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I loved having a step-mom, and better yet, a step-sister. While their marriage lasted, Emily was everything to me. She was brilliant, and funny, and I could tell her anything. I’d finally felt like I’d found a place in the world to belong.
I don’t know when my father started cheating on Tara, but I do know it was a year before she caught him. He swore up and down that it was only the one time and he’d never do it again.
That was a lie.
Another year later, and she’d filed for divorce and thrown us out. I never saw Emily again.
That moment was my final straw. I moved away from my dad and swore I’d never talk to him again.
I have only spoken with him a few times over the years. Once, I needed to ask him for medical records. And there was that one year he sent me a birthday card. I still don’t know who gave him my address. It wasn’t me.
I always try to keep our conversations short. I’m not interested in making up with him.
Still, I hang the picture. It reminds me of what being loved feels like, even if it was only for a short time a decade ago, and the entire thing was built on a foundation of lies. There were parts of it that weren’t. And those are the parts I hold on to. Those are the parts that made it home.
Denise perches lightly on the edge of my desk.
Hell, she wants to stop and talk. I’m not a fan of talking. I like to stay focused on what I’m doing. When my concentration is broken, I lose time trying to get back in the zone. Not that I was doing much that required focus before she came in.
“You doing anything tonight, Chief?” she asks. “Some of us are going to grab drinks at Hosey’s. You should come.”
“I’m working late,” I say.
“Ugh, you always work late. You should think about taking a break every once in a while, Boss. You know what happened to Jack when he never stopped to play.”
“He got a promotion and bought a house is what happened.”
Denise rolls her eyes. “Sure, and who’s going to live in that big old house with you? Gets awful lonely eating takeout every night and pulling doubles on weekends.”
I do eat a lot of takeout. I can’t deny it. Denise has seen the containers in my trash can. Maybe I should get reusable containers so I don’t leave any evidence, but then I’d have to wash them. When would I ever find the time for that?
“I’ll cry into my glowing reference letters,” I say.
“Suit yourself.” She leaves and the door falls shut behind her.
I’ll admit, she’s gotten to me a little bit. It would feel too awkward to go out for drinks with my subordinates, though. I grab my cell phone and text Derrick.
I’m off work in a couple hours. Do you want to hang out at the Robin? Shoot a round of pool?
I’m sorry, who is this? Derrick texts me back. It looks like my friend Peter’s number, but Peter would never leave work before midnight.
Haha, very funny. We on or not?
I go through some papers while I wait for him to reply. My phone dings.
Sure. Just checked my schedule and I’m free. Meet you later.
The Robin is a bar on Third Street. It’s a dingy hole in the wall reserved for those who walk the fringes of society, but I like it. The atmosphere is nostalgic, with the dim lights hanging low, old country on the juke, and the smell of cured cherrywood hits you square in the face the moment you walk in.
A couple pool tables are lined up in the front, all of them with their felt worn through and blotted with stains from spilled drinks and too much fun. In the center is the bar with a booth circling it. I used to come here on weekends to blow off steam before I decided that my time was better spent at work.
Maybe I was wrong. As soon as I walk in, I realize how much I’ve missed this place. It’s nice how sometimes in life, no matter how much time has passed, some things just stay the same. Consistent, dependable. I like that.
Derrick is at the bar, flirting with the bartender. I don’t recognize her, which means she’s the only new thing in here since I was last here.
“Peter!” Derrick waves me over, then grins at the bartender. “This is my best friend. I see him once a year when he emerges from the hibernation of his work. I think he needs a girlfriend.”
The bartender smiles at me. Her long brown hair is piled in a bun on top of her head.
