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Zeke pulls into a spot on Powell and walks me into a nondescript pub. It’s wedged between two restaurants with cheerful awnings. The scuffed black door has bars over the window. I don’t question Zeke, just walk in when he holds the door for me.
“A little early, isn’t it, Zeke?” his brother calls from behind the bar.
“We’re gonna need your finest table,” Zeke says.
“Oh, hey Faye,” he says as if only just now noticing me.
“What are you doing here, Zach?” I ask. It’s moments like this when I realize just how valuable my boarding school tuition was. I can ask casual questions while my brain is literally melting down.
“This is my place.”
“No, I’ve been to your place.”
“This is my other place.” He points to a sign that readsIvan the Terrible.
With a little laugh, I cock my head and feel my face contort into something unfamiliar and exhilarating. And apparently, it’s all Zach needs to know to send us to a table in the back. I sit waiting and Zeke settles next to me in the booth so he’s blocking me in.
“So, you really did it?”
“I really did it,” I say, but the way we’ve saidreallyis a little different.
“You aren’t happy?”
“I—” I don’t know what I’m feeling. Numb. Shellshocked. Lost.
But there’s also something lighter mixed in, struggling to work its way out from beneath the suffocating weight of everything else.
“Relieved,” I say. I turn to look at him, and he’s grinning.
“Good.” He wraps an arm around me and hugs me into his side. Zach appears at that moment with two bottles.
“I wasn’t sure if we were celebrating or mourning, so I brought Wild Turkey and the champagne of beers.” He holds up both bottles and Zeke takes them both and then orders some food. He pours a glass of each for both of us and sets them in front of me.
He raises the beer glass and nods for me to do the same.
“To not having to do something that makes you unhappy.”
I smile and we clink glasses. I sip the beer, and honestly, it’s awful. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had something like this, but it tastes like a rejected LaCroix flavor.
“I’m aimless.” I take a shot of the whiskey and he does the same. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m going to end up a vagabond, living under a bridge, raving to anyone who will listen about how I could’ve been a contender.”
“You’re talented and capable and you can do anything you want. You’ll find something.” He nudges a glass of water toward me and I sip it. It also tastes sort of awful, but maybe my taste buds have just been killed by my poor life choices.
“And you know what else?” he asks, pressing his hand over mine on the table.
A flutter of warmth shoots up my arm and I’m fairly sure my cheeks go pink.
“What?”
“I’m thankful I’m the one that gets to celebrate with you.”
I smile at the beautiful boy holding my hand.
“Now, tell me something you’re thankful for.”
“What?”
