Page 13 of A Grinchmas Delight

“Old Fashioned, please.”

“That’s right. One of Johnny’s boys, right?”

I tilt my head in her direction with a questioning look on my face.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“After you and your brother beat up on ol’ Leon a few weeks ago, one of the old guys filled me in. Carlos over there,” she points to Carlos sitting in the same spot he’s sat in for likely the last forty years since this place opened.

He raises his beer in a greeting and I offer him a half-wave.

“Aah. Makes sense. Good ol’ Carlos. Some things never change.”

She laughs and heads off to fix my drink. The smoke is thick in the air and the lights are dim, giving the bar a warm hue. The light fixtures are probably permanently stained by nicotine, giving a yellowish-brown tint to everything. I doubt they’ve been cleaned. Ever.

Dolly sets a rocks glass on the bar in front of me and I hand her my card.

“Leave it open.”

She nods and heads off to start a tab for me. When I’m three drinks in, I realize that the more I drink, the more I crave her. It isn’t working. I should’ve known it wouldn’t. Dayra has always been a constant in my brain, granted it was mostly irritation and aggravation at her mere existence. This, this is all-consuming. I opt for another drink, the whiskey only seeming to numb the pieces inside of me that need attention.

Soon, the after work crowd has piled in. A mixed bag of construction workers and day drinkers and random passersby alike. The bar is full in an instant and the whiskey is flowing through my veins like a rushing river. The more I drink, the more I’m flooded with images of Dayra. Lying beneath me. Mouth parted. Bared to me. I want to own her soul and make her come so hard she can’t help but scream my name.

I end up in a random conversation with one of the older men who’s sitting beside me. His name is AJ and his shaggy white hair sticks out of his hat a few inches. We’ve been talking abouthis woodwork for the last thirty minutes and I think I made a new friend. He’s got a custom shop at his house and he’s been showing me pictures of some of the custom pieces he’s done. He does beautiful work.

“Here’s my card, son, if you decide you want something done.”

I take it and stuff it into my wallet and order him a beer. He’s sipping Coors Light.

“I’ll definitely be in touch. Thank you,” I say, shaking his hand.

He moseys over to a crowd of men sitting at a round table a few feet from the bar and they all erupt in greetings when AJ sits down. I smile, watching their interactions, wondering if those would’ve been my father’s friends if he were still here today.

I try to push the thought out of my mind, especially when alcohol is involved. There’s nothing sexy about being a blubbering mess over a lost loved one. I take a deep breath and down the rest of my drink, ordering another one. Dolly is on the spot, replacing my empty glass with a full one.

I’m drunk and the jukebox is playing some good old tunes. My suit and tie and Wingtip Brogue Oxford Brown & Blue’s stick out like a dick on a fish amongst the steel-toe boots and Penny Loafers. I got these shoes on a whim about a year ago and they’re the most comfortable damn shoes. I probably could’ve used a change of clothes before sitting here for the duration of the evening, but I couldn’t think of anything other than putting distance between myself and Dayra’s daunting body.

I get up to break the seal and nearly fall over. I stumble my way to the bathroom trying to figure out how I’m going to make it back to the city from here with no Ubers available this far outside of town. I make it back to my barstool, somehow, and order an ice water. I think I’ve reached my cap of whiskey for tonight.

I look at my phone through a squinted eye and laugh out loud. It’s only eight o’clock. It’s so early. Dolly eyes me suspiciously.

“You good, Zane?” she asks.

I nod and give her a thumbs up and a smile. “Good.”

She laughs but holds her hand out. I look back and forth between her hand and her face. “What?”

“Keys. You’re not driving.”

I hesitate for a moment, then hand over my keys.

“Fine.” I huff, folding my arms against my chest. “But no one better drive my truck.”

Dolly giggles and walks off, storing my keys somewhere behind the bar. She’s mistaken if she thinks that I can’t get to them. Not that I want to. I don’t ever want my family to get that call. We all have to die somehow, I’d just prefer that it wasn’t at my own hands by making a choice that could be avoided. I’ve seen too many drunk drivers either get killed or kill someone else. I refuse to be part of that statistic.

I sit at the bar sipping water for what feels like hours, but when I look at the time again, it’s only eight-fifty. It hasn’t even been an hour. I’m tempted to just start drinking again since Dolly has my keys. My stomach churns at the thought and I think better of it. I’ll just sip some more water.

I’m so drunk that I don’t realize that there’s someone sitting beside me until I get a tap on the shoulder. Am I drunk or hallucinating? Dayra is standing beside me, in an oversized hoodie and blue jeans. My head is spinning. No. Maybe it’s the room that’s spinning. Dayra’s got a beaming, happy smile on her face.

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