“Nope.” I oblige myself and sit.
Dove flutters her eyelashes, annoyed, but she doesn’t send me away.
We just sit at the table silently, listening to a decent cover of “Proud Mary.” I tap my fingers on the tabletop as Dove proceeds to get shitfaced right in front of me.
“You usually drink better tequila than that,” I observe.
“This was the best they had.”
I look around the place one more time. It’s not surprising. “The hangover is going to be wicked.” Dove glares at me. If she could smash that bottle and stab me with the serrated edge, she would. “Down, killer,” I submit. “I’m just looking out for you.”
“Please, spare me.” She downs another shot.
“Always hatin’ on me.” I shake my head.
“There’s a lot to hate.”
I smile salaciously. “Now you know that’s not true. That’s the booze and the hurt talkin.”
Dove doesn’t entertain me with a reply. She just keeps drinking.
Another classic rock song begins and ends, and we say nothing, which is really starting to bother me. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nope.” Dove’s petulant, spinning the shot glass between her thumb and first finger. “Don’t you need to be, like, fucking Stefania right now or something?” The malice in her smudged, smoky eyes is downright frightful.
“No, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Here, with you.”
She is less than thrilled. “Does it bother you that Stefania and I are fucking?”
“Not in the least bit.” She doesn’t skip a beat with her reply.
“Good.” I cross my arms, pretentiously, and we become caught up in yet another silent staring contest.
“Please, just fucking go.”
“I’ll please just fucking stay. You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I thrive on being alone. I’ll be fine.” Dove circles the top of the tequila bottle with her finger. It is oddly arousing.
“Tell me what got you so upset, and I’ll leave.” I try a different tactic.
Dove considers it. “I lost someone I loved.”
“Loved? Loved how? Loved like a boyfriend or like a brother?”
“Both.” Her eyes turn down.
“Anyone I know?”
Dove shakes her head, and I notice one solitary teardrop roll down her cheek and splash onto the table. I will not lie and say I’m not taken aback. This stern, strong woman never wavers under any pressure, yet here she is trying to fight to be as strong as ever, and she is barely holding on.
“Dove, if you talk to me, it will help.” I want to reach out and grab her hand, but I don’t.
“There’s nothing to say.” She wipes under her eyes hastily. Like the wetness is nothing. Just an insignificant inconvenience, and not her heart and soul escaping through her tear ducts.
“You are clearly upset.”
“Yes, I am. But after this bottle and maybe another one, I’ll be just fine. Death is a part of life. It’s a huge part of my life. I know how to deal with it.”
