She’s a stark contrast to me in my signature all-black ensemble—shiny Doc Martens and a miniskirt that’s practically my second skin—along with the minimal makeup I decided to grace the world with still clinging to my skin after a full ten hours at the shelter.
“I know that wasn’t the best scene, but there has to be an explanation. I mean, Kane and I have never actually had a conversation without you around about more than the shifting weather patterns, but I know Marcus would’ve told me. That fucker can’t keep his mouth shut for more than five minutes,” she finishes with a flourish, dipping her chip back in the queso.
The low beat of a song I plays in the background, and no matter how many sips of my drink I take, I can’t seem to block out the words I know by heart—but from the low voice of the man who haunts me.
“Regardless of what Marcus tells you, Kane shouldn’t be parading his newest conquest in front of me like the last four years meant nothing. It’s been weeks! And he looks like that, withthatand I just…” I stab my fiftieth chip into the almost completely cooled queso, unable to control the restricting feeling in my chest, my breathing shallow. I force myself to keep everything inside, so I don’t lose it over a happy hour bowl of queso—and my ex’s new blonde bombshell, apparently.
She rolls her eyes at the mention of Marcus, my other best friend who’s practically been a brother to me since he moved in next door when I was five.
It’s been forty-five minutes since I saw Kane enter the patio, and the feeling of the ever-present emptiness that’s been invading my chest lately was replaced with a raging fire. He strode by looking like the devil himself, all black clothes and dangerous tattoos. From the endless silver rings that adorn his fingers to the untamed locks falling over his forehead, he’s every woman’s bad-boy dream.
My bad boy once upon a time.
I scoff and look over in the direction they went, but they’re hidden from view by a pillar.
Thank you, universe, for that.
I turn and take in the bar around me. From the dingy and grunge dive bar appearance on the outside and the late ‘90s vibes of vintage music posters and colored vinyls lining the walls, down to the speckled floor I’ve walked across more than I have in my childhood home in the past five years, I’ve always found comfort in this place.
It’s where I’ve found my stride the past four years, where I sat so many nights at the bar finishing my homework to steal just a few more minutes with Kane while he worked behind the bar. He kept me there with an endless supply of Coke and lemon as I waited for him to close up before we went to one of our places and ended the night together.
We werethatcouple. The couple that couldn’t bear tobe apart, once upon a time. We lost each other long before the breakup happened. We would wait for each other after classes, find time to steal dates when others were struggling to even fit in their homework assignments.
I have helped Kane close this bar so many times. Wiping down the black resin counters and swaying to the low pop punk and indie folk playing in the background, only to feel Kane come up behind me and hold me to whatever song was playing, distracting us both from our tasks. We would always take longer to get things done, instead quizzing each other on music and trying to work on our perfectly curated playlist of our top-tier song selections. Each of us would add a new one to the surround system to see how quickly the other could guess it.
I hold the record of one chord progression,thank you very much.
My stomach twinges at the memory.
I snap myself back to the present for the second time tonight. The past seems to be haunting me more knowing that this is the closest we have been in weeks, and I blink back the tears that have built in the corners of my eyes.
Morgan stares at me, seeming to wait for an answer to a question I missed. She knows what the breakup has been like. I was held up in my room for the first week crying to my “sad girls cry” playlist, which I made after one particularly lonely night when I found Kane’s notebook of lyrics tucked between the bed and the wall, after removing him from the music streaming account we shared. He deserves to suffer with bad music after breaking my heart.
This breakup shredded my soul, but I have been walking around as if I’m just fine. I mean, it was my idea to end it, right? He checked out and left me to make that decision all on my own.
I’ve kept myself from opening up completely to her about the breakup. Not for a lack of trying on her part. I think there was a moment when Morgan had me in a headlock threatening to delete our best friend’s playlist after a particularly nasty crying session. I started to see why Marcus has called her Viper since the ninth grade. He still hasn’t shared the actual reason but based on the smirk he wears and the blush that creeps across Morgan’s face every time I ask, I figure it’s probably best to mind my own business where they’re concerned. We’ve all known each other since high school—the respective years, making us more family than friends.
It’s not that I won’t talk about it—it’s that Ican’t. Because then it’s real, and I have to decide what to do without him. As of right now, I’ve been surviving by dissociating from the present and pretending this isn’t happening. My therapist, Susan, would tell me it’s an unhealthy coping mechanism and that running from my problems will not, in fact, make them go away, so it’s a good thing I’ve also made the mature decision to ghost her.
The way Morgan looks at me makes me think I’ve been spaced out for longer than I realize, but I’m too tipsy to care. Instead, I decide to make it my mission to finish our fourth refill of chips singlehandedly. Nothing heals more than a margarita and extra salty chips.
“I mean, I wouldn’t hurt Kane, you know that. But I want him to hurt a little bit mentally. More psychological warfare than a physical one,” I say, slurping the rest of my watery strawberry margarita. I’m ready to get out of here and back to my romance books where they always find a way back to each other.
Maybe this is what we need to find each other again, or maybe this will help me move on like Kane has. Pranks usedto be something silly we’d do between houses, Morgan’s and mine versus Kane and Marcus’s, to keep the laughs going throughout our college years. Doing little things to annoy the others until we finally got each other back.
Morgan looks at me with a raised eyebrow, her glossy eyes reflecting her tipsiness. She slurps the last remnants of her usual prickly pear margarita. At this point, she just asks for “The Morgan,” and the bartenders automatically know what she wants.
Unsure if she heard me the first time, I add, “Look, I’m doing this with or without you, but it would be more fun with help…” I leave my statement open with my eyebrows raised, waiting for her to respond. I’m guessing she’s hoping that if she ignores me long enough, I’ll change my mind.
“Fine! I thought maybe we matured since our college days,” Morgan relents. “But if anyone finds out, I fought you a lot harder on this.” She slams her empty glass down, bracelets clinking against the table.
“What first?” she asks with an almost manic glint in her eye. My regret about asking her to help just barely hits the surface before I knock it down and laugh at the ridiculousness of this day.
“I have the perfect idea,” I say just as Marcus and Grayson sidle into the bar, laughing at some joke I’m sure only they will get. They make their way over to us, turning heads across the bar, and I roll my eyes with a giggle as I watch looks from women across the bar linger on them.
“Avery,” Marcus says as he approaches our table, his effortless brown curls more wild than usual, a slight dent in them from his headphones. His pretty-boy looks are on full display tonight—his flannel open wider than most men would allow, and the deep tan of his skin visible. “And Viper,” he adds, his gaze trained on Morgan.
“Bite me,” she replies, giving him a look of disgust. She picks up her phone, pretending to be interested in anything but the smirk he gives her, even though I spot the redness creeping up her neck. A snort leaves my lips, earning me a death glare from her.
