ONE
KIERAN
The first thing I learned about turning twenty-one was that nobody checked to make sure you had someone to celebrate it with.
The second was that Seattle got really damn cold after dark in December.
I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my jacket and stared through the front window of O'Malley's. Inside, Christmas had exploded. Twinkling lights draped from the ceiling. Garland wrapped around the mirrors behind the bar. A crooked little tree stood near the host stand, weighed down by mismatched ornaments. Somewhere beneath the laughter and clinking glasses, a Christmas song I vaguely recognized drifted through the speakers.
The place was packed. Couples occupied the booths along the wall. Groups of friends crowded around high-top tables. A handful of office workers in ugly Christmas sweaters laughed loud enough to be heard through the glass.
Everyone seemed to have somewhere to be. Everyone seemed to belong to someone.
For a second, I considered turning around and heading back to my apartment.
I could throw on a movie. Finish the reading assignment I'd been avoiding. Go to bed before ten like a seventy-year-old man. Nobody would know the difference. Then again, nobody knew I was here in the first place.
Happy birthday to me.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I pushed open the door. Warmth hit me immediately. The scent of beer and fried food and something cinnamon-spiced floating through the air. The low hum of conversation wrapped around me as the door swung shut behind me.
A woman standing behind the host stand glanced up from the tablet in her hands. Her dark hair was braided over one shoulder, and she greeted a passing busboy with a quick burst of Spanish before turning her attention back to me. Camila, her name tag read. "Just one?" she asked.
I almost laughed. Story of my life. "Just one."
She grabbed a menu and led me toward a small two-person table near the front windows. It wasn't tucked completely out of sight, but it wasn't in the center of the room either. The table sat just far enough from the larger groups that I could pretend I wasn't watching them while still feeling connected to the noise and warmth around me.
"Your server will be right with you."
"Thanks."
I shrugged out of my jacket and hung it over the back of my chair before settling into my seat. Camila had left a menu beside the napkin holder, and I flipped it open more out of something to do than actual interest. For a few moments, I just watched the room. The Christmas lights reflected in the windows. People leaning close to hear each other over the music. The easy familiarity that came from years of shared memories.
A strange ache settled in my chest. It wasn’t jealousy. Not exactly. Just awareness. Twenty-one was supposed to feel bigger than this. At least according to movies. Instead, I was sitting alone in a bar on a Thursday night trying to figure out whether ordering my first legal drink was supposed to feel different.
A few minutes later, a woman with silver threaded through her tight, dark curls and laugh lines around her eyes, who reminded me of somebody's favorite aunt, appeared beside my table. "Hi, I’m Mara. Can I start you off with a drink?"
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out because apparently I hadn't thought that far ahead.
The smile she gave me suggested she dealt with people like me all the time. "ID?"
"Oh. Right." I dug my wallet from my back pocket and handed over my driver's license.
Her eyes scanned it. Then lifted to mine. A smile spread across her face. "Birthday today?"
I shrugged. "Apparently."
She laughed softly. "Well, happy birthday.”
"Thanks." The word came out more awkwardly than I intended.
Something in her expression softened. It wasn’t pity exactly. More like kindness… which somehow felt worse. Or maybe better. I couldn't decide.
"So," she said, handing back my ID. "What are we drinking to celebrate?"
That was an excellent question. Unfortunately, I had absolutely no idea. I looked down at the drink menu. There were pages of cocktails. Seasonal specials. Craft beers. Things involving bourbon, cinnamon, peppermint, smoked something-or-other, and ingredients I couldn't pronounce.
Panic set in. This was ridiculous. I was twenty-one years old, not twelve. I should know how to order a drink. I’ve seen it done lots of times on TV. Instead, I stared at it like it was a final exam.
