Chapter 1 #2
I flinch at the misconception. People always romanticize my job, believing that being surrounded by love and laughter on the “happiest day of their lives” must be like working in a fairy tale.
But in reality, it’s enduring twelve-hour days, being subjected to endless passive-aggressive comments such as “don’t miss that moment” from relatives, and generally running around capturing choreographed ceremonies with hardly any real emotion whatsoever.
But I could never say that. At least not to Phoebe, who made me feel ungrateful anytime I complained.
“If you really want to know,” I say, leaning into the reason I started bringing him books in the first place, “my favorite part was when they broke the armoire.”
A redness creeps up his neck at the mention of the most intense sex scene of the novel, as he drops a handful of maraschino cherries onto the countertop.
I reach for my drink, readying myself to take a sip, before Lilah saves me.
“Hudson, could you grab a few Pbr cases from the back? We’re running low.” Her words are quick-fire and instinctual, like a mother catching her child about to touch a hot stove.
“Sure thing, boss,” he replies, heading towards the back room. The second he’s out of sight, Lilah grabs my glass, dumping the contents into the sink behind her.
“You have no idea.”
“Can you believe this is the last drink I’ll have to remake for you?” she asks, measuring the correct amount of whiskey, lemon juice, and egg white into the metal shaker. Pouring it into my glass, she pops a few cherries on top to keep the illusion that it’s the same beverage.
I take a sip, relishing the perfect ratios. “Please don’t tell me you’re leaving. I can’t survive on beer.”
“Me? No. I’m probably going to die here. Hudson, however, is moving on.”
I almost choke on a cherry at her words.
“He’s leaving?” I ask between coughs.
“He didn’t tell you? Tonight’s his last shift.”
My stomach sinks at the thought of losing him.
Even before everything that happened with Phoebe, photography was an isolating job.
I didn’t have coworkers to complain to, and most of my days were spent at the computer.
The only human interaction I had each week came from paid clients who just wanted me to smile and tell them they looked beautiful.
Without Hudson, I’ll have to go back to doom-scrolling from my Finsta until 2 a.m. I shudder at the thought.
“Do you know where he’s headed? Another bar?”
“I think he’s focusing on his day job,” Lilah says, wiping down the counter.
Of all the topics we’ve discussed—his childhood dog Frodo, his weekend camping trips, how he’s been to too many Future Islands shows to admit to another human, his distaste for gin, and his absolute obsession with The Lord of the Rings—Hudson has never mentioned having another job.
And the omission makes me wonder what else he might be keeping from me.
“I’m going to miss him,” I admit, sipping my drink grimly. If I’d known that was the last terrible beverage Hudson would ever make for me, I would have savored it.
“Me too,” Lilah says, spinning a cocktail shaker like she’s Tom Cruise. “I make triple the tips when he’s on shift.”
“Really?”
With dark hair and latte-colored skin and a collection of teeny-tiny crop tops, Lilah looks like she was born to be on one of those posters they tack up in the bathroom of a biker bar.
“Apparently, being a hipster with dimples is more lucrative than being angrily sexy nowadays,” she says as Hudson rounds the corner.
“Talking about me?” he asks, setting the cases of beer down by the cooler.
“I don’t think anyone would use the word ‘angry’ to describe you,” Lilah counters, mixing a cocktail for herself.
“But ‘sexy’?” he asks, running his hands through his hair.
His dark auburn curls are matted against the back of his neck as if he’s just woken from a nap, and I hate to admit that I’ve fantasized about leaning across the bar and untangling them with my fingers.
But no matter how often his expressive green eyes have met mine over the mahogany bar or how many nights he’s ended his shift early to sit next to me and watch whatever garbage TV is playing on the beat-up box attached to the wall, I know better than to ruin the last good thing in my life.
“Actually, I was just informing Mira here that you’re off to greener pastures.”
“Jeez, Lilah, way to make it sound like I’m dying.”
“But you are leaving?” I ask, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as heartbroken as I am.
He rubs his hands nervously, the humor in his expression softening, before he meets my gaze.
He leans across the counter, his hand resting beside mine. Our fingers aren’t even touching, but the exchange is intimate, igniting a warmth in my core that usually only comes from a round of Fireball. “I was going to tell you.”
“I get it,” I say, moving away from him. “Gotta go where the money is.”
As much as it hurt to hear it from Lilah, he doesn’t owe me an explanation. It isn’t like I’m his girlfriend. Hell, by most standards, we aren’t even friends. I’m just a girl from the bar.
“Mira,” he says, his voice low, and I hate that he can see the emotions I’m trying so hard to hide.
“It’s fine, really,” I assure him, putting on my best customer service smile, the same one I wear anytime a guest taps me on the shoulder and asks “Did you take a photo of that?” as if I would miss the wedding cake.
“So if this is your last shift, does that mean another round of knock off, knock backs?”
“Hell yeah, it does!” Lilah says, a mischievous grin stretching across her face.
Hudson furrows his brow, an annoyed gaze meeting mine across the mahogany bar. “You had to bring that up?”
“Consider it your penance for not telling me you were leaving,” I reply, knowing his hatred of the tradition. Unlike most places of work that would gift coworkers cake or a hand-signed card on their last day, Finn’s has a game.
The rules are simple. The departing employee must take a shot every time a drink is ordered in the last hour of their shift. Considering there are only a handful of customers in the bar, including myself, I doubt Hudson will even get a buzz.
“And that’s why I chose a Monday night,” Hudson boasts, as if he’s outsmarted the system.
“Don’t worry, I called in reinforcements,” Lilah says, just as the bell over the door rings. We all turn to stare at the two guys who walk in, glassy-eyed and giddy.
“The smoke shop bros?” Hudson says, panic in his eyes. “They cleared an entire case in two hours last week.”
“Imagine what they can do on half-priced Mondays?”
“There’s no such thing as half-priced Mondays,” he counters.
“There is tonight!” Lilah says, pouring tequila into the line of shot glasses on the bar, preemptively handing him one.
I can’t help but laugh as Hudson slides a glass towards me, tequila spilling over the top.
“What’s this?”
“I just figured since you’re the one who got me into this, it’s only fair you suffer through it with me.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“I’ll allow it,” Lilah chimes in, already pouring two beers for the brothers.
Hudson stares at me with bright, hopeful eyes, like a kid waiting for the neighbor to come out and play. “You said you were up for an adventure, right?”
And I know it’s now or never. If this really is our last night together, I don’t want to miss my chance at finding out what could be.
“Fuck it,” I say, picking up the glass in front of me and clinking it on the counter.
“To new adventures,” Hudson says, offering me a new challenge. One I’m eager to see through.
“To new adventures.”