Page 23 of Alpha & Omega

“You’re the best.”

We hung up, and I got showered and dressed before heading to the bar next door to my restaurant. My place hadn’t been open long enough to have met anyone over at Alpha’s, plus I was always working, usually in the evenings during the busy dinnertime hours.

I parked my bike in the garage across the street and walked toward the bar. Alpha’s Rejects was open, but since it was still early, no one guarded the door.

I stood in front of Kingston’s place with the sign of a skateboarder and the name of his bar hanging high above. In one of the large windows hung a pride flag. I still struggled to grasp how I never made the connection to Kingston until recently.

I noticed the place every time I came to work, but honestly, I’d never been interested in going inside until now, whether I had time or not. I didn’t want to go alone, and I didn’t have tons of friends, having spent my life taking care of Hudson, so why would I want to hang out at a bar alone?

I stepped inside and looked around. It was actually quite nice. Kingston had great taste. The building was a combination of modern industrial and old wood. The walls were brick, covered in another, even larger, pride flag and black-and-white photos of skateboarders doing tricks.

At the end of the place stood a small, raised stage for bands. It was one of those places where you instantly felt at home and connected, like an old neighborhood bar where you made lifelong friends.

It was quiet since the bar had just opened, with only two customers at the wooden bar. I sat down on one of the stools and examined more skateboarding photos hanging on the wooden paneling surrounding the glass shelving for the liquor bottles as David Bowie’sStarmanplayed quietly in the background.

“Can I get you something?” asked the bartender. He looked young, in his early twenties, with red, floppy hair, and kind, shy green eyes.

I shouldn’t drink before work, but one beer wouldn’t hurt.

“I’ll take whatever lager you recommend on tap.”

“We have a tasty local lager.”

“Sounds perfect.”

He set a pint glass in front of me on a coaster, and I took a sip. “That’s delicious.”

He beamed a smile at me. “I like it, too.”

“Let me ask… who’s the skateboarder on the wall there?”

He beamed again. “Oh, that’s Alpha. He’s the owner of this bar, and he’s an amazing skateboarder. I met him with my Nate years ago when we were struggling on the streets, and we became amazing friends. He taught us some really cool tricks and let us crash at his place until we got on our feet. When he opened this place, he gave us a job. Alpha’s the best. He takes care of everyone.”

I hadn’t expected that much information, but I smiled at him. “He sounds amazing.”

“He really is. Everyone who works here has been rejected in one way or another by family or friends, and he took us all in and gave us jobs. We all skateboard, too. I wish he did it more often, but he’s so busy with the bar. We worry about him sometimes, but he seems happy taking care of the rest of us.”

I chuckled. The admiration just oozed from this young man. The ease with which he told his personal story was touching. “That’s impressive.”

He nodded, but ran off when one of the customers waved him down. I continued to sip my beer and look around.

If I liked Kingston before, I really liked him now. I knew he had those kids in his life, but I didn’t fully grasp the extent he went through to take care of them. I felt all the more comfortable introducing him to Hudson if and when the time came.

I only drank half of my beer. After I paid for it and left a generous tip, I headed out and walked into my restaurant, still in awe that it was all mine. Who knew a boy of only eighteen would become a father, be abandoned by his wife, and eventually own a house, a restaurant, and have a great kid? Hopefully, soon, I would have love in my life, too. Then everything in my life would be complete.

The place wasn’t quite busy yet, but as soon as people got off work, it would quickly get crowded. On the weekends, it was busiest, but I refused to acceptreservations. It was first come, first served. I hated it when people got in first because they had a reservation while others waited an hour or more to get in.

I loved my restaurant. I kept it relatively casual but with fine dining, wanting people to come and feel comfortable, not out of place. There was a lot of warm wood and leather, but my favorites were the tall wooden bar tables with the bright royal blue velvet chairs that really popped in color. Customers could sit there, wait for their dinner tables, and sip on signature cocktails.

The food was varied, but I kept the menu small. Some dishes remained consistent, while others were specials based on what I could find in season from local farmers and the fish market.

In the middle of it all was the kitchen, where customers could sit and eat at the counter while watching us cook.

“I’m here,” I said, donning a black apron and thoroughly washing my hands.

My sous chef, Terri, smiled and winked. “I don’t know what we ever did without you.” She kept her long blond hair piled high in a bun and didn’t wear makeup, but she didn’t need it. She was only 32 and well-trained in culinary arts. If I ever opened a second restaurant, I would put her in charge of it.

I laughed. “You all would suffer without me.”

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