Page 5 of Merry Mayhem
“Anyway, sorry about that,” she says, waving toward her intact phone. “I’ve been waiting for him to call and tell me what time he’ll be here tomorrow.” She shakes her head and mutters, “Fucker.”
“Uh, no problem,” I tell her. “Sometimes you just gotta deal with the shit as it comes up.”
I’m the only one sitting at the bar. It’s just past seven on December twentieth. We’re in Louisiana, so it’s not like the weather is bad, but I’ve gotten the impression in the twenty minutes I’ve been here that the town is all home getting ready for the big Christmas festival that starts tomorrow. There was the usual dinner rush here in the coffee shop-slash-diner-slash-bar, but everyone headed out after eating rather than hanging around.
Perks and Rec is an interesting establishment. It’s a coffee shop from six a.m. to four p.m., then a bar from four p.m. until midnight. The front door invites people to “perk up” in the morning and then “recreate” in the evening.
But they take it even further. Half of the building—actually including the outdoor patio—is decorated in bright colors—yellow, pink, and white—and holds bookcases, a coffee bar, and a bakery case along with overstuffed upholstered chairs and round white bistro tables. The other half features dark blue walls and ceiling, twinkle lights, a slate gray floor, high granite-topped tables with a fully stocked bar, and a corner stage.
They serve food all day, but the menu changes from breakfast and light lunch options to dinner at four.
I’d come in after the man I’d come to town to see hadn’t answered his phone. I’d shown up in town unannounced, so that’s my own fault. But I know this place is his husband’s, and I’d hoped maybe Harley would be here. Nope. It’s just me, the bartender, and a couple of women having drinks across the room.
I’ve never visited Harley at home. We’ve been texting for the past six months. The last time I saw him was at the hospital the day before he was discharged. I’d visited him three times during his eight-day stay after his stroke. I never do that with people I meet because I’m the paramedic on the ambulance that responds to the call where they have been injured or are having some kind of medical emergency. But Harley was different. I’d felt compelled to go check on him in the hospital. I’d ended up staying and visiting with him for two hours that had just flown by, and when he’d invited me back, I’d gone.
Tonight, when I’d been feeling melancholy, I’d thought of Harley and thought, why not stop by and see how he is? But I hadn’t made plans with him ahead of time. I’d just shown up and then texted to see if he was around. He hasn’t answered.
I’m just feeling restless.
Christmas is coming in four days, and I won't be with my family this year, as I was just home for Thanksgiving.
I don’t mind that, actually. I love my family, but my siblings are all married and having kids. My mom and dad are so worried about me not doing those things, especially after I stupidly packed up and followed Sierra to Louisiana.Notbeing there at the most nostalgic time of the year is a favor to them, honestly. I’ll let them revel in my three siblings doing things the right way and allowing my dad to play Santa and my mom to craft her butt off.
My perpetual single status can be out of sight, out of mind, hopefully.
My mom won’t hang my stocking, all by itself, at the end of the row of stockings, and sadly stroke it, wondering if I’m going to die alone.
My dad won’t wrap my gifts, including the extra ones they buy in an attempt to fill the supposed holes in my heart and lifewith material things, while being sad that he’s not wrapping stuff formykids.
My brothers won’t ply me with liquor in an attempt to keep me tipsy and, hopefully, not sad. Because Jesus, my middle brother, is terrible with feelings.
My aunt won’t bake extra everything, so I knowsomeoneis thinking of me.
And, most of all, my sister won’t be tempted to bring single women she knows over in an attempt to set me up.
Though that one wouldn’t be all bad…
No. I don’t want that. I donotwant a holiday fling back home, where I’ll have to leave her on December twenty-seventh when I return to Louisiana and my life here.
A fling back home that will make my mom start hoping that I’ll move back.
I’m staying in Louisiana. Even without Sierra. It’s been the fresh start I needed in every way, except romantic.
I’m no longer gambling. I’m not in debt. I’m not keeping secrets from my family. I’ve got my dream job. I’ve got friends who don’t come from my messy past.
And dammit, I can start over with a woman who doesn’t know that messy past. Or at least, who won’t judge me for it because she knows menow.
Sierra was never able to get over the stupid mistakes I made, and fair enough. She was evidently looking for an older, more mature, more stable type. The cardiothoracic surgeon who already has two daughters in middle school and salt-and-pepper hair at his temples, type. Apparently. Because that’s what she got.
Not the younger, trying-to-get-his-shit-together, twenty-four-hour-shifts-at-a-time firefighter type. Because that’s who followed her here, who turned his whole life around for her, and who laid it all on the line the day after he found out she wasengaged in a massive grand gesture in the hospital emergency room.
And got shot down.
“Sorry you had to hear all of that,” the bartender says.
I shake my head, forcing myself out of my own thoughts. I’m clearly not the only one facing a less-than-perfect holiday.
“Don’t apologize. Sorry about your break-up,” I tell her honestly. “That sucks. Especially so close to Christmas.”
