Page 5 of Whiskey Neat

“If I can’t handle talking to one of my best friends I have no business opening a bar.”

“Facts,” Kit says.

“I’ll keep you posted.”

“This is fucking exciting,” Ridley says as he ends the call.

I hold my phone in my hand for a second, a huge grin spreading across my face. I just might pull this off.

TWO

SALEM

Ah, Willow Bay. Who’d have ever thought I’d willingly return to the place of my youth? Not me, that’s for sure. I guess the solid bullying of my formative years wasn’t enough for me, and I’m back, but this time I’m not a skinny little weird boy with glasses. I’ve had quite the glow up, thank you very much. While I never got any taller and I certainly haven’t muscled up, I grew into my looks and embraced my queerness. Now anyone who doesn’t like me can fuck right off.

Driving down Grant, the main street through town, brings back a flood of memories, some good and others not so much. A shiver runs through me, but I shake my shoulders out to center myself. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a grown-ass adult. Granted, I’m groveling back to my parents, unemployed, and more single than I’d like. Ugh.

Stopping at a red light, I glance at the businesses lining the street. Most are exactly the same as the last time I was here, but there’s a construction truck stopped in front of the old Jimmy’s Bar location. Hmm. Did someone finally buy it? Maybe we’ll get a fancy new restaurant like the ones in the city. That would be nice. This town could use a little upgrade. Allegedly it’s safe and a nice place to raise kids, though I’d beg to differ. Nothing about my childhood was nice.

The front door of the bar opens and two men walk out, followed by an older guy in a hard hat. The two younger guys, dressed in faded jeans and t-shirts despite the cold weather, are lick-your-lips gorgeous. Well, well, looks like little Willow Bay is indeed getting an upgrade. Knowing my luck they won’t live here though, or they’re straight. They’re probably just visiting or investors or something. Either way, I may need to swing by later and investigate. Maybe I could end this pathetic months’ long dry spell before they leave town.

The light turns green and dread settles in my stomach as I drive on. The closer I get to my childhood home, the more angst I feel. I’m sweating and nearly hyperventilating by the time I turn onto Maplewood Avenue, just four houses away from facing my father’s disapproving face.

The car slows to a crawl, coasting since I’ve taken my foot off the gas. They don’t know I’m coming—I couldn’t bring myself to announce my failures ahead of time—but my mom will be happy I’m back, and my dad will too, albeit with a heavy dose of ‘I told you so.’ Yay.

I pull into the driveway and blow out a long breath as I cut the engine. It’s Saturday, so I’m sure they’re both home. All right, Salem. Shoulders back, chin up. You’ve got this.

I grab my bag from the passenger seat, tossing it across my body, then exit the rental car I paid for with the final dregs of my credit card limit. I sold my car six months ago for cash to pay rent for two more months. It’s been a rough-ass year.

Painting an artificial smile on my face, I trudge up the driveway and climb the three steps to the door, pressing the doorbell like a solicitor with vacuums for sale.

A few seconds later, the door opens and my mother’s face goes from irritation to shock to pure joy. “Salem!”

She throws her arms around me, dragging me inside. Laughter bubbles out of me, erasing the melancholy I’ve carried for weeks now.

“Hi, Mom.”

She steps back, her hands on my arms. “What a surprise. What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call? I didn’t cook.” She cups my chin. “Oh goodness, boy. You’re pale and skinny. Don’t they have food in the city?”

“Mom.” I shake my head, gently pulling her hand away. “Can I stay for a while?”

Her brow creases. “Of course, but why?”

“Who’s at the door?” My dad’s bellowing voice comes from the family room. “We don’t need any more cookies, Delores.”

“It’s Salem.”

“Salem?”

I hear his heavy footfalls on the wood floors before I see him, but the old man rounds the corner into the formal living room, a worried look on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

He knows. Why else would I show up unannounced? Not once since I took off for wild pastures have I turned up without calling first.

“Um, a lot of stuff hasn’t really worked out.” My throat clogs with emotion I refuse to release. “I lost my job, and I haven’t been able to find anything to replace it.” I focus on my mom’s face. “I couldn’t afford my apartment anymore.” I shrug. “So I came home.”

“Oh, sweet boy.” Mom wraps her arms around me, pulling me into her bosom, and suddenly I’m ten years old again, fighting back tears. I sink into her embrace, putting down my ever-present armor for a few minutes. I don’t dare look at my dad.

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