Page 1 of Love on the Rocks

1

Donovan

I takemy time wiping down the bar. There are only a few people here at three in the afternoon on a Wednesday. The bar is still rather smooth, even after nearly a decade of being in business at this location. It’s odd to miss something most would see as a negative, like a dirty bar with rowdy alcoholics crowded around, but there was an authenticity at the original location this one doesn’t have.

Lately, I’ve been feeling restless. Back in Harriston, running the bar consumed my entire life. I lived above it, so I was occupied with work from the moment I woke up until I went to bed. I never really had time to stop and reflect on whether or not I was happy with how my life was going because I always had shit to do. There were suppliers to haggle with in the morning, regular customers to serve in the afternoon, and drunk college students to manage in the evening.

After the last customer stumbled out the door into a taxi or the back of a friend’s car, I had to clean up and get everything ready to do everything again the next day. Sometimes my staff stayed to help, but it was hard to keep reliable waitstaff in a dying town.Anyone with any kind of work ethic left the second they had enough money saved to get out. That left me cleaning alone most nights, which also meant I went to bed alone most of the time.

It isn’t that I miss being a thirty-two-year-old bachelor. Life is easier since I married Bess, more settled. With her working by my side, we franchised my bar and now I’m living the suburban dream. I meet the guys at one of our houses for our monthly poker game while our wives watch the kids, and then we do the same for them another night for their book club.

Instead of working all hours, I have a more normal schedule. I’m home by dinner. My weekends are usually spent coaching whatever sport my son Jack is currently interested in. I no longer go to bed alone, but instead cuddle up to a tiny blonde each night.

I love my life, but it feels like something is missing. I know I’m an asshole for even thinking this way. My life is perfect, but what no one tells you is perfection is fucking boring. Bess and I never argue. We’re so in sync that every move is practically choreographed. One would think that would be bliss, but I miss the excitement of the tension we used to have.

The bell over the door alerts me that someone has come into the bar. I’m ridiculously excited to have something to do. The small group of college students studying at a table in the back corner is a testament to how dead it is in here. They come in every Wednesday because “it’s quiet.”

I look up and see Bess awkwardly maneuvering her way in carrying a large box full of files. I hurry around the bar and take the box from her. She stretches up and kisses me on the cheek.

There was a time she’d have dragged me into the storage closet and mauled me for no reason at all, now after ten years of marriage I get a peck on the cheek.

“What is all this for?” I ask as I follow her to the office we share.

Bess is still as sexy as she was when she walked into my bar over a decade ago and convinced me to hire her. It didn’t take much convincing, especially since I wasn’t exactly thinking with my big brain to make that decision. Not that I can be blamed. She came in wearing a short plaid skirt, a top that gave the slightest peek at her cleavage every time she leaned forward, and her blonde hair had flirty pale pink highlights streaking through.

She intrigued me then, and she continues to now. Somewhere along the way, I think I stopped being interesting to her. Maybe it’s because my birthday is in a few days, but the difference in our ages seems larger than it used to. It never really seemed like a big deal before now. Back then seven years didn’t feel like that much of a stretch when compared to our friends Wren and Griffin. He’s nineteen years older than her, and her former father-in-law.

I was thirty-two when I met Bess, and she was twenty-five. Sure, I had my own business and she was still putting herself through school, but otherwise it felt like we were at a similar place in life. This all began to change when I turned forty. Now I’m looking down the barrel of my forty-third birthday, and my thirty-five-year-old wife seems to have more in common with her new friend’s young husband than she does me.

And why shouldn’t she? My blonde hair has streaks of gray at the temples. There are tiny lines starting to show up near my eyes. I have to wake up before my family to hit the gym, because I’m no longer lugging around heavy boxes of product for hours a day,and actually have to lift weights to keep the muscles I know my wife likes so much.

Meanwhile, my wife’s body seems to scoff at gravity. Not that she’s been flaunting it around me much lately. The tiny skirts that used to make me chase her around like a dog have grown longer. She doesn’t find reasons to touch or tease me like she did in the past. I’m not even sure she pays attention to half of the things I say.

I recognize that we’re at a critical juncture in our marriage, and the path we choose could make or break us.

Bess runs ahead of me and holds the office door for me. She still hasn’t told me why she has a heavy box of our files with her. A quick perusal looks like she has the quarterly reports and invoices. “Bess, why did you bring all these home?”

She sighs. “It just felt cramped trying to do all of this here.”

“Sharing the same space you mean,” I say. I take a deep breath. We don’t fight, but maybe we should. Maybe we stopped fighting for us and we need to start before we lose it. “When did you start needing space from me, Bessie?”

I hold my breath for her to blow up at me. Shehates,with a flaming passion, being called Bessie. She says, “It’s the name of a cow or a grandma.” When she doesn’t react at all, I know there’s a lot more wrong with us than I thought.

Instead of saying anything she just stands there gaping at me. I feel like she’s really looking at me for the first time in a while, and I’m afraid she’s not liking what she’s seeing.

I clear my throat. “I’ll, uh,” I scratch my hand through my hair and try and think of what to do with myself, “I’ll go work behindthe bar. Aaron had an emergency, so I’m waiting for the new girl, Angela, to come take over.”

Grunting, I spin on my heel and flee from my own fucking office. I can’t believe the word vomit I just spewed at her. Our marriage is unraveling right before my eyes, and I can’t stop picking at the loose threads, even though I don’t want it to fall apart.

Retreating behind the bar I try and find something to occupy myself. There’s no lunch rush coming to get ready for. Our busy time picks up around happy hour and stays steady until closing. We’re mostly a sports bar, but it has the same vibe as the original location. I make a note to look into expanding the kitchen though. We could bring in a lot of business by offering burgers and sports to a lunch crowd.

I’m lost in thought when Angela comes in. She moves behind the bar and grabs an apron. “Hey, Donovan. Are you working with me today?”

I look out at the mostly empty floor. We will have customers coming in within the next thirty minutes, but nothing she won’t be able to handle by herself. “No, just covering until you got here.”

She pouts and reaches out to touch my forearm. “That’s too bad. I enjoy your company.”

I yank my arm away. “Just mind the bar.” My tone is cold, but it doesn’t seem to stop Bess from getting the wrong idea.

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