Henry
I’m standing outside of a bar called Fells Point Tavern, and I’m thinking about doing a spin move and speed-walking back to my apartment because I’m not sure I even want to be here.
“You should go,” Grace said back at her house half an hour ago with Edward Scissorhands on pause. I’d just explained my phone mishap from earlier—how I thought Meredith was Grace.
“What?” I asked. I was surprised, a little hurt, too. “Really?”
“You said she’s pretty, right? And nice?”
“Yeah, but…we haven’t finished the movie yet.”
“Eh.” Grace shrugged. “Like you said, it gets dark and sad. Maybe we skip that part—end on a high note. You know, those two beautiful idiots hugging.”
I looked at the TV.
“Plus,” Grace said. “You gotta think about it from Meredith’s perspective, right?
She asks you out. Then you respond by telling her you were just thinking about her, accusing her of booty texting you, then vanishing.
I mean, you probably made her feel bad. Or at the very least you confused the shit out of her.
You need to go just to prove that you’re not a complete weirdo. I mean, even though you obviously are.”
A group of people in their twenties dodge me now on their way into Fells Point Tavern.
They’re wearing horrendous sweaters and laughing.
A band is playing down the street at The Horse You Came In On.
I can hear it from here. The temperature is falling fast, a singing drunk girl runs by dressed as Buddy the Elf, and I wish I’d stayed with Grace instead.
When she was looking at my phone before, she told me that Brynn was beautiful.
She was right, Brynn was beautiful. When she said it, though, the first thing I thought was that Grace is also beautiful.
I nearly said it, even: You’re beautiful, too, Grace.
I didn’t, though, because that would’ve been too much to say to a friend.
Because that’s what Grace and I are, I remind myself. We’re friends.
Through the bar’s steamed-over window, everyone looks like they’re having fun in there.
More people with ugly sweaters enter, and when the door opens, music and laughter come out.
I remove my phone from my back pocket. What would Grace say if I texted her and told her that she’s beautiful and that I want to come back and watch the end of Edward Scissorhands with her?
The answer I come up with is humbling, though, considering how convinced she was that I should leave her house immediately and come here to be with someone else.
Grace wouldn’t have done that if she wanted me to stay. Right?
Either way, it’s too late, because I see Meredith now through the window. And when I do, her eyes go wide with recognition. And now she’s smiling.
Meredith has to shout over the noise. “You made it!”
“Hi. I did, yeah.”
She’s in a gray, form-fitting sweater with snowflake-shaped polka dots, looking as pretty in her big glasses as she did back at her shop. “Come on. We got a good spot.”
Two women stand at a high-top table. I recognize them from Precocious HQ.
“This is Ginny, and this is Gabby,” Meredith tells me. “Ladies, this is Henry, Cal’s brother.”
Ginny and Gabby lift their beers, we shout hellos, and Meredith asks me if I want a drink.
“I’ll get it,” I say. “Save my place. Anybody need another one?”
Ginny and Gabby point to their full beers and say no. Meredith says she’ll take a gin and tonic.
Maybe it’s weird to pop over to their table, say hi, and immediately run off.
But aside from hanging at a bar with two kids the other night, this is the most social I’ve been in a year, so I need a second to myself while I wait for my drink.
The bartender is wearing a T-shirt with a picture of the leg lamp from A Christmas Story on it. Fragilé!
“Nice shirt,” I tell her. “Must be Italian.” She winks and tells me Happy Hanukkah.
When I return to the table, the ladies are comparing paper cuts.
“Wrapping presents is a legit health hazard, Henry,” says Ginny, who’s wearing a red-and-green holiday cardigan. “Look at this. It’s like I got shivved in prison.”
The wound on her index finger is pink and angry. “Yeesh.”
Meredith and I tap our gin and tonics together. “I got one, too,” I say and take a big Christmas tree–tasting sip. The leg lamp lady must’ve liked me complimenting her shirt because this is the strongest drink I’ve had in years.
“If I have to wrap one more biodegradable educational toy, I’m gonna set the store on fire, by the way,” says Gabby. She’s in denim overalls and a red turtleneck.
“She’s joking,” says Meredith. “Gabby loves her job. Right, Gabby?”
Gabby makes her voice sound robotic. “Yes. I love my job. And I don’t want to murder any of our customers, even the kids who lick everything.”
“Damn,” I say. “This turned dark. We’re murdering kids now?”
