Whew.
Well, that was stranger than hell. What could Mr. O’Malley possibly have to talk to both Mae and me together about? He didn’t mention anything yesterday when I’d eaten breakfast at their house. Why not tell us then?
I picked up the pace. Curiosity might’ve had the wheel, but the thought of seeing Mae was definitely riding shotgun.
8
MAE
When Dad and I walked in, the bar was already open. Beck must have gotten ready in record time. I hadn’t bothered texting him myself; everything happened so fast. Sure enough, he was already behind the bar, opening up.
“Mr. O’Malley,” he said, refusing to call my father by his first name, as always. “Mae.”
I ignored the fact that my heart skipped a beat when he smiled like that at me, not a new phenomenon but an inconvenient one, given the circumstances. And given my own circumstances as a newly non-engaged person.
Not appropriate, Mae.
“You look awfully chipper given last night’s state of affairs,” I said.
“Heard you two had your fill of margaritas.” Dad hopped onto a stool. He was in good shape for his age. Thirteen years older than my mom, he was almost seventy-one. Why his retirement announcement had surprised me, I wasn’t sure. I guess I thought of him as much younger, sometimes.
“You could say that.” Beck closed the register and turned toward us, leaning against the back bar.
“Whelp.” Dad looked back and forth between us. “I hadn’t planned on having this conversation yet, with Mae’s circumstances and all.”
“Blowing up my life, he means,” I clarified.
“Mae Day.” Beck laughed at my father’s inside joke, but I just groaned. It was as corny now as it had always been, my father’s reminder to not put bad energy about myself into the universe. Yes, he was a hippy at heart.
I cleared my throat. “I meant to say… Mom and Dad apparently had a trip to Florida planned for next week that they were going to cancel. Thankfully, I overheard them and told them that was ridiculous.”
“You were planning to cancel?” Beck asked. He apparently already knew about the trip. But I was certain, after talking to my parents, he didn’t know the reason they were going.
“We were talking about it. We originally planned it for after Mae was due to head back to France. But now that she’s home?—”
“They’re worried about my mental state,” I finished.
Dad gave me “the look.” “We are not worried about your mental state. We just want to be supportive and now didn’t seem like the right time to tell you.”
“That you were going to Florida?” Beck was clearly confused.
I let my father take that one.
“We’d planned on talking to Mae first and wanted to do it in person before coming to you. Then she delayed her trip, so we were unsure what to do.”
Now he was really confused. Poor Beck.
I waited for his reaction. Despite knowing him my whole life, I honestly couldn’t predict what it would be. His life aspirations were not something Beck liked to discuss. His parents had put way too much pressure on him to live up to their lofty standards and high-society ideals, apparently forgetting they also came from humble beginnings.
“Ray Adams,” Dad announced.
Beck blinked, more confused than ever. Ray was one of my father’s best friends who up and took a heart attack in January despite being a marathon runner and one of the healthiest people we knew.
“We’re on borrowed time. Mae’s mother and I have busted our tails at this bar, and don’t get me wrong, we loved every minute of it. Being our own bosses. Working together. Meeting a lot of good people. But we’re tired of New York winters and don’t want to wait until life catches up to enjoy some sunshine.”
“Their Florida trip is to look for a condo,” I finished, knowing my father’s propensity for dragging out stories. “They want to retire.”
“Mae has said in the past she wasn’t interested in owning the bar,” my dad added quickly. “But we wanted to be certain before coming to you.”
