“Should we start with a shot?” Natalie suggests.
“Whoa,” says Jordan. “I didn’t know earth mothers did shots.”
Natalie rolls her eyes. “I never called myself an earth mother.Earth motherto me implies ill-fitting outfits.” Jordan snorts, delighted. The funny Natalie has come out tonight. Mae’s phone buzzes and she glances at it and turns it over, but not before Jordan sees that the text is from someone named Hal.
“Who’s Hal?”
“My boss.”
“Which boss?” Jordan can’t keep track of all of Mae’s jobs. She seems to be at once underemployed and also quite overemployed.
“Dog boss.” She chews her fingernail and says, “What should I get? I’m driving. I can only have one drink; I have to make it a good one.”
“We could Uber,” suggests Jordan. “And pick up the car tomorrow.”
“I’ll get a ticket,” says Mae.
“If you do, I’ll pay it,” says Jordan.
“You promise?”
“Promise.”
“Yes!” says Natalie. “Okay, so let’s do shots. Bartender!” This is how Jordan knows Natalie is already tipsy from the wine they had with dinner. Sober people just signal for the bartender or catch their eye; nobody actually calls out the wordbartender, just as nobody in New York actually yells “Taxi!” as they’re signaling for a cab.
“Sisters?” asks the bartender, and they nod. “I love that. Sisters are the best. I always wanted a sister.”
“I like your tattoo,” Mae tells her. The bartender has a small goat tattoo on her wrist, just like the goat brands on the burger buns here. “It shows real workplace commitment.”
“Thanks.” She smiles. “I like all of yours.”
Jordan presses her lips together; respectfully, she disagrees. She hates that Mae has so many tattoos now. She hates that she looks like—well, like someone she is not. Or never used to be. Their mother would be so upset to see Mae’s pretty skin marked up like this, like a dark, angry costume that doesn’t really fit. “We can’t do whiskey shots,” says Jordan. “That’s not very sophisticated.”
The bartender shrugs. “No judgment. We’ll pour anybody a shot of anything.”
“Tequila?” asks Natalie hopefully.
“Whoareyou, Natalie?” asks Jordan.
“It’s been a long week.”
“It’s only Wednesday!”
“Exactly.”
“How about no shots,” says Jordan. “How about cocktails?”
Natalie sighs and says, “Fine.” She orders a Goat-a-Rita, and Jordan deliberates between a Golden Hour Spritz and a bourbon,neat. She chooses the bourbon. (They are beyond golden hour by now.) Mae gets The Red Door, with espresso, vodka, Irish cream, and cold brew—named, they speculate, after the bar that closed a decade ago. Jordan would be up all night if she drank that. Oh, to be in her twenties again!
It’s fun to be out with her sisters. The first hour passes so fast, the way time used to pass in college bars, when you look up from hanging out with your friends and the night is nearly over, the bar about to close. Natalie brings up the summer Jordan babysat for the family with triplets; they spend a good long time speculating about what white-collar crime the father got investigated for. The summer a pipe bomb washed up on the beach and Calvin was the one who called the authorities. The time Natalie dared Mae to eat a whole Seafood Platter from Petey’s by the end of the day and she ate the last bite at 11:57. Every single Third of July party at the Beach Club.
Jordan feels the joy of this night like an ache in her heart, like nostalgia for something that isn’t yet over. Natalie seems to have put her worries about the magazine article on the back burner, which means that for tonight she’s not asking Jordan for something Jordan doesn’t want to give, and Jordan doesn’t have to deal with the messy truth that while she would hang from her fingernails for Natalie and Natalie’s family, she would not do the same for Natalie’s “brand.” If her sisters don’t want to talk about the house, that’s okay by Jordan. She’s not going to let herself think about Bernadette; she’s stuck to her vacation guns and ignored her calls both yesterday and today. She’s feeling almost... calm and balanced. Jordan doesn’t believe in heaven, but if she did she knows Theresa would be there, looking down at her three girls together and smiling.
She would also tell Mae not to drink coffee so late in the day.
When there’s a lull in the conversation Natalie says, “Do you think Dad is doing gentle parenting with the kids?”
“Definitely not,” hoots Mae. “Definitely not.”
