It was ugly, and it was gross. My makeup was melting off my face and my nose was running like a faucet, and I didn't even know why I was crying.
Yeah, I was hurt, but hurt for a hundred different, ridiculous, contradictory reasons. I couldn't even land on one reason and hold it up as proof that I was allowed to feel this way. Instead, I had a collection of missteps and mistakes, assumptions and inferences. It added up to a tiny disaster but it was coming down around me like a monsoon.
I could hear Owen and Cole talking on the other side of the door. Their happy little love fest was going on its merry way while I snot-sputter-laughed at the idea of sneaking out the back door. I'd do it, too. I could leave them there while I found that bucket of vodka to fade the warts and hairy moles of my life.
But I'd known Owen Bartlett my whole life and his mother was my high school guidance counselor. Small town manners—and a long-standing fear of Mrs. Bartlett—had me snatching his special order off the shelf, wiping away the tears, and pulling myself together. I'd get through this sale and then I'd drown myself in vodka.
When I emerged, I found Cole and Owen with their heads bent together, whispering to each other in a way that squeezed my heart. I wanted to share that kind of intimacy with someone who adored me the way Cole adored Owen.
"Here we go," I said, slapping the paperback down. I wasn't trying to be ranty. It was just flying out of me too fast to pull it back.
"Annette," Owen started, "about all of this. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. If I did, I'm…I'm sorry."
His words were meant to smooth my obviously frayed ends but they only irritated me further. Owen didn't have to apologize for me being a fool. I did this all by myself.
I shooed his words away with both hands like they were annoying mosquitos. "No apologies needed. I wasn't thinking. I wasn't being smart." I glanced at the man beside Owen and felt the tears fill my eyes again. "I knew," I said with a vague gesture toward them, "but I still hoped."
Owen stared at me, his brow crinkled and his lips folded into a grim line. I stared back at him, my brows arched up in silent question, but he said nothing. I didn't have to be the love interest in his life to know he was desperate to make this better. I'd sat through enough town council meetings to know how he operated.
"This looks like something my mother would love," Cole announced, piling several copies of a local photography book onto the counter. "My sisters, too. My mother loves a good coffee table book."
He prattled on about his mother and several other things which I thoroughly ignored. I plowed my energy into ringing up their order rather than reveling in the newfound adoration they had for each other. I managed to ask a few rudimentary questions and charge Cole's black card—who the hell was this guy?—before shoving them out the door and flipping the locks. The lights were off, the front shades drawn, and I made quick work of stowing the cash in the safe before dashing out the back door.
I didn't bother fixing my makeup or cleaning myself up before heading to the village tavern, The Galley. It didn't matter tonight. If they weren't already, the people of this town would be abuzz with news of Owen's beau soon enough. They'd have something to say about him shacking up with a man and then they'd have something to say about me chasing after him since shortly after high school. Then they'd share knowing glances about me being thirty-three years old and having only this bookstore to call my own. Around here, there was always something to say.
I could almost hear it now. "Poor Annette," they'd coo. "My heart just breaks for her. All those years she spent pining over Owen and come to find out, he's gay. What will she do now?"
"Vodka will solve this," I said to myself. "Vodka always comes to the rescue."
I pushed The Galley's heavy wooden door open and headed for the bar. The tavern was packed with people but I ignored all of them.
"JJ," I called, catching the bartender's attention as I settled onto a stool. "I need something strong."
"What d'you mean?" he asked, not looking up while he towel-dried a glass. "Like, a hammer? I don't got a hammer, honey."
"No, not a hammer." I sucked in a breath and blinked furiously to keep my tears from spilling over. Why was I crying? No need for that. I was a big girl with big panties and big vodka. "Some shots."
"Only shots I do are Jäger and whiskey. That whatcha want?"
The tears were flowing now, and I didn't care. I was furious with myself and hurt by my own hand, and I couldn't hold it all in anymore. "What about a German Chocolate Cake shot?" I asked, thinking back to my last foray into shots. Bachelorette party, Portland, blinking penis necklaces. "Or a Wet Pussy? Or a Slippery Nipple? Rim Job?"
He cracked the towel against the bar like a whip. "Try again, honey. None of that shit here."
I sniffled, and said, "A drink. I want a strong drink."
"Do I look like a mind reader?" He spared me a quick glance. "You're going to need to be more specific."
He was trying to break me, right here in front of everyone. I was sure of it. "Um, I don't know. Can you make me a cosmo?"
JJ went on rubbing his dishrag around the rim of a pilsner glass. "I can," he started, "but I don't want to. I don't do girly shit."
"For fuck's sake, JJ," I snapped. If I wasn't brimming with frustration at his refusal to give me the one thing I wanted right now—when nothing else in my world was working—I would've cried a river and floated away. Instead, I wiped my face and shot him an exasperated glare. "Shake up some vodka and some juice and keep them coming. If you can't deliver on that simple request, I'll hop behind the bar and do it for you."
JJ inclined his head, studying me with a surprised smirk for a second, and then shrugged. "Vodka and juice. All right." He set the pilsner down and reached for a martini glass. "Where are your girls tonight? Shouldn't you be mixing wine spritzers with Mitzi and Titzi? Where's Carley and Barley?"
"I don't have friends named after grains," I said. "You know that."
"But you do mix wine spritzers." He snickered as he filled a shaker with vodka and ice. "Where's Bam Bam?"
