Chapter 14
Ellie
This is the life.
Five hours ago, I cocooned myself in my duvet and have not moved from the corner of the couch.
Since I have no plans to leave this spot for the entire weekend, it is the most content I’ve felt in weeks.
I am burnt out, exhausted, and uninterested in any human contact or interaction.
Nick was unfortunate enough to figure that out earlier when he sat down next to me and tried to talk.
I am not the outwardly aggressive type, but I might’ve made some distasteful comments about murdering him if he said another word.
The Office is on in the background as I scroll through my phone, and all it does is make me think about Patrick.
It’s the episode in season one where Michael Scott holds the Dundies Award ceremony in the local Chili’s.
There was a hot minute where it was my comfort show, so I’ve probably seen every episode at least five times.
I’m not really paying attention, but as the episode plays in the background, I have to fight the urge to text him “I feel God in this Chili’s tonight”.
The thought of him smiling because of me has my heart doing somersaults.
I’ve actually started to think of Patrick as a friend, but that just shows how naive I am.
It’s too easy to get comfortable with this arrangement, and I need to stop.
Patrick only suggested it so he doesn’t seem like a liar to his boss, and once he figures out how to end it amicably, I don’t want to be the one who feels abandoned.
It’s always been hard for me to make friends, and my track record has not been the best. It always goes one of the following ways: I make a friend, and they turn out to be someone different than I thought or they find someone they like better or they move away and I never hear from them again.
The excuses go on and on. It took a long time to feel comfortable enough to trust Nick, and I still have suspicions that he is going to leave like everyone else does.
Sinking back into the couch, I pull the blankets up further, upset that I got myself into this bad mood. It’s so stupid how I always do this.
Pull it together, Ellie.
Luckily, hindsight was 20/20 when I ordered Chinese food, so at least there is some on its way.
Those who say food doesn’t make you feel better obviously have never tried the combination of crab rangoons and wonton soup.
When I have a bad week, I know that Hunan Star can make me feel better, and if all else fails, it almost always makes me so full that I fall asleep immediately after consumption.
Nick shouldn’t be home for a few hours anyway, so I can take this time to focus on myself. Even if focusing on myself just involves falling into a food coma and taking a mind-numbing nap.
I scroll aimlessly through my phone and let my mind veg out. Hopefully some sleep will get me out of this funk.
“Please, please, please, please, please!”
I groan, pulling the blanket over my head, but that doesn’t stop his attempt at persuasion. I’m still sitting on the same corner of the couch almost a full twenty four hours later. I didn’t mean to fall asleep here, but my eyes were too heavy and my bedroom was too far away.
“You should come to the bar tonight. Pleaseeeeeee, Ellie! We haven’t hung out in forever, and you were already the world’s most convincing couch potato once this weekend. If it happens two nights in a row, I’ll have to display you as a roadside attraction.”
After ignoring him last night, saying he’s gotten a little clingy is an understatement, but I can’t blame him.
He has plenty of other friends, but it’s not the same.
We are each other’s person, and I haven’t been there for him as much as I normally am.
Since I started my summer class and picked up a couple extra shifts, we have barely spent any time together, and if we're being honest, I miss him too. I didn’t realize until now, but my fake relationship isn’t helping either.
Peeking out from the blanket, I give him a look like he didn’t need to call me out like that. “While that's very convincing, I have a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream with my name on it, and I will not let you keep me from my true love.”
“Tell me you’ll at least think about it?” He plops down on the sofa next to me, looking like he’s about to cry.
I hate that I have a soft spot for Nick, and I hate that he knows how to use it. “Fineeeee! Text me in a few hours, and I might stop by.”
“That’s good enough for me! I’ll see you later!” He gives me a wink while running out the door.
This is our weekend routine. He begs me to come out, and I say no. However, there is a 50/50 chance I end up going to see him. Well, more like 20/80 these last few weeks.
I was really hoping to fall asleep before he texted me, but it doesn’t take long for a message to come through. He has only been at work for a half hour, but I guess it’s a slow Saturday.
My body aches as I force myself up and head to the bathroom. Sleeping on the couch did not do me any favors, and the neck pain is a reminder of that. It always seems like such a good idea before you actually fall asleep!
Nick: Ellie!!!!!! Please come by! I’m bored without you!
Ellie: You’re so needy, and I’m about to change into my pjs!
Nick: Come on, Ellie! You’re no fun!
Nick: Drink away your problems, and I’ll cover your Uber!
Ellie: Stop tempting me with free rides and alcohol! You’re an irresponsible friend!
Ellie: Give me 40 minutes…
Nick: Woooohoooo! See you soon! *kissy emoji*
I look at myself in the mirror and then down at my stained sweatshirt and realize that showering is a necessity.
When did I spill duck sauce on myself?
Ellie: Make it an hour. I look like shit!
Nick: Yeah, you were lookin kinda rough when I left…
I send him a row of middle finger emojis and connect my phone to the bluetooth speaker.
