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“I, uh. Yes. I mean no.” She stumbles over her words and backs up her porch steps slowly. I don’t pursue her, only because I know that I shouldn’t.
If it is true, if she is Nathan’s sister, I’m screwed. Not only would I be lying to the one person I’ve had a genuine interest in for the first time in my life, but I’d also be lying to my best friend’s sister.
She’ll never trust me again and neither will he if I’m sneaking around behind his back with her. I don’t deserve their trust. How did I let this happen?
“Is everything okay?” She asks from the top of her porch steps when I don’t say anything.
“Yeah. Everything is great. I have to go. Have a good night, Thea.” I walk away from her, mentally preparing myself for this to be a permanent goodbye.
I should have looked into her as soon as I saw her that night at the bar. If I had been more adamant about figuring out who she was then I could have avoided this regret churning my gut.
I’m not surprised that I screwed this up. I don’t deserve to have good things in my life. That’s been proven time and time again. Every time there is a semblance of hope, something comes along and crushes my spirit. Except this time it’s all on me. I did this to myself.
Chapter Twelve
Thea
Idon’t know what makes me do it, desperation, loneliness, or sadness, but I text Jay before I leave my house for the bar Saturday night.
It’s an impulsive bid letting him know that I’ll be working in case he wants to stop by for a drink. It seems innocent enough, but I promise myself that it will be my only attempt to reach out.
I haven’t heard from him since he walked me to my door after work on Wednesday night. He was gone before I had a chance to say goodbye or react to the use of my real name. The sudden loss of my nickname felt like a chapter had been closed.
The small dose of optimism I felt when he called me Sunshine made me feel normal again. Now more than ever it feels like reality has come crashing back in and I am back to my usual routine of loneliness.
I’m bitter because I selfishly wanted more time with him but if he doesn’t want to be around me or be my friend, then I won’t beg.
Maybe it’s because I really had my hopes up that he was different, or because I really liked him, but this feeling hurts worse than it ever has before. The broken parts of me feel amplified by a thousand.
My phone dings as I’m parking behind the bar and my heart beats rapidly for the seconds it takes to retrieve my phone. Then instantly sinks when I see that the text isn’t from Jay, but from Kyle.
Kyle: $500 more and I’ll finish your bathroom. I need the money.
Me: I’m sorry. Not interested.
Kyle: Thanks a lot bitch.
My jaw goes slack when I read that message. I do the only thing I know to do and block his number. I’m not going back and forth with him over text, especially when he’s so disrespectful.
My shift flies by for the most part and I don’t have time to think about my problems. Mostly. I do catch myself watching the door every time a guy over six feet walks in, hoping that it’s Jay and praying that it’s not Kyle.
By the time midnight rolls around, the band is winding down and the end is in sight, but the bar is still packed. The jukebox will kick on soon and start playing slow songs, encouraging people to make their exit. All I can do is count down the minutes until I can start closing tabs then get home and crawl into bed.
I’ve been spending more time than normal in bed lately. First the situation with Kyle, and now Jay, has made me feel annoyingly sorry for myself.
Feeling sorry for myself then morphed into other feelings like anger and denial. I’ve spent plenty of time the last few days scolding myself for believing things could be different for me. I’m angry that I let myself be vulnerable for the first time in years, only to be rejected.
“Hey, pretty lady.” A drunk guy sitting on the side of the bar calls to me. I cringe internally knowing this guy is too drunk to be served and is about to ask for another beer. “Your cheapest whiskey. No ice.”
Great. Even worse. He wants liquor and that is not happening. “Sorry, sir. No more drinks tonight, but I can close your tab.”
He looks at me, blinking slowly like he’s trying to unscramble the words I just said. “No, I want whiskey.”
“Sorry, no can do,” I say with my cheeriest customer service voice. Probably sounds as fake as I feel. I turn back toward the other customers, needing to break the tension that his stare is creating.
I don’t expect to see Jay and his friends from that first night sitting in the vacated seats at the front of the bar. It throws me and I have to take a second to get the words out of my mouth.
“What can I get you guys? Cash up front, it’s too late to open a tab.” I glance at Jay, hoping I’ll get to see him flash his crooked grin, but he’s not even looking at me. His focus is on the TV mounted above the shelves of liquor.
