ME:How about you have a bath ready for me when I get home and we’ll talk.
JACK:You got it, sweet pea.
ME:Fuck.
JACK:What?
ME:I kinda like that one.
Fifteen
The bar iscrazy busy, and though I’m happy for the fat stack of tips currently building up in my apron, I was mostly hoping for a calm night. The holiday season is in full swing, at both the bar and Bridge and Blooms. I’ve had multiple deliveries to make every day this week, and I’ve got a full morning of running around Brooklyn ahead of me tomorrow. My feet are already aching. Jack better have been serious about that bath, because I’m going to need it.
I’ve got an hour left on the shift countdown clock when I see a short head of straight dark hair pushing its way through the crowd.
Gem elbows her way onto the one open bar stool, giving me a tight smile that doesn’t come close to touching her eyes.
I pour her a glass of wine and head down to her end of the bar. Setting down the glass, I lean over and give her a quick hug. “I didn’t know you were coming in tonight.”
She takes a long sip of her wine. “I didn’t either. But Harley and Nick are at the apartment and I just needed a break, you know?”
Nodding, I rest both elbows on the bar in front of her, taking some of the weight off my feet in the process.
She eyes me warily. “Jack isn’t showing up here anytime soon, is he?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Good. I can only handle so much adorableness in one night.” After another swig, her glass is almost empty.
I reach for an empty glass and fill it with water, pushing it over to her. “What’s going on, Gem?”
“Uh-oh, have you turned into one of those bartender-slash-therapists?” Her words are cutting, but I’ve known her long enough to know I shouldn’t take it personally.
“Nope. I don’t give a shit about other people’s problems unless those other people happen to be my best friends. Then I want to know why she looks like I just told herTop Chefwas canceled.” I nudge the water glass closer to her, and once she takes a begrudging sip, I refill her wine.
“Don’t even speak those words into the universe,” she mutters. “I don’t really want to sit here and complain about how my job sucks and I hate it and how I’m super miserable while all of my best friends are pairing up with their perfect partners and living happily ever after.” She runs both hands through her hair, letting it fall in front of her face like a curtain.
I don’t bother telling her that Jack and I have been together for maybe five minutes and are nowhere near happily ever after yet. Or that Harley and Nick fretted about their feelings for each other for months before finally having the guts to give it a shot. I let her sit for aminute, tending to other customers until I see her emerge from her shell.
“So,” I say, as if our conversation never halted. “You wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t want to talk. There are at least twenty bars between your place and here. Clearly you wanted to vent, and clearly, I’m going to listen. So have at it.”
“I hate my job.” She drinks some more wine, but this time, in a reasonable measure. “I don’t know why I keep hanging in there, thinking things will get better. They’re not going to get better.” As she says the words out loud, it’s like they finally sink in, and her face comes close to crumpling. But she pulls it together before completely breaking down.
Seeing how on the verge of losing it she is, I skip the pity and go straight to problem-solving. “Okay. If you could be doing anything in the world right now, if money and bills and all that shit weren’t an issue, what would you want to do?”
“I’m not sure. But possibly something in the restaurant industry.” She doesn’t look at me when she says this, as if she’s admitting some kind of dirty secret.
“I think that’d be awesome for you.” Because duh, the girl can cook her ass off.
“But it’d be super irresponsible of me to leave a steady job, with benefits and retirement, and attempt to break into a field I have zero experience in. Especially one that’s as unstable as the restaurant business.” This time she does look at me, her big brown eyes almost pleading. “Right? That’d be super irresponsible?”
I gesture to our surroundings. “You’re not exactly asking the rightperson if you want to hear that it would be stupid to quit your job, Gem.”
She takes another large gulp from her wineglass. “Yeah, well, my quitting definitely wouldn’t come along with a brownstone room at a shoebox price.”
“Well, how about this? You start looking for a restaurant job in late May, see what’s out there. Get hired because you’re a badass. Work through the summer and see how it goes. If you love it, quit teaching. If it’s not for you, go back to school at the end of summer.” I stop polishing glasses so I can lean back on the bar, putting us face-to-face. “I’m not going to lie to you and tell you a career change is easy, because it’s not. I’ve been super lucky to have you guys and stupid-cheap rent, and I’ve still had plenty of moments of wanting to throw in the towel and go back to the stability of finance. But I guess the good news about teaching is you have the summer off to give things a trial run.”
She considers my words for several quiet moments. “That’s actually not a terrible idea.”