The women laugh. There’s rock and roll on in here instead of holiday music, which I appreciate. A bunch of the ugly sweater crowd is dancing.
“We really are kidding,” says Ginny. “We make jokes about killing children after work so we don’t accidently make them during work. It’s an elaborate coping mechanism.”
“That’s smart,” I say and take another long drink.
Ginny and Gabby ask me what I do, and I tell them about Art of the Brand.
Then they ask me where I went to high school because where you went to high school is a big deal in Baltimore, like fiefdoms in ancient Europe.
Alcohol enters my bloodstream and it feels like nostalgia. I’d forgotten how fun bars can be.
“So, what’s the deal with your brother?” Ginny asks.
The three women laugh again, like this is an inside joke. Gabby slaps Ginny’s arm.
“What? I’m just curious. I’m a curious lady.”
“You mean, how did he get so ugly?” I ask.
“Exactly!” says Ginny.
“The poor guy,” says Gabby. “Having to go through life with that hideous face.”
“And those terrible arms,” says Ginny.
“A mix-up at the hospital maybe,” I say. “It’s a family mystery.” When I remind Ginny and Gabby that Cal is married they boo me.
We talk about how it’s supposed to finally turn cold overnight and how the Ravens will absolutely lose in the upcoming playoffs because they were scientifically engineered in a lab to break our hearts.
I go back to the bar for more gin and tonics for Meredith and me and beers for Ginny and Gabby.
When we finish those drinks, Ginny’s and Gabby’s eyes meet across the table.
“Well, that’s it for me,” says Ginny.
Gabby sets her empty glass down with authority. “Me, too!”
Meredith is shocked. “What? You wimps!”
“I can’t wrap presents hungover tomorrow,” says Gabby. “I’ll seriously die.”
“Yeah, and if I’m not home in thirty minutes my cat will spite-poop under my Christmas tree again,” says Ginny.
After brief goodbyes and a high five from Ginny, Meredith and I are alone.
We watch the crowd. A crew of girls is having a bachelorette party and dancing with the ugly sweater people. Leg Lamp is pouring a long line of shots but doesn’t seem happy about it.
“Again,” I say, “sorry about the whole booty text thing. I was texting with a friend when you texted me. Wires got crossed.”
“The hazards of digital life,” she says.
“If one of you bitches pukes, I swear to god!” shouts Leg Lamp, and Meredith and I laugh.
“I’m glad you could come out and experience this holiday ambiance with me,” she says.
“Me, too. Thanks for asking me.”
“I’ll be honest, though,” she says. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“Really?” I ask, even though I wouldn’t have bet on me, either.
She touches her glasses. “Inviting you out was me daring myself. Cal made it sound like you’re…
well, like you haven’t been going out much.
” She bites her lip. Her cheeks are flushed from the drinks and the heat of this place.
“Same here, mostly,” she says. “I took one of those personality tests at my old job. Turns out I’m an introvert who can pretend to be an extrovert when necessary for social or professional gain. ”
I laugh and drink the last of the gin that’s coating my ice cubes. “I took it, too.”
“Yeah? And?”
“Same,” I say.
“No way! Really? Introvert?”
I nod, touch my glass to hers again. “Did you get the part about how pretending to be an extrovert can lead to extended periods of withdrawal and exaggerated levels of exhaustion?”
She laughs, touches my arm. “Yes! By the way, Exaggerated Levels of Exhaustion is my middle name.”
I laugh again even though I’m not sure that was particularly funny. “Is that what we’re doing now?” I ask. “Pretending to be extroverts?”
“Yes,” she says. “And we’re doing great.”
“You think?”
“I do. And I also think we should get another drink. That’ll help.”
“Yeah, probably.”
Before I head to the bar, though, her smile dips and she says, “I hope it’s not weird that I asked you to come out, though.”
Maybe it was, a little, I don’t know, but I tell her that it wasn’t.
“Normally I’d have thought of a bunch of reasons not to. But I’ve decided to try maybe not thinking for a while.”
“Let me know how that goes,” I say.
“Actually,” she says, “you know what? You wanna check out another spot? I kinda don’t want to find out if any of those girls over there really do puke. There’s a band playing Christmas songs at a place called The Horse You Came In On. Could be fun.”
I don’t respond right away. This isn’t because I don’t want to go; it’s because I’m surprised that I do.