“Load it up,” my dad says, settling down on the bar stool and nodding at the pizza I just placed there. “Can I get a beer?”
“No,” I say as I pull his preferred condiments out and set them beside the pizza along with some napkins. “But you can have some water.”
My dad grunts. “At least a Dr. Pepper.”
“Water,” I insist, turning for the back cooler to grab a bottle. I thrust it at him, and he glares at me. I doctor up his pizza just the way he likes it—garlic salt, red pepper flakes, and Texas Pete.
It’s surprising the number of these little pizzas I sell. They’re really only big enough to feed one grown man, and they’re dirt cheap for me to buy through a wholesaler, but I can sell them for $7.50 and they take all of thirteen minutes to cook. It’s a good profit margin. Not as good as the alcohol, but food keeps people drinking, so it’s worth it to offer a small menu.
Glancing down at the man and woman at the other end—new customers I don’t know but who wandered in for a drink—I lean my forearm on the bar and snag a piece of my dad’s pizza.
He doesn’t say anything and we eat quietly, my eyes sometimes cutting to the TV on the wall beside the pool tables. I normally have it set to a sporting event or sports news channel, but I turned on Men in Black a bit ago. I have zero interest in sports these days.
“You working New Year’s Eve?” my dad asks.
I drag my eyes from Will Smith’s character trying to get comfortable in his little egg seat to take the MIB test. “Yeah. I’ve got one other bartender, and that should be enough. I don’t anticipate a huge crowd.”
At least not the sizes that were overwhelming us when the Titans hung out here. Those days are over, and it’s back to just my regulars.
“You going to come by?” I ask.
He lifts a shoulder. “These days, I’d much rather lounge in my recliner for a true crime documentary binge.”
“That does sound heavenly,” I agree with a laugh that actually sounds genuine. Mirth has been hard to come by the last few days, so maybe that shows I’m moving on.
Not like I have a choice. Hendrix told me to leave him alone, so here I am in all my glory… leaving him alone and finding humor in life just fine without him.
The door to the bar opens, and I glance that way. I can’t decide if I’m happy or anxious about seeing Harlow walk in.
She glances around, locates me, and beelines to the bar. Her expression is as I’d imagined it would be—pissed.
Harlow takes the stool next to my dad after giving him a kiss on his furry cheek, nabs a slice of his pizza, and then turns to glare at me. “I can’t believe you’ve not returned a single call or text. Forcing me to come down here to confront you and eat this swill.”
“Swill? Really? Could you be any more dramatic?” I drawl.
My dad takes offense. “That’s my swill you’re eating.”
“Sorry,” Harlow replies with a bat of her eyelashes. “I’ll pay for it.” She then turns back to me. “I’ll have a beer.”
My dad chokes with shock, and my eyes bug out of my head at her request. Harlow is a recovering alcoholic and doesn’t drink at all.
“No fucking way,” I snarl, slapping my hands on the bar before her. “Are you crazy?”
“I don’t know,” she quips, picking a piece of pepperoni off her slice and popping it in her mouth. She chews thoughtfully, swallows, and then glares at me again. “Am I crazy? You wouldn’t know since you don’t return my calls or texts. What if I was having a crisis?”
“I would have answered,” I mutter, turning to the cooler again to grab her a bottle of water. “But you were reaching out about Hendrix, and I don’t want to talk about him.”
Placing the drink before her, I take a bite of my pizza. With my mouth full, I can’t be coerced into vomiting my feelings.
Harlow’s a sneaky one, though, so she turns to my dad. “Okay… catch me up on everything.”
My head whips his way to see if he’ll be a loyal father, but that question is answered when he blabs everything. “Short story is this… her mom made up a horrible sob story about owing ten thousand dollars to some criminals who were going to either rough her up good or kill her if she didn’t pay. She asked Stevie for the money, even though she doesn’t have it. Showed up bruised and bloodied to Stevie’s house one day. Her mom found a reporter who would pay ten grand for the right story, and Stevie went to see what that meant. She didn’t feel right going, didn’t want to go, but her mom’s life was in danger, so she went. Ultimately, she backed away almost as soon as she met the guy. Refused to give him any info.”
“But how did he know—”
My dad holds up his hand to quiet her. “Mandi stole Stevie’s diary out of her house, the journal where Stevie, as you know, records her whole life. Lots of stuff in there, and the reporter had a field day with it.”
