Because if you speak it into existence, it might all go away again.
“A while ago, someone came into work that I had known from back in Pittsburgh,” I start, and at the mention of my hometown, the table falls silent. Curiosity turns to empathy as my friends listen, waiting patiently for anything I have to tell them. They’ve all heard bits and pieces of my fucked-up childhood, the reasons why I moved here all by myself, and why I never have anywhere to go home for the holidays. But I rarely talk about it. “One of my foster brothers that I had growing up lives out here. I hadn’t seen him since he moved out when I was eleven.”
People continue to dance, drink, let loose, while it feels like a protective little bubble has grown around our table. Nicole puts a hand on my leg and squeezes gently. I shoot her a grateful smile.
“We’ve been sort of…reconnecting, I guess,” I say. “And he was there that night the guy grabbed my ass and took care of it for me.” Even though I still could’ve handled it myself. “So while I appreciate you all willing to ride at dawn for me, the situation has already been resolved.”
Kevin and I talked the next day; he assured me that what Hugh did wouldn’t be tolerated, and Hugh hasn’t been backsince. Whether that’s to do with Kevin telling him not to come back, or Reid’s threats, I’m not sure.
“Your foster brother,” Marley says carefully, like she’s stepping in a field of landmines. “Is he the one who’s been dropping you off after work?”
Shock runs through me. “How’d you know about that?”
She gives me a dull look. “We’ve noticed a car dropping you off at night sometimes. We’ve just been waiting for you to tell us who it is.”
Sara adds, “We thought maybe you started seeing someone and just weren’t ready to tell us about it yet.”
I push my hair back from my forehead and tuck it behind my ears as sweat clings to my skin. “If I was seeing someone I’d tell you!”
“You’d better,” Nicole laughs. “I can’t wait for the day that you finally get your first boyfriend. Or girlfriend,” she says with a wink at Marley and Sara.
“Trust me”—I fiddle with my empty glass—“you all will know the second I do. But it’s nothing like that with him. We’ve just been…” I don’t know what we’ve been doing. Getting to know the adult versions of each other? Bonding over shared circumstances that no one else in our lives can understand?
“You don’t have to say anything more,” Sara says, and the group nods. “Thank you for sharing that with us. And if you do want to talk about him more, we’re here.” A soft smile crosses her face. “I’m happy you’ve found him again. It’s a good thing, right?”
“I-I think so.” The words sound choked but luckily are dampened by the music. It is a good thing, but the memories, the feelings that are dredged back up from seeing him again, those have been harder to wade through. Feelings Ithought I had healed, thought patterns that I thought were in my past.
Waiting for people to leave me.
Waiting for something bad to happen.
My nails reflect the anxiety I’ve been trying to choke down and pretend isn’t keeping me up at night.
“Well, I’m glad he was there then to step in when that asshole thought he could touch you,” Amanda says. “Your boss should’ve been the one to do it, though.”
Agreements echo around the table.
“You know if you want to quit On Tap, you can come work with us,” Sara says. The offer is one both she and Marley have given me for the past two years. And each time my answer has been the same.
“I know, and I appreciate it, but I’m good where I am.”
“Are you?” Marley questions. “Do you want to serve drinks for the rest of your life?”
“No,” I snort. “But I don’t know what I want to do for the rest of my life, and until I figure that out, I’m fine with my job.”
“We just want to?—”
I stand, abruptly scraping my stool against the floor, and gesture toward the bar. “I’m gonna go get another drink.” I don’t wait for anyone to stop me, or ask if anyone else wants another. The need to step away from the table for a minute overrides everything else as I weave through the crowded room and find reprieve near the far corner of the bar. I lean against the sticky wood counter and cringe.
One of the bartenders makes eye contact with me and holds up a finger, gesturing for me to wait. I wave him off, not really needing another drink anyways but just needing something to get me away for a moment. Get me out of a conversation I don’t feel like having again.
I know they only bring it up again because they love me, but I don’t want it. Accepting their help just feels like a shortcut. Like I won’t have earned anything.
My head is slightly foggy as I pull my phone out of my back pocket and find Reid’s number.
Me: What are you up to tonight since you’re off driving duty?
We don’t really text that often, but since our talk on the lookout, there’s been a new understanding built between us. A bit of the wall between us has slightly eroded. So maybe he’ll?—
