“One Bowie IPA coming right up.” Owen turns toward me. “And for you, MJ?”
“What would you recommend for someone who’s more of a cider girl?” I ask.
“How do you feel about wassail?” Owen counters with a grin.
“I love it. I haven’t had that in ages.”
“Then I’m bringing you a Hallelujah! Holy Shit cocktail,” Owen says. “It’s my family’s own wassail recipe mixed with bourbon and frozen cranberries. Tastes like Christmas.”
“Sold,” I say.
“Coming right up.” Owen rubs his palms together and heads toward the back.
Ron folds his hands on the table. “So, what does MJ stand for, anyway?”
“Myra Jean,” I answer. “It’s painfully southern.”
“Myra Jean.” He repeats my name like he’s contemplating something impressive. “I think it’s lovely.”
“Thank you. My older sister Rose is the only person who calls me that. Do you have any siblings?”
He shakes his head. “Nope, and I only have one child. I always wanted a big family, but it wasn’t in the cards for me. My ex, Mary Ann, didn’t have a very big family, either. I still keep up with her brother from time to time, though. And I usually see Mary Ann at least a couple times a year.”
“That’s nice. Does that mean things ended on good terms?”
“We’re great friends now,” Ron says. “Our situation is unique, I guess. There was no big falling out. One day, after our son, Hudson, went to college, Mary Ann sat me down and confessed that she loved me, but she wasn’t attracted to me, or any man, for that matter. She was distraught, and well, I was too. My whole world fell apart.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “That must have been devastating.”
He nods. “It was. It took me the better part of a year to get to a point where I could even begin to look at what happened rationally. The split felt personal, but in reality, it had nothing to do with me.” He drops his gaze for a moment. “I completely shut her out during those first few months, and I have a lot of regrets about that. But she gave me time to process how I felt.”
“I imagine that was hard for both of you.”
“She was worried I’d hate her, but once I finally got it, I just remember thinking how much courage it must have taken her to tell me.”
I pressed my hand to my heart, thinking of Lucy. I knew early on that she liked girls because she felt safe to share that part of herself with her family and friends, but I’ve lived long enough to know that safety isn’t something guaranteed for everyone.
“To be honest, I always knew ours wasn’t some epic love story,” he says. “We were best friends, and I’m thankful for the life we had, but I’m equally grateful she finally found the love of her life. She and Sadie got married and retired to Hawaii.”
“Have you ever wanted to find someone else? Remarry?” I’m not sure what surprises me more—the fact that I asked the question out loud or how badly I want to know the answer.
“I’d love to, if the right person comes along. I figure I’m young,” he says with a small wink. “There’s still time.”
Before I can react, Owen returns with our drinks and places them in front of us. Mine is in a copper mule mug, and it’s beautiful. The frozen cranberries are mingling with a cinnamon stick and a sprig of rosemary, and it does, indeed, smell like Christmas.
“Thanks, Owen,” Ron says, taking a swig of his beer.
“This looks delicious.” I bring the cup to my lips. The first sip is a contented sigh of crisp cider, orange peel, and nutmeg. “Oh my. This is heavenly.”
Owen dips his head and holds out his hand. “Andthat’sthehallelujah.”
I scrunch my brows. “Wait, what’s theholy shitpart?”
“Ask me again after you finish a couple of those.” Owen flashes me a mischievous grin. “I’m going to let you two look over your menus and I’ll be right back.”
Ron holds his beer out toward me. “Cheers.”
“Okay,” I say, touching my mug to his glass. “What are we toasting?”
