AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My phone beeps again.
Shane: Come on. You need a break.
This isn’t one of those he-knows-me-so-well things. Anyone who knows me would guess correctly that I’ve worked my way through the weekend, like I’ve done the last … I don’t know how many weekends of my life. I could use a break. A long one. And I will take one once GlobeTrotter takes off. And it has to, because I have no other options.
Another sound from my phone.
Shane: Don’t make me come over there
I look around my sparsely decorated apartment in lower downtown Denver, or LoDo as we call it around here, where I’ve lived for the last five years. It was supposed to be temporary—I only signed a six-month lease—yet here I am, in this mediocre, over-priced living space, that I’ve never quite settled into as home, sitting on my piece-of-crap couch, my butt aching from the lack of cushion support. This place looks like a stereotypical bachelor pad, not exactly how I pictured where I’d be living at the age of thirty-five.
Maybe I do need a break. Roosevelt is just a ten-minute walk. I could sneak away for a bit. No, I can’t. I have to keep working. I’ve got way too much that needs to get done.
Beep.
Shane: Having second thoughts
Well, now I’m curious.
Me: About what?
Shane: The wedding
What? I can actually see my eyebrows, I’ve pulled them down so low, as I stare at the words on my screen. Shane is questioning marrying Nadia? I’ve known him for nearly seventeen years now, so I know when Shane is determined to do something, and he’s been very determined to be with Nadia. Second thoughts aren’t Shane’s style once he knows what he wants. And yet …
Me: I’ll meet you in 30
I’ve neglected many of my relationships while trying to get this new app off the ground, and Shane has taken the brunt of it. I’ve hardly seen my closest friend, and it’s obvious he needs to talk. This is how I’m rationalizing taking a break, with an attempt to assuage the guilt I’m feeling right now. Although, really, guilt has been my constant companion for the past five years.
I take a quick shower, throw on a pair of dark jeans and a light-gray short-sleeve button-up, and I’m out the door, my hair still damp, and walking down the street to meet up with Shane.
The light June breeze feels great as I walk the four blocks it takes to get to the bar. There are quite a few people outside as I walk along Larimer, taking advantage of this warmer night. June evenings in Colorado can go either way. Sometimes it’s hot, most often it’s still chilly, and sometimes it’s even been known to snow.
I feel the weight on my shoulders lighten as I put one foot in front of the other and realize that this is exactly what I need right now. Some time outside, a little break from the stress of my life. This was a good choice.
In no time I’ve arrived and walk in to find Shane is already sitting at the bar, a glass of whiskey—his go-to drink—in hand. We’ve been coming here for a while. It’s not a typical-looking bar—the space is well lit and has classic and modern decor with accents of library bookshelves and old typewriters.
I greet Shane with a quick pat on his back, noticing that besides the darker color of his T-shirt, we’re dressed pretty much the same. This happens often. Although his clothes are probably from some upscale place, and mine are usually from the sale rack at a department store. The fact that Shane and I tend to dress alike, and also have the same color hair, is probably why people often ask us if we’re related. My own brother doesn’t look half as much like me as Shane does.
I take a seat next to him and signal the bartender, who’s chatting up someone farther down the bar.
“Good to see you, man,” Shane says as I settle into the high bar chair, a bright smile on his face. Not exactly the smile of a man who’s questioning his life choices right now. But Shane is usually pretty guarded with his feelings. Something we also have in common.
“So, what’s going on?” I ask, getting right to it. We’ve known each other too long to do the small talk thing.
“With what?” he asks me, a confused look on his face.
I give him one back. “Your wedding?”
“Oh yeah,” he says, his face suddenly falling. It’s almost too dramatic for Shane.
“You’re having second thoughts,” I say, a feeling like something fishy is going on creeping up my spine.
“Oh yeah, lots of them,” he says, his focus on something on the bar and not on me.
“Why? What happened? What’s changed?”
“I mean, well, it’s just the whole … marriage … thing,” he says.
