Page 56 of The Barkeep and the Bro

CHARLIE

We had one week to pull off a wedding. No problemo! If the big dude in the sky could create the earth in a week, we could throw together dinner and drinks.

Mitch and I met to go over what would be involved. He had drafted an insanely detailed list of all our responsibilities and what we had to do to prepare. My insides were screaming about all this close proximity with him, but on the outside, I stayed cool. I had to. I had two very inappropriate strikes with my boss. One more, I was out on my ass.

I reminded myself, like a morning mantra, that these feelings in my head weren’t reciprocated. Ever since the phone sex debacle, Mitch had kept things strictly business. Hell, he pretty much avoided me at the bar. I knew my employment with him was on thin ice if I tried that kind of shenanigans again.

Noted. Unfortunate, but noted.

These days were the busiest of my life. I thought planning a fraternity formal was a lot of work, but it didn’t hold a candle. Originally, I was brought on to serve drinks, but my role kept growing. I took on more jobs as he became stretched thinner. I wanted to prove to him and Ellie that I was serious about this job.

Mitch put me in charge of compiling an inventory list and curating a menu of what drinks we’d serve. We weren’t able to bring the entire bar to a remote location, so we had to devise a limited drink menu. I came up with a list of beer and wine choices I knew our friends enjoyed, a mix of low cost yet delicious libations that made us feel classy but not broke.

Ellie wanted her event to feel special and curated, and that gave me the idea to look into craft beer. In this area of America, craft breweries were popping up like Starbucks franchises. From talking with craft brewers and distributors, I learned that there was a glut of supply, which we could leverage for good deals. I researched local craft breweries in the area and put together a beer tasting for Ellie and Tim at the bar. Natasha helped me make it all fancy—tablecloths and a pretty sign for the tasting. Ellie posted about it on social media, which earned me lots of points with Mitch.

Mitch nodded tightly and commended my good idea from afar. No back pats or flirty smiles. Which was for the best.

Next was working with the distributors to lock in prices and inventory for the hard alcohol. To save money, Mitch had the idea of buying the non-alcoholic mixers in bulk from Costco. Waters, soda, juices. That could be a better deal, and we’d have an easier time returning what we didn’t use. We also found other foods there that we could use in the menu. I couldn’t help being a little kid and zooming through the store on the massive cart. Even though Mitch had reverted to his quiet, quasi-grumpy self, we still managed to have a good time together.

He talked through deals and sales with me, the next level of the service industry beyond serving drinks. I watched his business acumen at work as he negotiated prices and asked thoughtful questions. Mitch wasn’t a small talker, but when he did talk, he made it count. He didn’t bullshit. Care and authenticity layered everything he said. He remembered the names of guys’ kids and wives and boats and where they went on vacation. His mind was the NSA, but like in a non-invasive way.

The catering equipment Mitch had in stock couldn’t handle the older, smaller kitchen at the venue. The ovens weren’t big enough to keep food warm, and there wasn’t enough counter space. Mitch said that was the price of choosing the ambiance of an Instagram-friendly stately manor over the function of a banquet hall. We would have to buy special equipment to accommodate; Ellie did not seem to care about the price.

I used my internet sleuthing skills and found a restaurant in Nyack that was having a going out of business firesale. Everything that wasn’t nailed to the wall was up for grabs. We managed to get gleaming trays and buffet stations on the cheap. I found a guy online with a portable oven he’d rent us. Why he had one in his backyard was a question not worth asking. It worked. Mitch accompanied me to the pick-up, and we gave each other near-constant side-eye. This guy seemed like a hoarder. We made the sale and got the hell out of there as fast as we could, laughing about it all the way home.

I missed his laugh, missed his smile. All these fun moments tugged at my heart. I ran myself ragged on top of bartending, but there was nobody I’d rather do it with than Mitch. I found new facets of him that I tucked away in my memories. The way he saidbullseyeto himself when he found a good deal. The way he lip-synched under his breath to songs on the radio, thinking I couldn’t see him. They were each small glimpses into a man who refused to let people in. And I resisted every urge to bang at the door.

After closing down the bar one night, I trudged up to Mitch’s office, where he sat on the couch going over the final menu. I’d been up since six in the morning doing wedding coordination, then worked a full shift. I could barely keep my eyes open. Yet Mitch plowed away like the Energizer bunny.

I plopped down on the couch next to him. The soft leather cushions pulled me into a hug.

“I think we did it.” Mitch looked up at me over his glasses, which gave him Clark Kent vibes. “I think we actually pulled it off.”

“Wedding of the Century?”

“Maybe.”

“What was your wedding like?” I leaned my head back on the couch. My whole body exhaled with comfort.

“Let’s see. We were crammed into the judge’s chambers at the local courthouse. I wore the one suit I saved for church and funerals, and my mom burst out crying during our vows but not out of happiness. I then ran into the bathroom and threw up.”

I closed my eyes and smiled. I was too tired to laugh.

“Ellie’s wedding will be slightly better.”

“Not by much. There’ll probably be someone who throws up.” I let out another yawn. They rolled out of me like thunder. “When are you coming in tomorrow?”

“Opening at eleven.”

“I can’t believe you do this all the time. What about during the wedding? What’s going to happen to the bar?”

“I’m closing it for the whole weekend. First time in my life.” He had hesitation in his eyes. When the bar wasn’t open, he wasn’t making money.

“Nervous?”

“Always. That’s the life of being an owner.” Dark circles rung his eyes. He had a coat of exhaustion to him at all times, the stress of the job compressing him.

“How do you do it?” I couldn’t keep a goldfish alive, let alone a business.

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