7. Chapter 7
Mackenzie
T he minute I’m in my room, I rip the newspaper off of the gift Tal gave me.
Inside is a composition notebook, “Firefly” written in swooping, swirling letters on the front.
I open the front page and grin when I see his neat scrawl.
Merry Christmas! I hope you get what you asked for.
I know my wish has already come true by being your friend.
I can’t wait to see you again.
Love,
Tal
Talmage is too sweet. My nose scrunches at the word “friend” because it doesn’t feel like we’re just friends. I don’t know what we are, since all we’ve done is hold hands, but friends doesn't feel like a strong enough word.
I love him. Maybe it’s puppy love or whatever adults say when you talk about your crush, but this feels like so much more than a simple crush or friendship. Tal’s become my best friend, the boy I’m in love with. Someone I can’t imagine a future without.
I turn to the next page, and my breath catches in my throat as I take in the sketch of us. Me, in a flowing gown with a tiara on my head, and Tal in a suit of armor. Even in the picture, he’s looking at my character like she’s precious.
I can’t wait to see him after the break.
I truly thought after the awkward lunch with Talmage, he’d be done with whatever… reunion thing he was so adamant about, but no.
The man won’t stop texting me. Not in a creepy way, but in a “hey, we were best friends and at one point dated, and I want to be friends again” way.
And I don’t… hate it.
I hate that I don’t hate it.
I hate that I want to let him back in. I hate that I want to confide in him and tell him everything about my day.
I don’t want to long for the attention of my first love, but the teenager in me already has “Mrs. Talmage Monson” scrawled on her notebooks again. She’s already started wondering what a wedding would look like and then pouted when I had to remind both of us this is Talmage .
Mormon golden boy and fireman heartthrob. Out of my league and too sweet for someone as jaded and broken as me.
Which is another reason I don’t understand why he’s so adamant about hanging out again. What could he possibly want with a burned-out, overworked guardian of teens?
A week has passed since our lunch, and he still texts me almost daily. He wanted to hang out today, which I thought was strange since it’s Sunday, but I have another shift at the bar, so I had to decline.
Walking into Great and Spacious, my phone pings again.
Talmage: Hope you have a good shift! Let me know when you get home so I know you’re safe. smiley emoji
Mackenzie: Thanks. Will do.
Am I being a bitch to him? Why does he care if I get home safe?
At the same time, my heart flutters, and the teenager in me sighs and swoons at how sweet he is.
“What’s got a smile on that usually downturned mouth?” Joanna, the bar manager, calls from her position behind the register.
I shake my head and put my phone back in my pocket on “do not disturb.” The only calls that will come through are from Harper, Kinsley, and Lizzie in case of an emergency.
When I interviewed for the bartending position, I was transparent about my situation and how I’d need to have some type of accommodations in case something happens.
Luckily, the owners, Gordan and Marie, were more than happy to oblige.
There hasn’t been an emergency since I started here, thank goodness, but I still get anxious every time I have to leave my sisters alone for a shift.
My mind swirls with anxiety thinking about Harper’s blood sugar getting too low or someone breaking in and trying to kidnap them, and no one being there to protect them.
I know they’re fifteen, and I’m not their mother, but I am their guardian. I’m still overly protective of them. They’re the only family I have left, and I’m theirs. I don’t know what would happen if we were to lose each other.
After putting the rest of my stuff in my employee locker and clocking in, I step behind the bar and start slicing limes and lemons next to where Joanna is still setting up the till.
“Well, are you going to answer me?” Joanna asks, shutting the register and turning to me.
Joanna is only in her early forties, but she still acts like a mother hen.
She gives off major “don’t fuck with me” vibes with her ice blonde, spiky pixie cut and dark eyeliner over her brown eyes.
Her ears are filled with so many piercings I’m surprised they can hold them, and she’s got a spiky black septum ring pierced through her nose.
I want to be her when I grow up.
Despite her outward appearance, the woman is a softie at heart and lives for gossip and drama .
She’s been trying to get the lowdown on my non-existent love life since I started working here, and I haven’t had anything to tell her.
