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Mickey pulled out the tissue paper, and then his prize at the bottom of the bag. I watched the way his face folded again into a light smile as he held up a box containing - I shook my head, trying not to cringe visibly - two toilet seat shaped shot glasses.
A prize for the couple containing a girl who could barely finish one drink in a four hour period, and a guy who would likely never drink socially again.
Present Day
IstareatBethaniwhere she stands next to a display of tortillas. She’s got a package of corn ones in her hand, and her eyes are firmly planted on the hand Fitz has on me.
As soon as Fitz notices, he moves his hand away, and turns to face Bethani, though I can tell he’s watching me out of the corner of his eye.
“Bethani,” I say, my voice strangled, and she tosses the tortillas in the basket slung over her arm, taking a few steps toward us and then, to my surprise, reaching out and pulling me into a forceful hug that has me stiffening. Her long, cherry-red hair flies out around us.
“It’s so good to see you!” She exclaims, letting me go and holding me at an arm’s length, looking over me. “It feels like it’s been forever.”
“Yeah,” I agree, because it has. Literal years since I’ve seen or spoken to this woman. Next to me Fitz clears his throat, and I shake my head, trying to clear it of the memories. “Bethani, this is my…friend, Fitz.” Her thin eyebrows shoot up at the word friend, but she take’s Fitz’s hand and shakes it, lips pursing almost unseen.
“So nice to meet you,” she says, but her tone is clipped.
“Bethani,” I start to explain, “is Mickey’s boss’ wife.” I look up, using my finger to run over the words mid-air, making sure I’ve gotten the correlation correct. Fitz nods in understanding as she turns back to me. “How have you been? How’s work?”
Work. She’s asking about the marketing job I had for years before I made the switch to AllHearts.
“Good,” I answer. “I’ve been at a different company for a few years now.”
“Oh? Where are you now?” I swallow and glance at Fitz before answering.
“AllHearts. I’m on their apparel design team.” Her eyes widen as she more than likely waits for me to yell “gotcha!”
“Oh,” she repeats, clearly trying to save face. “That’s great.” Her tone says anything but great. I’m not surprised by her reaction, in fact, when anyone who was close to Mickey hears what I do now, I expect worse. Because Mickey was conservative. Because he was old-fashioned. Because he would have let me work at a company like AllHearts over his dead body. And that’s what it, unfortunately, took for me to get out from under that stigma and do something that I truly enjoy.
“I really love it,” I explain. “You remember all those commission pieces I used to do? Well, I kind of get to do that full time now.” She nods, like she’s trying to piece together old memories she probably didn’t even care to store anywhere.
Because Bethani and I weren’t really close. We hung out because Ken and Mickey were friends. We attended their annual parties, watched their dogs, but Bethani and I were on two separate planets most of the time. She was a party girl, who, with Ken, had to pound shots before Mickey’s funeral just to get through the day.
The ironic part is that if I had really started drinking before I did, I probably would have been taking shots with them.
But Ken and Bethani stuck by me through the funeral, through the days after when I was fighting the Davis family to dig myself out of the financial hole I’d landed in while caring for Mickey. Until they didn’t stick by me - until they made their allegiance very, very clear.
“Well, I won’t keep you two,” she says, and I can sense that she’s gathered the wall that immediately sprung up when she approached isn’t coming down any time soon. She looks at Fitz, and gives him a tight smile, then reaches out to give my arm another squeeze. “Let’s get drinks soon,” And without waiting for my reply, she turns and walks away, pulling out her phone from her back pocket.
I close my eyes, letting out a deep, settling breath before looking back at Fitz. His face is hard to read, but his eyebrows are raised like he’s waiting for me to explain.
“That was…uncomfortable.” I laugh to try and lighten the mood, but he puts the pickles into the basket of my cart and crosses his arms. “It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time.” I had a sneaking suspicion he was going to say something like that.
“Fine, but not here.” I glance around - while there’s not many people in here, there’s a very real possibility that Bethani is waiting around a corner to report back on my movements. Fitz glances pointedly between the contents of my cart and my face before he responds.
“I’ll help you carry these back up.” And that offer, I won’t refuse. That is, after I grab a second container of pickles for Fitz.
By the time I’m all checked out, Fitz has both of my pretty, flowery reusable grocery bags hiked onto one of his shoulders, and motions for me to lead the way out of the store and into the beautiful night air. It’s a perfect spring night - cool, but not cold, and I’m thankful I wore my sweater from work.
“I take it the two of you haven’t talked in a while,” Fitz says cooly as we head up the sidewalk. “Given the drinks comment.”
“You would be correct.” I sling my purse over my chest, slipping my wallet back in. “It’s been a few years.”
“But you were close?”
“I wouldn’t say close.” I bite the inside of my cheek, glancing behind me. “Mickey and her husband were close, they transferred from a different company together. Bethani is…”
