Page 76 of The Barkeep and the Bro

“You like IPAs. You should check this one out.” I yanked a tall bottle of craft beer from the trough filled with ice. I gave Asa the same because for as long as I’ve known him, he’s followed in lockstep with Skeeter ninety percent of the time.

Skeeter had a cool look in his eyes, warning me that beer would suffice for now, but he’d be back for shots. “Cheers?” He and Asa held up their bottles.

I held up my bottle of water. “No drinking on the job.”

“True. You’re such an adult, Charlie.” He clinked his bottle against mine. “My firm is hiring again. I can put in a good word for you.”

“You just want that referral bonus.”

He smiled into his bottle. “That’s a part of it. But come on, man, how much longer are you going to keep up with this?” He waved his hand around my station.

“I like being a bartender.”

He squinted his eyes at me. Thec’mon manwas implied. “Everyone likes being a bartender. It’s a fun job. Free alcohol and plenty of tips.”

“It’s actually a really challenging job.” An older man came up with two empty wine glasses. I was grateful for the distraction. “You were having the riesling, and your wife was cabernet, yes?”

“Good memory!”

I refilled the glasses. He took out cash and looked around for the tip jar.

“There’s no tipping needed.” Mitch was adamant that we didn’t keep a tip jar out. Wedding guests already had to pay to travel up here, book rooms, and give a gift. They didn’t need to worry about shelling out more. They were our guests, Mitch had said.

The older man air-clinked his full glasses at me. Skeeter and Asa remained at the bar.

“This is good,” Asa said of his beer.

“You can’t do this forever.” Skeeter craned his neck to scour every inch of my workspace, making me want to shove him back hard. There were no boundaries when it came to alcohol, apparently.

“What are you doing, man?” I asked while keeping my frustration at bay—just barely. “I appreciate your concern for my career aspirations, but I’m happy where I am.”

“You can make so much more money if you come back to finance,” Skeeter said. “Aren’t you renting a room in some guy’s apartment?”

“Condo.” I grit my teeth. “I’m saving up for my own place.” I would’ve had more money, but I chose to be the generous friend, picking up the tab for all those happy hours and wild nights out.

“Up here?” Skeeter’s forehead creased in confusion. “Don’t you miss the city?”

I considered his question. “No.”

“You’re just going to pour drinks the rest of your life?”

“You sound like my parents.”

To my surprise, Skeeter was getting worked up. “You can’t spend your life renting rooms from strangers and pouring drafts at some hole in the wall. Yeah, our jobs aren’t fun all the time, but no job is.”

I took out a six-pack of craft beer bottles and mashed them into the ice bucket. “That explains why you have to get completely shitfaced every single weekend.”

“Fuck you, bro. Get serious.” Skeeter chugged his beer and slammed the empty bottle on the bar. “We’ll have those shots now.”

“Dude, it’s early.”

His eyes narrowed at me. “I said we’ll have them now, bartender. They’re for the actual guests at this wedding.”

He dared me to play this game of chicken. Each word dripped with condescension and malice.

I poured the round of shots, avoiding his stares that made me feel small.

“Good,” he said. He took a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet.

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