Mom called me early that morning, though for her it was a little after three in the afternoon. Her voice was less chipper than it had been in the previous days I’d spoken to her.
“I’m sorry I’m not there today, Kenz,” she’d said.
I forced a smile that wasn’t there into my voice. “Don’t be. He’d be so happy for you, Mom. You deserve this. I don’t want you worrying about me, okay? I’m working and then a couple of friends from group are staying over, so I won’t be alone.”
My lie seemed to satisfy her because by the time we said goodbye, she sounded like she was in better spirits.
It wasn’t a complete lie. Ididhave work, and Iwasplanning to see Kia, Jen, and Ravi. I really was. But when Kia sent me a text that afternoon to confirm our dinner at Olive Garden, I told her I had to cancel—that I’d caught a stomach bug. I was pretty sure she didn’t believe me, but she didn’t push. Instead, she told me to feel better and she’d check on me tomorrow.
I stayed at work as late as I could but ran out of things to do a little after seven. We were only open till five, primarily serving the breakfast and lunch crowds. But there was often still plenty to do between daily prep work and catering gigs. It just so happened that in my efforts to avoid real life, I’d managed to finish everything a lot sooner than I would’ve liked.
With the restaurant locked up, I trudged out into the rainy night and climbed in my truck. I couldn’t bring myself to go home. All I wanted to do was drown my sorrows in carbs and hard liquor. Perhaps I’d find some relief at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey. Or at least maybe I’d find some sleep. Immediately, I knew where to go.
There was a dive bar I loved with amazing cheeseburgers and a jukebox about ten minutes from my place called The Piccadilly Deli. Apparently, it was the name of the restaurant that occupied the building before they shut down, and the owners of the bar were too lazy to change it. The floors were sticky and it smelled like wet socks, yet somehow they still had a ninety-nine health score, so I didn’t ask questions.
I parked my truck in the nearly empty lot and ran inside, pulling my hoodie tighter around me. The bartender waved from where he was wiping down the scarred wood bar. He was bald with a soft stomach and sleeves of tattoos that reminded me of Dallas. We weren’t on a first name basis or anything, but I came in often enough that he recognized me.
“Hey,” he greeted me. “Shitty weather, huh? You getting something to go?”
“No,” I answered with a faint smile. “Gonna be doing some drinking tonight.”
“Right on,” he said. “You can sit anywhere you want.”
I nodded and found a small booth in the back near the jukebox and sat facing the door.
“So, what can I get you to start?” he asked, approaching the table. “Do you need to see a menu?”
I shook my head. “Cheeseburger and fries with pickles on the side and a Bushwacker.” I could already taste the frosty chocolate cocktail on my tongue.
“Want any chips and salsa while you wait?”
“No, but Iwouldlove a shot of Jack. Actually, make that two.”
“Oh, so you’ve had aday,” he said with a chuckle. “You got it. Coming right up.”
I studied a scratch in the wood, running my finger along the deep gash while I waited for my first round.
When the bartender returned, he did so with three shots, a glass of water, and some chips.
“Third one’s on the house. You look like you could use the extra. Plus, I’m superstitious about even numbers,” he said. “And you don’t have to eat the chips, but if you’re gonna be drinkin’, you should probably make sure you’re eating plenty too.”
“Thanks,” I said. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I’ll have that burger right out for you.” He tapped his knuckles against the tabletop before venturing back behind the bar.
I picked up one of the shot glasses between my fingers, tipping it toward the empty space across from me.
“This one’s for you, Brennan,” I whispered before slinging it back, relishing the way it burned as it slid down my throat. Soon that fire would spread to all of my memories, and with any luck, it would consume them, making them disappear, even if it was just for the night.
EIGHT
Luca
I’d beenon my new antidepressant for three days by the time I had my virtual session with Lacey the Thursday following game night. It was too early to tell if they were helping, but one thing Ididnotice was that my sleep had felt more restful the last couple of nights. Even Lacey commented that I looked a bit brighter.
Of course, by the end of the appointment I was drained again. I wasn’t used to putting a spotlight on my pain and handing it a microphone. My instinct was still to pull the curtain down.
Lacey must have sensed this because she presented me with a homework assignment.