A 2000s dance playlist acts as the main motivator to get me to leave the house.
Singing along to “Untouched” by The Veronicas, I get into the shower and hope that going out tonight is not going to make me feel worse.
As I step out of the car, I realize that shorts were a smart move.
It is ridiculously hot out for 9 p.m., and if I’m drinking, I’ll only get warmer.
I kept makeup and jewelry simple with just a bit of mascara and my gold pendant.
Pairing the high waisted cut offs with a tight green tank, I feel just cute enough to be out while still being relatively comfortable.
My black vans fit snugly on my feet—a smart choice so I don’t end up limping around from a drunken, twisted ankle again.
I have a tendency for clumsiness when I drink, and mixing that with high heels is a recipe for disaster.
I have made that mistake too many times to count, and I like to be a person who learns from their mistakes—eventually.
I’m shocked by the sight of a practically empty bar when I walk in.
It’s almost unheard of until I realize that it's the 4th of July weekend, and everyone is probably on vacation or drunk at their buddies house lighting off fireworks.
During these times, I pray for the EMTs and firefighters who have to deal with all of the idiots who will blow off their fingers and then be too drunk to remember it.
Working Class has been my go-to bar ever since Nick started working here, so I basically have the whole layout memorized.
The bar top is long with plenty of seating.
They have a couple of booths and low tables, and the bar itself is scattered with high tops.
There is a space in the back with a couple pool tables and dart boards, but it’s always a little too confined for my liking, especially when the night starts to pick up.
Some bars have the charm of being disgusting and sticky, but not this one. While it’s not pristine, I feel comfortable here. Not to mention, the bathrooms are almost always clean, and if there’s someone acting belligerent, they will be cut off and kicked out.
Walking straight up to Nick who has his back to me, I lower my voice to disguise it the best I can. “Can I have an old-fashioned on the rocks with no ice?”
He turns around with the most aggressive eye roll already in motion until he realizes it’s me. “You bitch! I thought you were a real customer!”
The fun thing about bartending compared to being a barista is that you don’t have to be nice to idiots, especially drunk idiots.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, but I am a real customer.
” Making myself comfortable, I sit at a stool right in front of the register.
After countless visits to the bar, I know this is the best place to hangout because the bartenders constantly have to put the drinks in the system, which means that Nick will frequently be over here.
“Barely.” While he grabs a Bud Light and hands it to the man a few stools down, he asks, “What are you drinking?”
“Tito’s and Sprite, two limes. Pretty please.
” I offer a big smile and hand him my card, so he can start a tab for me .
After he scoops ice into my cup, he flips the vodka bottle upside down and uses the soda gun to fill up the cup at the same time.
He sticks two lime slices in the rim and slides it to me.
I’ve never tried being a bartender, but even before I take a sip, I can tell that he poured with a heavy hand.
After barely swallowing a mouthful, I wince at the burning in my throat.
Nick must be able to tell my distaste for his creation by my scrunched up face because I watch him chuckle as he rinses a glass in the sink behind the bar.
I squeeze both limes and set them to the side, but they're definitely not enough to save this drink.
“Oh my god. Are you trying to get me drunk? This could literally kill me! Give me another lime slice.”
Still chuckling, he steals my cup and pours it into a taller glass, adding more sprite to offset the alcohol. “How about a cherry on top for you, princess?” He plucks a cherry out of the container, places it in the drink, and hands it back to me.
I take a sip, watching the cherry sink to the bottom, and it’s way more tasty and much less lethal. “Much better. Thank you.”
Sipping on my drink, I chat with Nick. There’s never a night that I want to leave the house, but I always have a fun time watching Nick work. He truly shines at this job.
Not only is he quick, he is well trained. There is a flow and a gracefulness to his motions, and despite years of watching him work, I’ve never seen him spill a drink.
I think back to how miserable he was during his first year of teaching.
He was constantly going in early, staying late, and working on the weekends.
While he was passionate about the content and cared so much for the students, it was just too much.
I’ll never be able to understand how people can expect someone to put in all of that work and then pay them a fraction of what they deserve.
It was a hard choice for him, but I’m so proud that he decided to leave to do something where the pay was worth it.
Although, I know he’d go back in a heartbeat if they treated him better.
He walks over when he notices my drink is close to empty and gives me another of the same vodka-sprite combination and a shot.
“I accidentally made an extra kamikaze shot. Oops!” His mischievous smile tells me that there was no accident. It is a blessing and a curse having a friend who has access to this much alcohol.
I take the shot quick, and it’s not as bad as I was expecting. There is still a burn from the liquor, but the flavor of lime covers my palate.
Although I sip this drink much slower, it’s not until I go to the bathroom that I realize that I’m a little tipsy.
I’m not much of a drinker, but I don’t need an excuse to have a good time.
It’s been a long week, and I don’t have to worry about driving home.
So, who cares if I get a little more drunk?