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I push through the door, the heavy grocery bags digging into my fingers. I swing them onto the kitchen counter with a hiss, and shake out my hands.
Cara, dressed for the club, wanders over, peeking into the bags. "What did you get? The fridge is pretty full. I can try and make some space." She heads to the fridge, pulling it open to peer at the overflowing shelves.
"It's not for us."
She turns to me, and raises one eyebrow. "Did you knock over an old lady and steal her groceries?"
"Ha. Ha. You're hilarious," I say dryly. "They're for John. We're doing some cooking lessons tonight, and it's my turn to bring the groceries."
"We're doing some cooking lessons? You and John? Why does this sound like a whole thing?"
"Because it is a whole thing. I mean, it didn't start out that way, but Jonas has been having lessons, and Nick and I hung out a few times, and I've managed to convince him he needs lessons too. Watching the man stick a fork into a toaster to fish out his burned toast convinced me he needs to develop some kitchen skills. It's a matter of survival.”
She snorts and shakes her head. She’s well aware of how awful the men are in the kitchen. "So John's giving them lessons, and you're what? His assistant?"
"Basically," I say cheerily, hanging my coat in the closet and toeing off my boots. "John tried doing one with both of them by himself, and he ended up kicking them both out of the apartment. Apparently they 'annoyed this shit' out of him. He figures it'll go better if there's two of us and two of them."
Cara laughs. "I wonder what they did to set him off? I wish I'd been there. But, it sounds great. You’ll be an amazing assistant." She shrugs into her black leather jacket. If her parking spot at the club wasn't right next to the back door, I'd worry about her. But looks matter more to her than warmth...at least when she's in 'sexy club owner' mode. She pulls the door open, then pins me with a look. "You haven't been on the schedule at the club in a while. Did you want me to throw you a few shifts?"
I take a deep breath and plant my hands on the counter. Here we go with the 'grow the fuck up' plan of mine. "Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you about that. It seems like things are going well, especially behind the bar. You've got a great crew."
"Yeah," she says slowly. "I do. You're a part of that Bree."
"I know. But, if you've been managing without me, then I think I'm done working at the bar." The words come out in a rush, one syllable rushing into the next.
Her face falls. "Why? I thought..." She trails off, and I wonder what she was going to say. But she doesn't finish, and I don't ask.
"I was happy to do it, because I was supporting you. But lately, my heart's just not in it. I've got plenty of savings, so money's not really an issue. You can give my shifts to someone who wants them. A lot of the other bartenders are trying to pay for school, or supporting families. They really could use the extra money.”
"Did something happen that I need to know about? If someone made you uncomfortable—“
"No. It's nothing like that. Truly. I just...I'm not really a club girl. Does that make sense? I'd rather do other things. Besides, you're not there as much anymore either, so it's gone from being something we do together, to just being a job."
She bites the corner of her lip and frowns. "I have been taking more time off. But maybe it's too much. I used to be so focused and now..."
I don’t want her finishing that thought. "And now you're in love. You have a life. And that's a great thing." I pull her into my arms, hugging her tight. "You can have it all. Do it all. You can. I just don't want to be a bartender anymore."
"You're sure?" she whispers into my hair. Her arms are banded around my back just the way I like. So tightly that I almost can't breathe.
"I'm sure." I drop my chin on her shoulder. "I'm just figuring out what I want my life to look like now. Being in a club until three in the morning isn't it."
"Okay," she says on a heavy exhale. "You're officially fired."
"Fuck off. I quit."
She laughs, letting me go and stepping back. Her eyes are glassy, but she's smiling. "Build the life you want, little Bee. You deserve to have everything too."
I nod, throat too tight to speak, then she's gone. I lean against the counter, relieved at how well that went. I've been wanting to leave the club for a long time, maybe as long as a year, but I always felt like I couldn't leave Cara. There were a lot of lean years, both of us putting any extra hours we had into building her business. But now it's one of the hottest clubs in town. It's thriving. She's thriving.
I want to thrive too.
When it was just the two of us, being at the club was okay. I don't really like the loud music. I'm not a huge fan of the quick impersonal connections being a bartender requires. It's flirting, or being a best friend for a few minutes. That's not me.
I'm more the girl who wants to sit in the corner and get deep with someone. Learning everything there is to know about that person and truly connecting with them. Maybe that's part of why I love being a physiotherapist so much. Because I get to see people over and over and develop those relationships. I get to see their success and their struggles.
Though I can admit, those relationships are a little one sided. I know them, but honestly, how much do they really know about me?
Other than Cara, is there anyone in my life that really knows me?
