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That was going to be a lot to process, but as I let the news linger, it wasn’t as earth-shattering as it seemed on the surface. It made sense. It felt right. But the fact that Cathy left, and my parents only stayed with each other… “I don’t think that proves your point the way you want it to.”
“Sometimes people fall in love and it’s convenient and sometimes it’s not and sometimes it’s more than two people. What happened hurt Mom and Dad, but do you think they regret it? I don’t think they do. They have those memories. Ten years from now, or twenty, or even five, if you let this Landon slip away without at least telling him you think there’s more, will you regret it?”
“I have a shitty track record with men.” That was a much easier reply than figuring out the truth. Or maybe I knew the truth and didn’t want to admit it.
“All of us do. Go figure. But in your case, you keep looking for what you think the world wants you to have. For what the world thinks you deserve. Stop that. Go after whatyouwant. Fuck the world’s opinions.”
“But… I mean…” I was out of arguments. I did want Landon, and I didn’t want to regret not telling him.
Carly was wrong about one thing though—my opinionwasn’tthe only one that mattered. If Nigel wasn’t interested, either for both of us or just for me, I couldn’t do it. That was that.
But if Nigel told meno, could I forgive him?
Fuck. I didn’t know.
28
landon
Monday when I got home from Nigel’s, I called Katherine and let her know I couldn’t take the job. But I passed along a few other names, and promised her they were great to deal with.
Because I was an idiot. I’d let myself get caught up in a game, and I couldn’t get Megan and Nigel out of my head. I had a stupid impulse to only take my clothes off for them, going forward.
That would have to change. My final check from the bar was teensy with no tips to back it up. I needed to put out the word to friends, and see if anyone had any jobs I could pick up on the side for a few days, until I found more permanent work.
I was surprised when I got a call Tuesday around lunch, from Roman, a guy I’d served with.
“Heard you were looking for work.” He owned a catering business.
I was fine with any sort of manual labor. “I am. Hit me with anything.”
“I need a bartender. Swanky deal for a bunch of businessmen, so you’ll need to dress the part. My bartender ditched me at the last minute.”
I didn’t do a lot of work for Roman, but when I had, he let his people take tips, and paid cash at the end of the night. Both would be welcome right now. “I’m not sure I have anything high-end enough for a swanky party, but I can borrow something. Are you talking Friday? Saturday?”
“Today. Like, what are the odds you can get here in the next hour? I have a suit for you.”
“It’s twelve thirty on a Tuesday.”
Roman chuckled. “I don’t ask why the people with the money do what they do, as long as they keep paying me.”
He didn’t have to ask me twice. “I’m in. Be there soon.”
I arrived at the older house in plenty of time to get dressed and be introduced to the staff and the bar layout. By the time people in business suits started filtering in, I was ready.
As long as none of them had jilted brides in tattered wedding dresses on their arms, this should be the easiest job I’d had in weeks.
I missed Megan and Nigel. It hadn’t even been two days and I wanted to see them again. To spend time with them. To stay with them.
Letting my mind wander this afternoon wouldn’t serve me, and I pushed the thought aside to focus on serving the guests instead.
The guests were polite. Cool, but professional. That was fine with me, as long as no one was rude. The portable selection of booze wasn’t quite what I was used to, but it was better than being limited to Malibu and Seagram’s. Blueberries. Chocolate syrup. Whipped cream…
Damn it.
“Give me a seltzer with lime, but make it look like a vodka martini.” The man who approached the bar almost looked like he fit in here, but not quite. The nose ring was subtle, but still out of place in this room full of well dressed, proper people. His lack of tie. The silver chain with a single feather hanging from it, exposed in distinct contrast against his bare chest, and hinting at the ink that peeked up above the first closed button at the top of his shirt. Even his salt and pepper beard and hair were carefully coiffed chaos.
And he wasn’t drinking, but his swagger said he wanted people to think he was. So did the fact that I was pouring his water into a martini glass.
