Page 91 of The Love Losers

“You know, I only came by to say hi,” I tell him. “I’ve got my family waiting in the car.”

Gene grumbles from within the bar, “It’s cold as a witch’s tit out there. Shut the door.”

“Have a good Christmas,” I tell Dom, feeling a stab of guilt. Because even if I don’t claim the inheritance money, I’m probably going to have to sell this place. Without the money, I’ll lose the company, and then I won’t have a job. Selling the building would be the logical next step.

But I don’t know when that will happen or what it will look like, and I’m certainly not going to break the news to Dom on Christmas Eve. The fact that he’s here says a lot about how much he relies on this place.

“Same to you, friend,” he says. “Say, will you and Rosie be coming for Thirsty Thursday?”

“What’s Thirsty Thursday?” I ask.

“Oh, man, didn’t I tell you? I remember telling you.” He frowns and rubs his head. “Shit…this is some next-level déja-vu but, yeah, Women-Drink-For-Half-Off Wednesday was rad, no doubt, but my boss got a little pissed that we didn’t make more money. Because of the half off thing. Anyway…Thirsty Thursday isn’t discounted, but get this…we’re going to bring in some pretzels. And the condom bowl will be back, of course. I had five thousand made, so I’ll be handing those out for a while now. So are you guys in?”

“Yeah, maybe we’ll be there,” I say, feeling an ache in my chest. Because I’d like for it to happen. I’d like to bring Rosie to this shitty bar that feels like ours and help Dom make mediocre drinks for people who probably won’t appreciate them.

“Shut the damn door!” Gene calls, downright talkative tonight, and Dom pulls a grimace before doing just that.

When I get back into the car, Emma swats me from the backseat. “What took so long?”

“They’re about to close.”

“Oh well,” my mother says, fanning herself with a pamphlet on erectile dysfunction she took from the ER. “We’ll have to go home where we can drink comfortably instead of crunching around on refuse.”

“We’re going there some other day,” Emma says. “This list thing Anthony’s doing has made me think. You need to break out of your comfort zone, Mom. You’re like Boo Radley. You never leave that awful house.”

“Awful?” my mother says with affront. “It’s listed inHome and Gardenas one of the finest private homes in North Carolina. That famous architect designed it.”

“Awful,” Emma repeats. “It feels like a crypt.”

My mother glances at me as if she expects me to talk some reason to my sister, but I nod. “I agree with her.”

“But it doesn’t have to be awful,” Emma says hotly. “I’m going to help you redecorate.”

“You’re going to do what?” my mother says.

Her shock is warranted. Emma has never expressed the slightest interest in buying so much as a throw pillow for Smith House. Nor has she wanted to stick around long enough that something like redecorating would be possible.

“Does this mean you’re staying for New Year’s Eve?” I ask cautiously as I take the turn toward Smith House.

“Yeah,” she says casually, leaning forward a little between the front seats. “But I’ll stay for longer if Mom needs help with the house. And if you need me, obviously.”

Our mother turns in her seat to better look at her. “Emma, have you lost your mind?”

But the expression on my sister’s face in the rearview mirror—upset but defiant and almost haughty—tells me she lost something else. Her job, maybe. Or a relationship she never saw fit to tell us about. Maybe both. She and my mother look so much alike. Their brows and mouths are alike, and their hair is thick and naturally wavy, but Emma’s is dark where our mother’s is light.

I’ve always resembled my father—like his shadow, people have said. Sometimes it makes me laugh to hear that. Because it’s as if I’ve spent so much time living in a shadow that I’ve become one.

“Yes, Mom, I think maybe I have. It’s not so bad, right, Anthony?”

“Thanks,” I say wryly. But I don’t mind the supposition that I’ve lost my mind, too.

It starts snowing, and by the time we get home, it’s snowing heavily, enough for it to almost be a whiteout. The guard is in the tiny gatehouse. There’s insulation and a space heater, but he’s probably freezing.

“Are you missing Christmas with your family to be here?” I ask when he comes out. I feel a stab of guilt. Emma, Mother, and I may have no one but each other, but maybe he has a wife and kids. People who are going to miss him tonight.

“No,” he says with a snort. “My wife cheated on me and now she wants half of everything. I’d rather be here than at home, looking at everything else I'm about to lose.”

I glance at my sister, expecting her to land herself a new client, but all she says is, “Tough break.”

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