Harlow’s head turns my way, her eyes filled with empathy. “Oh, honey… I’m so sorry. She… she… used you in a horrible way. That wasn’t your burden to help her out of trouble.”
A bark of colorless laughter erupts. “There was no trouble. It was a setup, I think. She took the money and went to St. Lucia. She’s not responding to my calls.”
Harlow’s jaw drops, and her head flips back and forth from me to my dad, then back again. “She faked it all?”
“She didn’t fake the bruises and blood. I treated those injuries myself, but maybe Randy slapped her around to make the ruse look good. Or maybe she really did owe the money. I don’t know what’s true anymore.”
“Regardless if it’s true or not,” my dad continues, “she took the money she got for selling Stevie’s diary and went on a fucking vacation.”
“That bitch,” Harlow screeches, and the two customers at the end of the bar look our way. She waves a hand and says, “Sorry.” She then turns back and whispers, “I want to kill your mother.”
“Take a number,” my dad growls. “I get first crack.”
“No one is killing anyone,” I say with every bit of the fatigue I feel. “It’s done, and I’m moving on. I suggest you two get over it too.”
“But Hendrix,” Harlow exclaims. “You have to tell him what happened. He—”
“No,” I cut her off harshly, and she blinks at me in surprise. “I tried to get him to listen so I could tell him the entire story. I begged for five fucking minutes of his time, and he wouldn’t give it to me. He told me to leave him alone, so I’m abiding by that. It cut me to my core, Harlow, so Hendrix does not get the privilege of knowing there was more. He can suffer the pain of thinking I betrayed him.”
“Stevie,” Harlow drawls in a soft, almost cooing voice. “Don’t be like that. Hendrix is hurt and he lashed out. But you know he’s a good guy. You know—”
“Fuck him,” my dad snarls, and Harlow jumps. “Fuck that bastard who couldn’t give my girl five minutes.”
I love my dad.
“Harlow,” I say, a little more gently. “I love you, you know that, right?”
She nods.
“I’m asking you as someone who I know loves me back, you cannot tell him. He told me I was just like my mother.” Harlow blanches at such spitefulness. “He aimed low, and he struck hard, then he abandoned me without a backward glance. He’s the one like my mother, not me, so he gets nothing. You understand?”
Harlow nods mutely.
I take a deep breath and set my half-eaten pizza slice down because I’m not hungry anymore. “I have to do some organizing in the back. Thank you for checking on me.”
I look to my dad, and I don’t have to say a word. He knows what I need. “I’ll watch the bar for you while you… organize.”
Spinning on my foot, I walk slowly, shoulders back, to the storeroom. I’m not in a hurry to escape Harlow. As long as she can only see my back, she can’t see my face as tears start streaming down, and she will never know how broken I remain.
My dad does, though. It’s not the first time I’ve needed alone time to collect myself, and it won’t be the last, I’m sure.
Inside the storeroom, I dash my tears away with my shirtsleeve and move cases of beer around for better efficiency.
After about five minutes, the door opens. I don’t need to glance back to know it’s my dad.
“She’s gone,” he says. “I filled her in on some of the other details, but she promised she won’t approach Hendrix with it, and she said she’ll get the same promise from Stone.”
Of course, because she’ll share this with Stone, and I suppose I can’t fault her for that.
I pick up the last case and place it on the stack. “That was nice of her to check on me, though.”
“Yeah… Harlow’s always that one friend you can count on,” he muses. “And she’s not necessarily wrong about telling Hendrix the truth, if that’s what you want.”
“Not what I want,” I mutter as I face him. “Fuck men.”
My dad stares at me, stroking the end of his beard thoughtfully. “You know… I like this new person you’ve become. Cold. Hard. Don’t take any shit. I’ve been waiting your whole life to see you mature into the type of woman I knew you could be, and I’m so proud.”
I’m stunned to my core, and my jaw drops. “Really?”
“No, not fucking really,” he snaps with an eye roll. “I don’t want you to close yourself off like that. I want you to be open to finding love again. It might not be Hendrix, but it can be someone.”
I put a hand on my hip. “You want me to be open to finding love again?”
“Yeah… what father wouldn’t?”
“The type who himself never bothered,” I point out.
“That’s different,” he grumbles.
“It always is,” I say as I move by him, giving his chest a pat on the way out the door. “And I love you, anyway.”
