Page 13 of Love in Pieces

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Logan and I pull upto a bar just outside of Oxly. It’s almost noon and the parking lot is full. It’s a small meet, but motorcycles line the street, hogging all the good parking spots. We manage to slip our R6s into a small section at the end, stealing our own little area next to a brand-new Harley.

The heavy metal door to the dive bar squeals at us as we pull it open. The neon beer signs buzz, practically begging us to choose to drink one of them.

“Bar?” Logan asks over his shoulder.

“If you can find a seat,” I say, looking ahead at the heavily populated room. Most of this bar is just that, a bar. But a few small cocktail tables stand scattered throughout the crowded floor with a single wall lined with four red booths. At this point, there aren’t any open tables, so as Logan suggested, we make our way toward the dated wooden bar.

A short line has formed near one of the bartenders, so Logan and I get in line. I recognize a group of guys at one of the booths from campus only because there aren’t many college students who have their bikes with them at school. One of the guys, I couldn’t tell you his name, sends a knowing nod our way. I nod back just as the bartender asks us what we want to drink.

“Just water, please,” I say, before looking to Logan. “What do you want? I’ll pay.”

“Jack and Coke, thanks.”

As we carry our drinks carefully through the bar to find an open seat or table, I recognize another person. I’ve been seeing her around a lot lately. I think she was the one working at the register the day Dante was being so rude, and I saw her last weekend at Landry’s. Her black hair is tied into two tight braids over her shoulders. She’s with a guy, presumably her boyfriend. I wonder which bike out front is his.

A spot at one of the cocktail tables opens up and Logan and I join the other two guys at the table.

“So, have you learned anything else yet?” Logan asks after taking a long sip of his drink.

“Nothing yet. I haven’t even reached out to my dad to let him know we won. I’m a little upset that he wasn’t there and that he hasn’t even asked. So, you know what? Two can play that game.”

He narrows his eyes. “You could be the bigger person and reach out to him. Maybe he’s struggling with something.”

I shoot him a brash look. “I’m not saying he needs to divulge all his secrets, but a quick check-in would be nice.”

“I get it. But I still think there are better ways of going about this that don’t include you being upset the whole time.”

“Whatever, man.” Logan is one of the only people I let speak into my life. I don’t always take his advice, but he’s been that person for me to lean on all through college. We didn’t care for each other our freshman year. We started off in separate friend groups. There wasn’t really a rhyme or reason as to why the groups so naturally rivaled each other, especially when we were on the same baseball team, but at some point, Logan and I must have figured out how stupid it was. We started talking between innings and realized we had a lot in common.

I think it had a bit to do with our partying tendencies, especially because we went to a lot of the same parties the first two years of college. We ended up playing a drinking game with a group at one point and Logan and I had to shot gun a beer together. The best part about it was Logan had no idea how to shotgun anything and the beer ended up all over him. Since that night, we’ve gotten along great. So now we’re best friends and share an apartment.

We stand in silence watching people mingle around the bar for a while. “Are you ready for finals? How many do you have?” I ask, trying to change the subject to something easier to talk about.

“I think so. The only one I’m a little worried about is my capstone paper.”

“Well, I’d say that’s pretty good.”

“That’s the goal. You? You’ve only got one, right?”

“Yeah. It’s just my pharmaceutical class. Lots of drug questions. If only the drugs were more exciting,” I joke.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with a fun one if you had the chance,” he mocks.

I chuckle. He’s right. Baseball has kept me very disciplined.

“Are you going to Leo’s party on Friday?” Logan asks between sips.

“Yeah. I don’t have to work, surprisingly, so I’ll be able to go. Are you?” I ask, hoping he says yes. I would like the company, not that I wouldn’t find someone else to hang out with and Lord knows, some drunk girl will throw herself at me for the night. I wouldn’t be alone for long.

“I’ll be there. Unfortunately, I have to take it easy because I’m meeting my parents at a hotel for the weekend after the party for a family reunion. I don’t need another scolding for being hungover. It didn’t exactly go over well last time that happened.” He scrunches his nose, probably replaying the memory in his head. “And last time I was at home. Who knows what would happen if it was with the rest of my family.”

Logan’s parents are strict. They moved here from South Korea. I’ve since learned about the high expectations that typically come from Korean parents. Not that I blame them. It makes perfect sense to want your children to succeed. When we decided to get an apartment together two years ago, his parents threatened to stop paying for his schooling. He assured them he would continue playing baseball and that his grades wouldn’t falter. They haven’t, but they didn’t anticipate how much more freedom he would have while living off campus.

I look back at the bar, noticing the line has dwindled a bit, and spot the black-haired girl standing in line. My gut tells me to go up there, even if I can’t talk to her. “I’m going to grab another drink. You want one?”

“Grab me another, I’ll hold the table for us.”

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