Anyway, I hate begging, but I know you know your way around the bar, and you’re already familiar with the crowd here.
I’m thinking it might be busy tonight, what with it being our first karaoke night and all.
I’ve done a little last minute shifting.
Morgan’s going to run food for me, that way I can pull Dominic back to man the grill.
I’ll tend, but for the crowd I’m expecting, I think I’ll need a barback to be more efficient. ”
“Wow, you’ve really stepped up your game,” I note, bemused. “You’ll be taking over the place in no time.”
“That’s the goal,” he replies. “Almost saved up enough to make Dad an offer. Besides, he’s been scarce since at least mid-February, so it’s not as though he’s totally invested in this place anymore.
Not sure if this is his test to make sure I’m fit to take over or what, but I wish I just knew if he was okay, at least… ”
“Wait, you haven’t heard from him—at all—since mid-February?” I ask, seeking further confirmation that it’s not just me Gordy’s shut out.
“No,” Taryn replies. “You either?”
Alright, now I’m genuinely worried. Gordy has a history of plotting his own demise—what if? God no, I don’t even want to think about that…
“I’ve been trying to give him space since moving out. Figured he wanted it, so I haven’t pushed,” I admit. Not that it’s been entirely easy for me to do. No, in fact, it’s been one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
But… I pushed him too far, too fast. The way I saw it, the ball was best left in his court. Little did I know, he’d rack it back up and walk off the court entirely.
Shit, should I be calling O’Reilly to do a wellness check on Gordy?
I nudge away the anxiety that rolls through me, and think if I’ve got anything else that needs to get done tonight.
Coming up with nothing—I’m actually all caught up on everything, and it’s Sarah’s weekend with the girls—I tell Taryn I’ll be in to help him out.
If anything, I might just be able to nose around the Ternbay grape-vine and see if anyone at all has heard from Gordy before I call in reinforcements.
Just as Taryn predicted, and much to my surprise, the pub is packed when I make my way behind the bar.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Taryn sighs, welcoming me in.
“I am so grateful for the extra set of hands tonight. Morgan did say I could count on you to help out if I needed it, and she wasn’t wrong.
I can’t remember the last time it’s been this busy, and that’s including the fact that your dad and his gossip buddies aren’t here tonight… ”
Well fuck, that makes me feel special. Someone sees me as dependable, at least. I’ll take it for the win that it is.
“You’re welcome. Did karaoke already start?” I ask, my brows knitting.
“No, man.” Taryn nods over to one of the tables as he furiously shakes a cocktail. “You ever hear of the Harnden twins?” he asks, then lowers his voice. “You know, the Siamese twins? They’re here. Not only did they bring a crew, they’ve attracted more.”
I follow his line of sight to a packed table near the corner.
Facing away from the rest of the room, I see them.
Of course I’ve heard of the guys who were born sharing a body, side-by-side.
Everyone in Maine practically has, despite them trying to live a private life.
Right now, I’m surprised to see them—well one of them, anyway—hamming it up for some selfies with other patrons.
“I think the proper term for them is conjoined twins,” I tell Taryn. “They’re Mainahs, bub, not Siamese. And quit gawking. It’s not polite.”
See? Look at me being all mature. I mentally preen, brushing my shoulders off.
Since moving out of Gordy’s and attempting to will my mind to stay off of him, I’ve actually done quite a bit of mature soul searching.
Having seen the improvements I’ve made, Sarah and I came to an agreement to more evenly share custody of the girls.
Steve-o and I have even met up a few times to make the hand-offs when Sarah’s working late, and he’s not half bad.
I know, I know. Trust me, I never expected to see him in a pair of grass-stained sneakers, nor to be bonding with him, while showing him how to fix the ole’ lawn mower either.
Turns out, he doesn’t even have a clue how to play chess, much less run an underground gaming ring featuring the boardgame.
He does know how to perfectly season meat though, and I’ve taken to grilling, now that the snow has melted and mud-season has just about passed.
“There seems to be a bit of a lull,” Taryn notes after a bit, snapping me out of my irony. “I’m going to go get karaoke set up. Mind manning the bar solo for a sec?”
I nod. “Sure thing.”
He walks off as I continue wiping down glasses.
Not long after I’ve mixed a few drinks for the regulars I used to shoot the shit with, back when I was a more frequent patron, I hear someone behind me grumbling, “No, Elliot, I do not want to get up in front of this crowd and sing. We have already drawn enough attention to ourselves for one night. People aren’t used to us here like they are back home. ”
I spin to find the Harnden twins standing on the other side of the bar. One glowering at the other out of his periphery. The other simply smirks, directing his attention to me. He nods at the shelves of liquor behind me. “Whatcha got back there that’ll loosen Red up enough to sing with me?”
The grumbly twin rolls his eyes. “Again with the Red Forman bullshit?”
The other ignores his brother, asking me, “You see it, don’t you? The resemblance? The way he’s about two seconds away from threatening to put a foot up my ass, even though we share said ass?”
Red’s eyes narrow on me, reminding me of how Evan regards me when he’s sick of my bullshit. Actually, their whole dynamic is akin to mine and Evan’s. Goofy meets growly. This gives me an idea for a shot to get them started with…
“Any allergies? Aversions?” I ask them both.
They both shake their heads in unison. On that, I reach for the cinnamon whiskey first, finding it in its familiar home, since it was what I always used to go for.
Remembering Gordy’s aversion to mint, it's no shocker that I have to hunt around a bit until I find some peppermint schnapps.
I plunk two shot glasses down on the bar, and begin to pour.
The grump rolls his eyes when I slide the shots over to them. “Fire and ice? Really? How cliché…”
“Quinn, don’t be an asshole. I happen to think this gentleman made a perfect choice,” the other quips.
“I’m Gannett,” I tell him. “As for a gentleman, I most certainly am not.”
The goofy one chuckles. “Something tells me you’re not an only child either. Consider yourself lucky you’re not wearing your sibling. I’m Elliot, by the way. The asshole on my shoulder is Quinn.”
Just then, a younger dude, who looks suspiciously similar to the twins, wraps his arms around them both, and hops onto them piggy-back style. “You said something about wearing a sibling?” he snarks.
“Christ, Jakey-poo!” Elliot grunts. “Get the fuck off. Wrangler’s over there, if you need someone to climb like a fuckin’ tree!” he groans, gesturing back at their table.
“Yeah, but Leev’s in a mood. You know how he is when he’s overstimulated,” the new guy, I’m assuming Jake, responds. He slides off their back, planting his feet on the floor with a chuckle.
“I’m with Levi,” Quinn grumbles. “Since all Shane is doing is convincing Elliot that he and I need to get up and sing some Savage Garden, maybe we should trade husbands for the evening…”
Jake and Elliot both scoff. “No way in hell,” Elliot snipes. “The only one coming back to that hotel room with us tonight is my husband.”
“Our husband,” Quinn corrects him.