“I ordered a drink while I was waiting. You know me, I’m not one to sit idly at a bar,” Val commented, bringing me back to Earth.
“I would never expect you to sit here empty-handed,” I agreed.
The bartender, young and rugged, swung by, asking me for my order. I didn’t need a menu.
“Mezcal and pineapple, extra cherries, please.” I added a smile at the end. It was one of their signature cocktails, and I wasn’t ashamed to admit I was addicted.
“You love that drink as much as I love their espresso martini.” Val laughed. “We’re quite the predictable pair, huh? Two little old besties sitting at a bar, stuck in their ways.”
“Old? I think you may be right… I just plucked a mammoth whisker from my cheek. Took me ten minutes, squinting and staring into that rinky-dink magnifying mirror in my office. To make matters worse, the whole time I was trying to get the sucker out, the wrinkles around my eyes were deepening from all the squinting, and I had to think about how I ran into Ford Conway today. With the damn whisker! I’m sure he and every one of my coworkers saw it. I mean, it was long and wiry, sticking straight out from my face. Seriously, Val.”
She turned to the side, leaned forward, and stared into my eyes, “First, promise me when I’m much older, you’ll check my chin for whiskers.”
I leaned a tad closer, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose and lowering my voice to just a whisper, “Problem is, I won’t be able to see them without bifocals.” This had us both leaning back and laughing.
“Second, Ford Conway? When were you going to mention he was at the hospital? Was he in his wing? You knew him in college, right?” Val swung her hair to the other side, crossed her skinny-jean-covered legs, and appropriately positioned herself for an inquisition.
I knew what was coming. Almost immediately, I regretted mentioning Ford.
As the bartender brought my drink, I took the moment to collect myself. Sharing that Ford and I went to college was roughly all I ever said about him. I’d purposefully left out the part where we’d been lifelong friends and I’d given him all my firsts. There was my first kiss during spin the bottle, all the way to my first lover the night I graduated from college. But I was a grown woman now—there was no reason to get stuck in all the silliness of the past.
“Ugh,” I said, tilting my face downward, allowing my hair to cascade in front of my profile. “Yes, we went to college together, back when I was a mess, you know? Let’s say this—he’s never been a mess, and he certainly isn’t one now.”
Lifting my lowball glass, I took another long slug of my drink, plucking a cherry out and popping it in my mouth.
Val’s hand came to rest on my shoulder, her arm full of silver bangles clanking and clattering in my ear. “Who cares? You’re a far cry from a mess now…if you ever were one. I don’t believe it when you say it. You can grow all the whiskers you want and never blow-dry your hair again, and you’ll still be gorgeous. You have this sparkle in your eyes, full of love for life and everything in it, James.”
“My full name? Now I know I’m in trouble.” I joked around, but deep down I knew she was being honest. Believing her was the hard part.
Taking another sip of my drink, I sat up tall and asked Val about her job. She worked nearby at the university, in admissions. She’d just finished her busy time of year. Acceptances went out a few weeks ago at the end of April and that always signified the start of her self-care time.
“Happy to take a breather before it all starts again. But forget that! Tell me more about Ford Conway. Did he remember you? Did you get a picture? I’m sorry, that was rude. His dad is sick, I know…”
I gave her the basics. “At first he didn’t recognize me, but then he did, and we caught up for a few minutes and that was that.”
“Did you make a plan to get together? Laugh about old times?”
“Ha! No need to go overboard,” I told her, again wishing I hadn’t brought Ford up. I could’ve just stuck to my gangly whisker and moved on to what her plans for relaxation were.
She shook her head and said, “There is a need to do everything life hands you. Girl, when I met you, you were hawking yourself around the university, looking for tutoring jobs, trying to make cash you could hide from your no-good husband. Now you run the world.”
“That’s Beyonce, not me.” I side-eyed my friend and she pinched my tricep. It was a normal night out for the two of us, my sarcastic side rearing its ugly head and Val’s Oprahesque side coming to life.
I drained my drink and stuck my hand into the tiny dish of trail mix Mr. Beefy had left for us. It was poured fresh when we sat down, so no germs to worry about, and I’d work out in the morning to burn off the calories. My anxiety assuaged, I pondered my failed marriage. It was such a shitshow I tried not to think about it. I’d buried it deep long ago. It was during a dark time after college, when it was clear Ford was never going to touch base, and I married a military guy at the county courthouse. It was bad from the beginning and didn’t even last two years, but it was twenty-two months too long. The only bright spot being when I’d met Val nineteen years ago as I slinked around the university, putting up flyers for tutoring. She’d seen one and asked me to work with someone who was trying to switch majors. I’d agreed if they would pay me cash.
Keeping me beholden to him was one of the tricks my ex-husband, Tony, kept in his traveling circus of manipulation. He never wanted me to work—it wasn’t good for his image. He wanted me to be the devoted military wife. When I finally got out, I’d felt the blow even harder with no job, no benefits, and nothing to show for two years of my life. Except the wad of cash I’d hidden in my old messenger bag.
“Now, I’m going to level with you, Ford or no Ford showing up today. Your success is all you. This hot look—also—all you.” Val demanded my attention, waving her hand in front of the loose white blouse I’d kept on and had tucked into skinny jeans and ankle boots. “You look like Carrie Bradshaw, with red hair, duh. Though I wish you’d let your hair curl. She could be your twin.”
This had me seeking another mezcal while rolling my eyes. Refusing to look at Val, I shook my head while running my finger over my imperfect nose and staring at the bar. “My very thick and curvy twin. I look like a mid-forties woman whose first marriage failed…who now works in healthcare. I’m the cat lady with no cats.”
“You dumped his ass. Thank God. And you look damn good for doing so. And guess what? I’m allergic to cats, so I’m damn lucky you don’t have any.”
At the end of her declaration, I felt Val’s palm come to my back, but I still didn’t want to look up at her. I did dump Tony, and it was for the best—no matter how hard and painful it was.
“I’d love to hear about that. The dumping, I mean. I’ll skip the cat part,” rang in my ear in a deep and gravelly tone.
Somehow I’d missed a man entering the bar. A man who looked a lot like Ford Conway, catty-corner to us before sliding into the seat next to me and still smirking.
