I can’t read Ran’s expression anymore as he looks at me. “You’re the most empathetic person I know,” he blurts out.
Nobody’s ever said that to me before. I just blink at him until my view of him blurs because I’m blinking through tears. For some reason, that justhit.
“Thanks,” I say, sniffling and wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. “That —that’s really nice. I appreciate it. Oh, shit,” I say when I notice the time. “I’m sorry, I have to head out. I don’t want to be late.”
Ran stands up and stretches. “I can drive you.”
“It’s OK.” I wave him off. “I kind of look forward to the walk.”
Ran pouts. I hate admitting to myself how cute it looks. “Let me make myself useful for a change.”
God, he does need a hobby. But I don’t want him to think I’m ungrateful for his offer. “Actually, what do you have going on today?” I ask.
He sort of groans and swings his arm around the room. “You’re looking at it. Have to do a bunch of shit for the business transfer but that’s it.”
The idea hits me so suddenly that I run with it before I can talk myself out of it. “Come to work with me.”
“What?”
“Maybe you just need to get out of the house. A change of scenery might do you good,” I say. “Bring your laptop. I’ll give you the wifi password when we get there and you can just hang out and get some work done. Maybe meet some of the regulars.” The thought brings a smile to my face. The regulars at Finn’s are as close to a family as I have.
He looks at me sort of quizzically, then glances down at himself. “Should I change? What should I wear?” The idea that he wants to look good when he meets what passes formy peoplemakes me grin.
“Whatever you want. I’ll be proud to introduce you to them no matter what.”
He flushes pink in a way that makes my stomach flutter and mutters something about not knowing what he has clean before hurrying up the stairs.
Itisnice getting a ride. My usual twenty-minute walk takes all of two minutes. I direct Ran to park behind the building so I can let us in through the back door.
Ran grabs his laptop bag out of the backseat and locks the car. “You sure I look OK?” he says.
He’s in a trendy jacket with one of those tight, soft T-shirts he likes underneath. “Yep, you look sharp,” I tell him, and his cheeks go pink again. Wish I knew what was going through his head. I walk ahead of him to open up, glad he can’t see the stupid grin on my face.
I might have initially stumbled into this job, but it turned out to give me a place and a sense of purpose I hadn’t had before. Just out of high school, I didn’t have a car or marketable skills, but Gran made it clear that I had to start paying bills if I expected to stay under her roof.
So I set off on foot towards town. Finnegan’s Wake was the first place I came to that had aHelp Wantedsign in the window. Behind the bar, Guy Finnegan turned when I walked in. He gave the white streak in my hair and my faded black sweatshirt a blatant once-over as I approached. I half-expected him to throw me out rather than ask, “Can I help you, son?” in a two-pack-a-day rasp.
When I told him I needed a job, one corner of his mouth ticked up. “Ever been a bartender?” I shook my head. “Y’ever pour a drink before? Draft beer? Shot? Ever make a mixed drink? Know how to work a soda gun?”
He fired questions at me and I kept shaking my head, until he leaned his elbows against the dark wood and gave me a sharper stare. “Son, why do you wantthisjob?”
My only hope was honesty. “I need the money and I can walk here.”
Guy’s eyebrows went up as he made a noise in his throat. Maybe I jogged a memory of a time in his younger years whenhe had no choice but to sink or swim, because he threw me a lifeline. “Come back at noon on Friday. I don’t really need a barback, but you can work as one over the weekend and shadow the bartenders. I’m sure you can pick it up.”
At first, Finn’s was a crucible: I was terrified of talking to people, and I didn’t understand why people asked me questions and acted like they gave a damn what I thought. What I thought had never mattered before.
So it was a shock to realize after a few months that I wasgoodat being sociable. I was even more shocked when I realized I enjoyed it. The thing about dive bars is that the people who warm those stools on a regular basis see themselves as part of a family. Finding community among retired linemen and old bikers might not be perfect, but what family is?
Finn’s regulars are a colorful bunch —sometimes sentimental, sometimes frustrating and always opinionated. At first I was intimidated, then puzzled by how readily they welcomed me into the fold. Eventually, I figured it out: These old guys all have stories for days. Some are long-winded, most are exaggerated for comedic or heroic effect, some are petty or funny or boastful — the best ones are all three. And every single one of Finn’s regulars, to a person, had heard them all often enough to know every detail.
I was a brand-new audience.
Ran looks around in curiosity as I lead him through the storage area, past the walk-in and through the kitchen. I flip the master switch to throw the fryers on. Somebody will want fries the minute they walk in — probably Mikey. I’ll call it “breakfast of champions” and tease him about it, and he’ll tellme I’m a punk kid who could learn a thing or two from an old guy like him.
It’s a whole routine.
I realize there’s a nervous fluttering in my belly. I really, really want Ran and the regulars to get along. I get him settled at one end of the bar, after steering him away from a stool in front of the taps that Bruce thinks belongs to him.
