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“You living out of suitcases these days?” I ask.
She zips up her bag, hooks it cross-body style. “Something like that.”
Twenty-eight weeks pregnant and bellied up at Resurrection’s local dive bar on a wild Friday night with my sister and Ruby.
The night’s never felt more perfect.
The jukebox pumps at unholy decibel levels, the neon so bright I could get a tan. Peanut shells and spilled beer cover the floor as we cross to the bar.
“What do you want?” Beef, the bartender, grunts. His long black beard trails the sticky bar top as he wipes it down.
“Tequila,” Fallon says. “And something pink for Ruby, and water for Dakota.”
“Hi,” Ruby chirps with a wave.
He lifts his chin at her, and his scrutinizing eyes slide to me. “Dakota.”
I give him a nod, smiling at his bad attitude and tattoos. To me, he’ll always be that sweet boy who took me to homecoming my sophomore year. “Beef. You still got the band?”
He straightens up. Pride crosses his craggy face. “The Turbofuckers? Hell, yeah. Still rocking in my garage.” His big hands drum the counter. “Glad you’re home, Koty.”
“Thanks.”
Another grunt and Beef’s gone.
Fallon settles onto a barstool with a happy sigh. “God, I already feel drunk and I just sat down.”
“Place hasn’t changed,” I add, roving my gaze around the neon lights.
“It’s where I met Charlie,” Ruby says. “Bar fight.”
Beef hurls down our drinks. A tray of shots, a gaudy pink drink in a tall, curvy goblet with a big bendy straw, and a large water with a cherry on top.
Fallon grabs my drink and leans over the counter. “Beef, if you put booze in this, I’ll knock your ass up to your receding hairline.”
A raise of Beef’s middle finger. “Stop bitching at me, Fallon, and suck it.”
I watch as my sister sips my drink before passing it to me. The sweet act of protection makes me smile.
She looks at me suspiciously. “What?”
“You love me.”
Her cheeks turn bright pink. “Shut up.”
I laugh as my stomach bumps, then I groan. “Ugh, it’s like a squirrel going sicko mode inside my body.”
Fallon tentatively splays a hand out on my belly like it’s an alien about to burst. My sister has zero maternal instinct. It would not be abnormal for her to eat her young.
“Kid’s doing barrel rolls,” she says with a pleased grin.
Ruby wiggles on her stool, adjusts the hem of her sundress. “Have you thought about names, Dakota?”
“Shockingly, no.”
Fallon slugs down a shot, reaches for another. “One more minute of baby talk. Then I’m cutting you off, Ruby.”
Ruby stirs her drink with her bendy straw. “You have to have a baby shower.”
