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I push the booklet in front of Nora. “Pick something.”
She rolls her eyes but opens the booklet, running her fingers down each selection. She slaps the book closed, gaining my attention. “I can’t do this.” Her voice is higher than normal.
“You can’t or you won’t?”
I see her pulse thrashing against the delicate skin on her neck. “Both.”
My body twists to face her and I place a hand on her jittering knee. “Have I steered you wrong yet today?” She shakes her head. “Have you enjoyed what we’ve done so far?” Her head nods as she smiles. “Are you going to try and push against that scared feeling right now and fucking own that stage?”
She eyes me for a minute, her tongue peeking out, whispering back and forth over her bottom lip as she thinks. “Okay, but I need another drink… and a shot.”
I tap her leg. “On it, boss.” I stand and get her exactly what she wants. When I return, she’s got the book of songs open again, and her finger taps over one song. “You’ve picked something?” I ask as I place her new drinks in front of her.
She nods, closing the book so I can’t see her choice, then throws back the shot of tequila and doesn’t wince a single bit. I’m impressed, but this side of Nora I know well; the meticulous one who takes on a challenge and who excels at said challenge. What I’m trying to do is show her that the fun side of her needs to join the party a little more. The swallow of her throat has me imagining all sorts of things I shouldn’t, a spark igniting in my brain and travelling south very quickly. I force myself to focus on something else, anything else, but when she licks the salt on the rim of her margarita glass, I know the universe is testing me.
“How are you so ‘up for this’ all the time?” she asks, breaking the train of dirty thoughts I was falling into.
“Up for what, exactly?” I ask, my throat a little restricted.
“Up for anything—being at a karaoke bar, casually going to get a tattoo. Like you must be the most adventurous person I know.”
I think for a second. “Well, when you grow up with a dad who liked to be a drill sergeant most of the time and parents who argue more than talk to each other, you learn quickly that you either conform… or rebel. I’ll give you two guesses as to what I did,” I say, sipping my beer, trying to be casual when all I feel is pent up anger and frustration.
“You and your parents don’t get on?” she asks, concern etching over her features.
“It’s not that. Well, maybe it is. They spent the last ten years of their marriage constantly arguing, and I was always caught in the middle. Used as leverage, neither of them cared how I felt. So, that’s why I never wanted to get into relationships. I didn’t want to make someone feel the same way, arguing all the time, making someone so unhappy they hurt others around them.”
Nora’s mouth gapes slightly. “I had no idea.”
I shrug. “Don’t feel bad for me. When my mum moved to the US and my dad moved up North, I thought I had it made. Freedom, finally, to do whatever I wanted.”
“What did you want to do?” she asks.
“When I was a teenager, I had a lot of anger to work through, so I joined a seedy fighting club because I thought it would help me channel some of that anger. I stupidly got into illegal underground fights because I earned the most money that way. One fight, my last one, I was feeling weird, off my game. But I went into the ring. The guy was huge, like 250lbs of muscle and as wide as a fucking Hummer. I knew I was screwed. But I climbed into that ring anyway.”
Nora’s attention is rapt on me, and I like it. “What happened?”
“I lost. He broke my arm, collarbone, and almost broke my jaw. I was in hospital for a week because I had a severe concussion and surgery to fix my arm.” I take a deep breath. “But my parents wouldn’t come back. They said I brought it on myself.” My chest twists uncomfortably at the memory of my dad hanging up on me. The only other person who knows this story is Liam. “And that’s when I met Liam. I joined his rugby club because they needed coaches and I needed to get my shit together. I got the date tattooed on my ribs as a reminder that things can change. And the rest, as they say…”
“…is history.” Nora smiles, but it’s not her bright, happy one. It’s laced with emotion this time. “I’m sorry. I don’t know exactly what it’s like to have parents who don’t support you. But Jess, she went through a lot when we were growing up, so I havesomeexperience and I know it’s not easy.” She takes my hand and squeezes it. My throat clamming up at her kindness. I’m never this eager to share, let alone have someone console me.
I clear the log stuck in my throat. “It’s all good. I’m happy. I’ve built a life I’m proud of. I’ve learned that having fun and living is better than being bitter, so I keep everything casual in my life. It’s easier that way.” I trail off, realising that maybe I do want more from my life. Maybe I want to show Nora I can be more, too. If not for me, then for her. She stirs something inside me that makes mefeel. But all of this talk feels far too heavy for a karaoke bar, so I change the subject. “What about you? I know why you’re doing the list, but what’s your end goal? If you have one at all.”
She ponders for a minute. “I think I’m fed up with being the one who is predictable and reliable. I wanted to experience life properly, without reservations. I don’t want to be married with kids and look back and think ‘I wish I’d done that,’ so here we are.”
I shiver inwardly at her mention of marriage. “You want the whole married, 2.5 kids life?”
She nods but doesn’t seem fully committed to the nod. “Eventually, I think, maybe. Do you?”
“No,” I say a little too forcefully. Nora flinches, recovering quickly with an empty smile. “Like I said, I spent too long witnessing my parents’ unhappy life to know that marriage, commitment, it isn’t for me. I haven’t been with anyone to consider kids either.”
“Okay… I understand that,” she says nodding her head and tucking her hands into her lap. I wonder if she’s trying to use her therapist skills to assess me, but frankly, it doesn’t matter. She won’t change my mind.
We sit in silence, as another person absolutely destroys “Summer of ‘69” on the stage. When they hit a bum note, which is a lot, Nora’s hand flies to her mouth and she chuckles to herself. Then a few others take on Justin Bieber, Miley Cyrus, and of course, Queen… none of them can sing but it’s barely them I’m watching because Nora’s hand migrates to my knee when she finds someonereallyfunny to watch and she squeezes lightly.
“Don’t you think it’s a little weird?” she asks during a lull in our entertainment, finishing the conversation she was clearly having in her own head.
“What’s weird?” I reply, watching her as she removes her hand and goes in for another lick of the salt around her second margarita. I’m doing what I can to ignore the heat pulsing through my body as she licks the crystals from her lips, but it’s pretty futile honestly.I’m never buying her a margarita again.
