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Chapter 6
That night I decided to treat myself with a drink at the bar. Esme wasn’t working, so I didn’t get it for free, but it was fine.
There was another bachelorette party in the corner, and they were completely wasted when they’d stumbled in from their party bus, their necks dripping with glowing penis necklaces.
I ordered a beer from Batman because he wasn’t so good on mixing drinks, so something from a bottle was safer.
He served me with a grunt, which was about as much interaction as you were going to get from him.
I ended up sitting at the end of the bar, since the tables were already full. Busy weekend.
I also ordered some potato skins from the restaurant and sat eating them and wondering about the lives of the other people here. Of course, I recognized a lot of them now, but many were tourists and people in from out of town.
I could feel how annoyed Batman was with the bachelorette party, but at least they weren’t causing too much of a ruckus.
I scrolled through my phone, double checking comments on the bakery’s social pages. You could never be too careful with spammers or people who would post lewd or nasty comments or try to start shit, so I was quick with the block and delete button. It was surprising how many people would try to stir up a political fight on a picture about cupcakes.
“Is this seat taken?” a voice asked, and my skin started tingling as I looked up and found Alivia standing next to me.
The stool to my right was open.
“Go ahead,” I said, motioning to it.
She draped her long legs on the stool and sat down.
She was still in her work clothes.
“How was the reception?” I asked.
“We finally got them to leave,” she said with a groan. “It wasn’t easy. The only way I could get them to go was to shove the contract in their face that they had to be out before six.”
“Yikes,” I said. “They didn’t look like a rowdy bunch.”
“That’s because you saw them when they were sober,” she said, looking at Batman. He lumbered over and she ordered a bottle of the same beer I was drinking.
“It sounds exhausting,” I said.
“It can be. Wedding season is always hard. Everyone is just so charged up emotionally.”
You couldn’t pay me to have her job. Dealing with nasty comments on a web page was hard enough. Dealing with mean people talking to your face would make me crumble into a puddle of tears every day.
“It’s what I’m good at,” she said.
“Yeah, you are. Managing chaos.”
“That’s me,” she said, raising her beer in the air as if she was toasting herself. “I’m great at managing anyone’s chaos but my own.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said.
“You’re not very good at talking about yourself, either,” I said. “I mean, you don’t have to, I guess.”
“Sorry,” she said.
“No, it’s fine. I feel like I talk too much about myself.” Sometimes I couldn’t stop.
“It’s okay. You’re an open person,” she said. “It’s a good way to be.”
