Silence passes by slowly, no one sayin' nothin'.
“Yeah, so I—uh... I didn’t want you findin’ out from someone else or?—”
She hangs the fuck up, the phone leavin' her hand before ever realizin' she pitched it across the bar. It arcs through the air and smashes against the back wall so loud Andrew flinches.
His wide eyes jump to her, rag frozen mid-swipe.
He stares, like—What the fuck just happened?
She leans over the bar, elbows on the wood, arms locked around her head. A sob punches out of her as if it broke a bone in her ribcage on the way up. She don't even care. Not tonight.
“Neen…”
But she don't answer.
Andrew shifts from one foot to the other, wipin’ his palms down the front of his jeans. Then he scratches his jaw, tries again, more gentle this time. “Yo… want me to step out a sec? Give ya a minute?”
Still, nothin' leaves her.
He sighs through the awkward silence, crossin' his arms, and leans back against the cooler, waitin'. Meanwhile, Nina’s head’s screamin’ with every lie she’s been tellin’ herself—it was just a fling, Ashlee won’t last, he’ll miss her once the fantasy wears off—gone. All of it up in flames.
It wasn’t just sex. Hechoseher over Nina. And now she’s standin’ in a bar, washed-up and alone, while the girl who wrecked her marriage is about to wear her last name.
Andrew rubs his forehead. “Whatever he told you? He’s a fuckin’ moron, Neen. You deserve better than him.”
But she’s shakin’ her head, resentment racin' up her spine. “No.” She laughs, worn out, and tightens her pony-tail until it pulls her scalp. “No, you don’t get it, Harding. You can’t.” Sheturns to face him, rage barely caged. “I don’t even fuckin’ want him,” she spits out the words lodged in her throat for months.
She lifts her hand, ready to unload some more, but then drops it.
Was it even worth explainin' to an eighteen-year-old?
“Imagine yourself married for seventeen years. Seventeen fuckin' years. Then one day you're comin' home from work early, walkin' into your fuckin’ kitchen—your kitchen—and there's your wife. The woman you gaveeverythingto, and she’s gettin’ bent over the counter as some other guy way hotter than you, way younger, is balls-deep inside her.”
She laughs again, but there’s nothin’ funny about it. “And your wife's lookin’ right at you,” she continues. “Like it’syourfault you got old.”
Andrew’s head drops, his hand scrapin' the back of his neck.
“How the fuck're you supposed to face the mirror after that, huh? Jesus, Andrew—how’re you supposed to take off your clothes in front of anyone ever again—” A tear slips out. “And then you find out it wasn’t some midlife crisis or itch to scratch. Wasn’t a fantasy or a fluke or a one-time fuck. Nah, she was it. And I wasn’t. They’re gettin’ married. I’m just… left.” Her eyes glass up, her voice shot to hell. “Hechoseher. The girl he cheated on me with. Like seventeen years meant nothin’. Just—‘thanks for the marriage, babe, but I’m tradin’ you in for the new model.’”
A breath gets tangled up in her throat. She swallows it down like acid.
“He tossed me aside.” She snorts. “And now? Now, I gotta come in here every damn night, some sad old bitch behind the bar, pourin’ drinks for girls just like her. All tits and ass and watchin’ every guy in this fuckin’ place lose their mind.”
She laughs, but it lands as a cough stuck in her throat.
“And every night I’m standin’ here—hello!And no one even looks at me.” Her eyes cut down Andrew. “But you? You’ll never get it. You’re eighteen. You’re hot. You got time.” She scoffs, liftin' a shoulder. “But me? I’m ruined.”
Andrew stands with the rag balled tight in his hand.
Then blows out a breath and sets the rag down. “Look where you are, Neen.” His arm sweeps wide, at the barstools, the cracked floor, the lights buzzin’ like they’re half-drunk too. “You wanna be on the other side of this bar with one of those fuckin’ clowns?” he says. “Half of ‘em can’t even spell commitment, and you’re back here runnin’ the whole fuckin’ place—sober, smart, beautiful. And that?” He shakes his head. “Fuckin’ intimidating to ‘em. Which they also probably can’t spell.”
She freezes up, but he keeps talkin'. “You think any of those assholes give a damn about what the girl looks like, seriously?” he says, almost amused. “They really don't give a fuck, long as she's easy. Swear t'God, they walk into this bar already knowin' they ain't findin' forever here, they're just lookin' to forget somethin' or fuck somethin'.” He lets the truth hover. “You ain’t ruined. You just ain’t left this bar long enough to meet someone worth meetin’.”
He leans back again, shoulder hittin' the cooler.
“Kinda ironic, though. You go on about wastin’ seventeen years on a marriage, and you still spend every night right here. Workin’. Watchin’. Waitin’. Just sayin’.”
Nina can’t help her smile. “Y’know you’re the first one to call me beautiful since my husband?” She laughs, but it leaves tastin' a whole lot like pity. “And now I can’t believe he ever meant it.”
