“Am I allowed to give a free drink?” I asked Rosa before jumping right back into the fray, taxing myself to recall all the orders and to start hurrying on getting them out.
She winced, multitasking like she never had to look at what she was doing, pouring by the feel of the bottle and reaching out to get the right-size glass for another drink. “Like a comped drink?” She made a face. “No. Not usually. Pete’s a penny pincher and tracks it all.”
I sighed, worried that this drunk would get belligerent if I didn’t give him the “right” order after I screwed it up, even though he drank the first one anyway.
Now wasn’t the time to test any bravado I might have wanted to gain and rely on. I wasn’t sure how customer service decorum would shape this situation, and I didn’t have the spare time to ask Peter for permission to give this cocky man his second drink on the house because I made a mistake. Nor did I want to admit I’d even made a mistake. Peter saw with his own eyes how I struggled to keep up with the faintest bit of grace and accuracy.
I hurried to splash a whiskey on the rocks for him and slid it his way, praying Peter was just ogling my ass and not paying attention to what I was doing.
The jerk snickered as he took the drink, but I didn’t linger for any thanks or further words from him. Too many other orders were waiting on me. So many more drinks had to be grabbed, poured, or shaken.
And not enough air existed for me to slow down and just inhale a solid breath. Trembling from the fast pace of it all, I carried on the best I could while wishing I could be anywhere else.
No, that wasn’t true.
I hadoneplace I fantasized about being.
One destination.
Home.
Wherever Maisie was.
After Fitz’s funeral, it was too clear that I’d have to move Maisie out of the condo Fitz and I invested in after we married. It was far too expensive, and while I regretted having to relocate my four-year-old to a smaller apartment in a not-so-great part of the city, it was home. Home was wherever she was.
Tuning out all the shouts, complaints, orders, and even the gross catcalls and slurred insults from the drunker and hornier men at the bar, I sank back in my thoughts. I let the visions of my adorable daughter give me the motivation to power through this hard night.
No matter how hard this was, I did it for her.
The late hours. The rude treatment. Even the crappy tips at the end of the night because Peter was an asshole and took more than he had any right to as his so-called “owner’s cut.”
All for you, baby girl.
Only for you.
Deflecting drunks and fending off the crude remarks became easier the more I practiced. It was nonstop, all this unwelcomeattention onmeas I just did my job of tending the bar with Rosa. I couldn’t be too cold and aloof if I wanted any tips, but I had to juggle my discomfort in even being here with the need to provide for my daughter.
But this can’t be right, either.
Maisie is still adjusting to not having her father.
She needs me.
Not just as the sole source of income so we’d have a roof over our heads and food in the fridge. She was so young and shy and growing so fast that she needed me to be present.
With every fiber of my being, I detested being away from her. She’d only just turned four, and some nights, like the long one I was enduring now, it seemed like I would be absent and blink to find her all grown up and missing me.
It’s hard enough that she’s missinghim.
Swallowing hard as I spilled another beer because I slipped on the floor mat sticky from my previous spills, I winced and quickly wiped up the mess on the wooden bartop.
Any time I got distracted and thought of my late husband, I lost track of what I had to pay attention to. Remembering the gentle-hearted man I’d lost was the quickest trigger for me to be clumsy. Distracted.
Down and depressed and hating that I was here.
“Hey! Move your ass!”
I furrowed my brow at Peter’s cruel bellow. I didn’t have to turn and face him to know he was addressing me. I’d felt his lewd stare on me. “I am. I am.” I was trying to move it and keep up.
