“Espresso martini. No choice.”
I want to do something to blot out everything that happened earlier today. I haven’t even gone over the entire story with Rana yet, which makes me nervous because I don’t want to relive it. At least I won the fight enough to get away, get a lick in, and avoid jail time.
“Okay. I’ll get it for you. Come on.”
We lean up against the bar. Rana’s long black hair blows over her shoulder as she waves over the bartender who looks like he’s barely twenty-one years old. I feel a sharp pang in my stomach. I’m thirty-six. I’m starting over at thirty-six and I probably know as much about love as this twenty-one year old kid.
I don’t even notice Rana opening a tab, or anything in my surroundings until the drink appears in front of me.
“Let’s toast to starting over.”
“At thirty-six.”
“Woo!”
Rana is a few years younger than me and as far as I know, she goes out on regular dates. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been on a date. I wouldn’t even know where to meet a guy. Not a biker bar, that’s for sure.
Our glasses clink together and I take an obligatory first sip which turns into an unclassy chug once the liquor hits my lips.This is too damn good.Rana’s eyebrows raise with delight as she takes her first sip.
“Holy shit, this is so fucking good.”
“I know.”
“Okay. Next good song, we are going to shake and release the trauma.”
There’s a small dance floor that’s pretty active, so we won’t be the only ones dancing. After one espresso martini, I would dance on the altar at church. I’m a lightweight and liquor takes over my body like an evil spirit. Tonight, I’m letting that spirit loose.
The next song is a weird one for a bar before ten p.m., but we are in Boston, so we have to endure at least one round of “Sweet Caroline”before going home for the night. Rana prompts me to tell hereverythingthat happened earlier since my blubbering voice notes left some confusing gaps in the story. I fill her in on everything that happened, including the scuffle.
“If she presses charges, we will sue her ass so hard.”
“Thanks.”
“He’s an asshole.”
I thought he was the love of my life.
“You’re right. He is an asshole.”
“Sweet Caroline” finally fades out and the vibe switch nearly gives me whiplash. However, “Temperature” by Sean Paul will make any thirty-six year old woman shake her ass. It’s crazy how a song can go from overplayed to nostalgic in what feels like a blink.
Rana and I set down our empty glasses and hit the dance floor. It’s implied that the next time the song changes to something we don’t like, we’ll get another drink. I already feel loose from the first espresso martini and my body movesnaturally to a song I practically have a choreographed routine for.
This guy comes up to Rana and asks her to dance. She turns to me and points, so the guy puts his hand on my shoulder and asks if it’s okay. I nod, because why not? Just because my boyfriend cheated on me doesn’t mean Rana has to become a nun. The guy takes her hand and moves her away from me a little. I shake it a little more and then point at the bar when Rana catches my eye for a moment. She’s enjoying herself and I can get a break to put another espresso martini in me. It’s a win-win situation from my perspective.
I order another espresso martini from the extra young adult serving me up. He serves it up with a flirtatious wink that just makes me feel patronizing. He knows that I’m basically a spinster about to die without ever knowing love… I can tell.
While I’m at the bar, I hear a biker’s voice a few seats down saying clearly. “I just got into a fight last week. I can’t afford to beat the fuck out of somebody again.”
“You know you like that shit, Zeb.”
They both laugh and a chill runs down my spine. If there’s a bar fight here, I’ll have to grab Rana and run. I glance over my shoulder so I can keep an eye on her and after scanning the crowd on the dancefloor twice, I find her pressed up against the wall making out with the guy she was dancing with. They just met. But his hands are in her hair and they’re kissing and smiling between kisses.
I don’t mean to be a jealous hater, but it feels like a gut punch. Why the hell is it so easy for other people to find someone who wants them – and only them? I just feel so tired of starting over and trusting people. I feel like I want somebody to love me, but even if they did, I wouldn’t believe it because every time I’ve given my heart to other people, they stomped on it and crushed my hope that love was really out there.
Fuck.This alcohol is going to make me the worst type of drunk. I don’t want to get sloppy and cry everywhere. I turn around to escape the bar and head towards the bathroom so I can wipe my tears and avoid embarrassing myself in public, but when I swivel in the barstool, I come face to face with a man who must have been standing behind me for at least a few seconds.
I try not to yelp in terror.
