"Sorry," I offer.
"It's fine. I was just kidding. I know how to pronounce conosuir."
While taking down her burger, she also polishes off her whiskey. Of course, without even a water break in between, she's requesting another.
Rather than argue with her, Luke pulls his next card and tries to stall the process, acting like he's busy around the empty bar. If the bar were busy tonight, it wouldn't clear what he is trying to do.
"Um, excuse me, Luke?" she questions after a few minutes. "Did you forget my order?"
"Nope, I didn't. I'll get to it in just a moment."
"Is this what you do with drunks in your bar? You stall them?" I'm a little surprised to hear her put the question out there. For someone in her mental state, I wouldn't expect such a sharp assumption.
"No, ma'am. Just trying to get things cleaned up real quick before a crowd comes in."
"Did you ever stall Keegan when he was getting drunk?"
Another record scratch neither of us saw coming. Luke drops his dishtowel that he's been using to dry glasses. "Can I be honest with you?" Luke asks August.
"I would hope so," she responds.
"Keegan never appeared to be drunk, hon."
"Well, he was," she tells him. "All the time except for a few months here and there when he was trying to get sober."
Thinking back now, I recall periods when Keegan wouldn't come into the bar, but I never thought much of it. We were just acquaintances who would share a joke about a sports game or something stupid on the news.
"I had no idea," Luke tells her.
"Yet, you think I'm a drunk, don't you?"
"I didn't say that," Luke argues.
"Then, could I please have my drink?"
"Sure thing," Luke concedes.
Pains in my chest inform me I'm feeling way too much about this girl who's more or less a stranger. I don't understand what she's trying to prove publicly or to herself, but I want to tell her it won't help the situation. Luke walks away to make up her drink, and August twists her body to face me. "After this drink, do you want to get out of here with me?"
Another reaction pumps through me, one I shouldn't be having. "Um, what do you mean?"
"Do you want to go for a walk or something?"
"Uh, yeah, we can—we can do that." I feel like I'm asking for trouble, but maybe I'm doing her a favor too.
"Cool," she says. "Oh, and accept my friendship, please."
"Consider it done," I tell her.
Her eyes widen but through a struggle. She looks tired and worn out. "No way. Do it right now so I can watch you."
She sure is a fireball. "Okay, all right, give me a minute." I open up the app on my phone and click the little white icon.
"See, look how many people want to be your friend, Chance Miller. Are you against having friendships or something?"
"I'm not a big social media guy. I like to scroll, see what's goin' on in the world, and sign back off. I guess you could call me a spectator."
"I see, well, this way you can see what's going on in my world, maybe."
