I really don’t want to be crying in a random bar, so I wipe a runaway tear and reach for the surprisingly delicious cider. Unfortunately, grief and coordination do not play well in my brain, and instead of grabbing the can, I knock it over entirely, splashing my neighbor with the grapefruity goodness.
“Jesus, I’m so sorry,” I say as I grab napkins from the bar. “I’m just a hot fucking mess today. Probably shouldn’t be allowed around humans.”
I manage to stop the tide of cider trying to spill over the edge of the bar while handing my drenched bar mate the extra napkins. When he doesn’t take them, I look up and am startled to find Roly looking back at me.
I pop up, sending the stool flying out behind me, creating an enormous racket in an already noisy bar. Roly’s arm reflexively raises to protect the side of his head, and damn, that makes my heart hurt. I’m so ashamed that tears, already so close to the surface, break.
I gently put my hand on his arm. “Roly, I’m not going to hurt you.”
He considers me for a moment, then lowers his arm. I expect a joke, or something Roly-like, but am surprised to realize that we’re both crying.
“I’m sorry about the cider. I didn’t realize it was you sitting next to me—it wasn’t purposeful, I promise. I just didn’t sleep last night, and I’m hella uncoordinated.”
It’s funny, I make jokes about hate-forgiving him, but seeing how upset the guy is, knowing exactly what Asadi would do, having Riley’s words rattling around in my head…the malingering hate-on for him dies a final death. Asa and Riley would be so proud of me. Everett, too.
Dammit. “I’m sorry, I’ll just go.”
He grabs my forearm to stop me. “It’s okay, really. I was already upset. It’s the anniversary of my father’s death, and this was his favorite bar. It’s a madhouse this weekend with the kids and the dogs, and Heath pushed me out the door and told me to find a barstool for a couple of hours, so this is where I ended up.”
“Makes sense. Sounds like you’ve got a good man.”
“The best. Which is…” He sighs, letting the sentence trail off. “You know, it’s been years since Dad died, so I’m not… I don’t know why I’m so sad this year.”
I chuckle wryly. “I’m seeing my friend’s kink therapist, so take this next part with a huge grain of salt. I’m pretty sure she would say something like, hey, your life is really great right now and you’re probably sad you can’t share this with him.”
We both right our stools and sit back down at the bar. He dashes away the remaining tears, sniffling as he says, “You know, that kind of makes sense.” He pauses, peeling the label on his empty bottle of beer. “Yeah, huh. That actually makes me feel a little better. Thank you.” He shifts his eyes down to the bar, and I’m familiar with that look.
When someone shows grace, kind of like I accidentally just did, and it comes from an unexpected source, kind of like me, it can feel undeserved.
The bartender arches his eyebrow to a painful degree, and I decide this will be my last drink. Roly sees the bartender’s reaction and grins, wiping his eyes. “Fuck, we are a mess.”
I bob my head in agreement and nurse my cider. After a moment, I consider his profile and let out about a year’s worth of pain on an exhale. “Do you know what your single most annoying trait is?”
Roly laughs to himself, a welcome sound in the noisy bar. “According to my boyfriend, it’s that I have to make everyone love me.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty bad. But yourmostannoying trait is that you are impossible to hate and damn near impossible to not like, though I keep trying.” My eyes dart away from his on the last part, the emotion a little too strong for eye contact.
He takes a sip of beer and shakes his head. “Impossible tonotlike. How is that different from impossible to hate?”
I squirm on the barstool, wishing my legs were long enough for my feet to reach the support bar instead of dangling like a child’s. “Neutral is not hating you. Finding you annoying is not hating you. But I swear to god, it’s a fight to even stay neutral if I’m being truthful. As much as I want to hate you, I can’t, and it’s fucking frustrating.”
His eyebrows meet in the middle, and he shakes his head again. “You don’t know me. I could be a real asshole.”
I shrug and wiggle the tab back and forth a few times. “Yeah, but I hear things. Everett thinks you’re a really nice guy, and he’s never lied to me. By the way, he thinks I don’t know y’all slept together however long ago, but I do.”
“How’s that?” he asks, his non-denial confirming my suspicion.
“Every time he talks about you, he looks guilty.”
This time it’s Roly who’s knocking his shoulder into mine. “That’s because he likes you so much, he doesn’t want you to think badly of him for sleeping with the enemy.”
My heart speeds up, and I’m dying to ask Roly if he thinks Everettlikes melikes me, but I’m not in high school and…yeah. Not prepared to go down that road with him just yet.
“Damn, that was a good movie,” I say, deflecting.
“Right?” he says, bumbling his beer before setting it a little too heavily on the bar. The bartender is understandably disgruntled and may take a pool cue to us if we don’t settle down. “I thinkSleeping with the Enemyis massively underrated. Julia Roberts was brilliant in it, and that song… Oh, what was that song?”
I think for a second and snap my fingers. “‘Brown-Eyed Girl’?”