Not that I have anything to tell her now . I’m not dating anyone.
I shrug while I quarter the lime on the cutting board. “Just a friend.”
Joanna snorts. “Right. A friend. A friend who made your permanent frown turn into a smile. The only other person who’s made you smile is Marie, and that’s because she’s the sweetest woman you’ll ever meet.”
She’s right, Marie is the sweetest woman I’ve ever met. She’s a petite, polite grandma type who makes quilts for the staff for Christmas and feeds stray cats.
She reminds me a lot of my mom, which makes me nostalgic and sad, but also comforts me when the days are darker than I’d like them to be.
I didn’t even realize I was smiling about Tal’s text.
Now I’m even more upset with myself because I shouldn’t be smiling over it.
I should be annoyed he’s somehow worked his way back into my life and is acting like a fucking gentleman, making me want to kick my feet and giggle every time he texts me.
I’m twenty-eight! I can’t be acting like a teenager with a crush. Even if I feel like one.
“You’re really not going to give me anything?” Joanna pushes her bottom lip out in a pout, and I shake my head. “Fine. Someday you’ll have some juicy gossip for me, and I’ll be ready and waiting with a shot of vodka.”
Never gonna happen.
Sunday shifts are either hectic as fuck or slower than cold tar. Tonight, apparently, no one wants a drink before the work week starts, so I’ve been cleaning bottles and mixing new cocktails for our regular patrons to try.
Most of them are crotchety old men who stick to their whiskey or Bud Light, but they don’t say no when Joanna tells them they get to be guinea pigs because they’re scared of her.
I’m just setting down a Moscow mule made with jalapeno vodka in front of the men when the bell above the door rings. Joanna calls out she’ll check IDs, so I wait while I watch them try their first sip.
Keith, the retired PD chief, chokes and coughs after taking a sip. “Mack, what in tarnation is this? You tryna kill me?”
That makes my lip twitch. “Come on, Keith. A little jalapeno never hurt anyone,” I tease.
“You made this with that jalapeno vodka?” Randy bristles, pronouncing jalapeno “ja-lop-en-oh.”
“I’m trying to add some new flavors to the menu. You guys don’t like it?” I already know their answer. They don’t like anything I make aside from their usuals.
They’re not very good guinea pigs.
“Hell no! Get that shit away from me. All I need is a beer. Stop trying to expand my tastes, Mack. If I wanted that I’d go to the fancy-shmancy, hipster cocktail bar on Main,” Keith grouses .
I don’t take his grumpiness personally. I learned pretty quickly he’s this way with everyone.
I grab their copper mugs and take them back to the kitchen, putting them in the dirty dish bin before heading behind the bar.
Joanna slides in next to me with a wicked smile on her face and a mischievous glimmer in her eye. A smile that says there’s some hot gossip brewing, and I’m going to get an earful.
“You'll never guess who’s here,” she whispers.
I scan the bar for the new arrival, and as soon as I see who she’s talking about, my entire body goes rigid.
Golden hair and a matching mustache, piercing blue eyes. He looks so out of place here in his white button down and suit pants. He looks like he just came from church and left his suit jacket and tie in the car. What the hell is he doing here?
She chuckles at my reaction. “And you’ll never guess who Peter Priesthood asked to see.”
I swallow down the urge to duck into the back room and pretend I’m not here. That won’t work because I’m a shitty liar, and Talmage already knows I’m working tonight.
If I did that, Joanna wouldn’t let me live it down, and I’d have to explain why just the sight of him makes me want to run for the hills.
“He’s just a friend.” I know it’s the wrong thing to say as soon as I say it because Joanna’s grin only grows.
“A friend, huh? The same friend who had you smiling at your phone?”
“No,” I lie, which turns my face and chest red. Damn my pale skin .
“Right. I totally believe you. I’ll man the bar; you go put your friend out of his misery and talk to him. He looked like an eager puppy who was about to pee on the floor when he asked to speak to you, and I’m not cleaning it up.”
“Okay,” I grumble, wishing I could take a shot of something to calm my nerves and erase the mental image Joanna just put in my head.
The walk from behind the bar to the table where Talmage sits scrolling on his phone feels like it takes ages.
Why is he here? On a Sunday? In a bar? Asking for me?
Nothing makes sense.
I clear my throat when I approach, and he immediately sets his phone down and jumps up from his chair with a beaming smile, wrapping me in a tight bear hug.
“Hey, Mack! I’m so happy to see you.”
I tentatively wrap my arms around his narrow waist and try my hardest not to greedily inhale his scent. He smells like leather and cinnamon, and it makes me a little dizzy.
“You, too,” I mumble against his broad chest.
I reluctantly step back. It was hard to pull away from him at Valley Baker, and it’s hard to pull away now. “What are you doing here?”
Talmage’s smile never falters as he shrugs. “I wanted to see you. I figured if I can’t hang out with you outside of work, I could try to hang out with you at work. And I have something I want to talk to you about.”
But WHY? I want to scream. WHY ARE YOU SO ADAMANT ABOUT HANGING OUT? WHAT DO YOU WANT? Hasn’t my heart suffered enough? !
“Right. But… you don’t go to bars.”
Talmage tilts his head to the side. “Why would you think that?”
“Well, you’re Mormon? And it’s Sunday? And you’re… you. Tal, you look like you just stepped out of church.” I motion to his ensemble.
Talmage dramatically clutches his chest. “You wound me, milady. But you’re not wrong. I did just step out of church, and I’ve never been to a bar until now. As for the Mormon thing...” He waves his hand in the air in a “so-so” motion, and my confusion only grows.
“Okaaaay. Wh-what does that mean?”
He waves his hand dismissively, and I snatch it out of the air. I ignore the way my stomach swoops when our hands touch and the way his eyes track to our hands. Does he feel the spark between us, too? “No, no. We’re not breezing past that. What do you mean?”
With a heavy sigh, Tal motions for me to sit down. I glance back at Joanna, and she gives me an encouraging nod and another knowing smile. I know I’m going to have to give her a play-by-play after.
“I think—no, not think—I want to leave the church. I haven’t figured out how to do it without breaking my parents’ hearts, but I don’t want to be part of it anymore.”
Whaaaaat?
I pinch my thigh to make sure this isn’t some type of dream. Ouch. No, not a dream.
“But… why?” I ask.
“Well, why did you leave?”
I shift in the wooden chair. No way in hell I’m getting into that with him right now. It’s a long story wrapped in trauma and can only be told after at least two shots of tequila.
“Let’s just say my reasons for leaving the church are probably way different than yours.”
“Fair enough.” He leans forward like he’s about to share a government secret with me.
“Do you know how much money the church hoards? Did you know Joseph Smith was a pedophile? Or that he lied about how he translated the Book of Mormon ? Or that there’s a whole secret temple ceremony the rich men can pay for that basically absolves them of all of their sins and guarantees them entrance into The Celestial Kingdom?
Do you know how many sexual abuse victims— children —are swept under the rug because the church covers it up with their fancy lawyers? ”
Tal’s usual happy smile is nowhere to be seen. Instead, with every new question he asks, his lips turn down more. His eyes lose a little sparkle with every piece of information he shares. He looks genuinely distraught over these things.
“I know all of those things, yes.”
I know from personal experience how the church treats the victims of sexual abuse and rape. That was enough for me to leave, but I learned the rest of it through ex-Mormon podcasts and videos. It only solidified my choice.
Talmage shakes his head. “I never realized how terrible it was. How sexist and racist and… dishonest. I only started learning last year, and in October, my cousins pointed out even more. I just… I’m in deep, and I don’t know how to get out without blowing everything up. ”
I reach across the table and grab his hand again, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
“I wish I could tell you it’s easy, but our situations are different. I can’t tell you how it’ll go, but…” I don’t know if I’ll regret my next words, but I say them anyway, “I’ll be here if you need help.”
Tal’s answering smile is like the clouds parting on a cloudy day.