Page 1 of Sour Brew Face

Mary Opal “Mo” Morrow 1.

“Jack, for the fifth time, just meet us there.” I sigh into my cell phone as it rests between my cheek and my shoulder. I am over this conversation.

“I’m not going to watch my girlfriend flirt with a bunch of men. It’s bad enough you work with them, why do you have to see them after work?”

Dave snickers next to me, obviously able to hear both sides of this inane and pointless phone call. I roll my eyes at him and continue saving my work, before shutting down for the night.

“I do not flirt with them. Any of them. And it’s insulting that you would think I do. I know we’ve only been dating for a few weeks, but you should know me better than that.”

“What I know is that the woman I’ve pledged my life and my body to would rather hang out with a bunch of halfwit Neanderthals than her man.”

I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at the display, hoping that it will light up and explain what the fuck is going on because I’m missing something. “Pledged your life and body to? What the fuck?” I whisper confused. Before he can respond, I gather my wits. “Our beer line has been picked up by a new to us bar, and we’ve been invited out by the owner to take part in the debut. It’s kind of a big deal for me.”

He scoffs. Scoffs! I hold in a scream of frustration and listen as he mansplains, again, his viewpoint. “You make sure it passes certification, I’d hardly say it’s a big deal for you, the guys you work with are the ones who created the beer line. Its selfish, Mary Opal, to take credit for someone else’s work.”

I can’t help it, my shoulders start shaking and then a snort escapes me, followed by loud brays of laughter. I vaguely register Jack’s lecture on the other end.

“Go out with your ‘coworkers’”, I can hear his condescending air quotes, “and we’ll talk again when you can take this, us, seriously.” Dave pulls my phone from my shaking fingers and ends the call for me. His smile wide as he laughs with me, but I can see the pity in his eyes.

I hold my hand up in front of his cherubic face, “No. No. No pity. Wipe that look right off your ugly mug, fucker.” He tugs me into his arms, and I nestle comfortably against his beer belly.

“Not pity, MoMo, just sadness that the world hasn’t seen how wonderful you are yet. You deserve better than that asshat.” I shrug, not wanting to discuss feelings.

“It is what it is. We’ll talk tomorrow and I’m sure it will be fine.” I detach from him and shake my arms and legs to reset my mind. “Besides, tonight, we celebrate!”

“Hear, hear!” Paul chants when he walks into my lab. “Who’s ready to partay?” Snickering, I check my computer is powered off, grab my bag from beneath my desk and pull it over my head, crossbody.

“Well, I don’t know. How different is ‘partaying’ than partying?”

Paul wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his side. “Hopefully, the difference is I might get laid tonight.”

“You can add as many extra letters and syllables you want, you’re still going home alone.” Dave adds from behind us. Paul raises his free hand and flips him off. I flick the light switch on our way out. My smile widens when I see the others are waiting for us in the hall.

“Boys.” Esteban says with a salacious grin. “Once the ladies and gents taste our nectar, we’ll be beating them off with a stick.” I lean my head into Paul and snort again.

“If you’re beating them with sticks, that’s probably why you aren’t getting your dicks wet. I’d suggest a different approach, perhaps a less violent one.”

“Ha. Ha.” Esteban smirks at me, rolling his eyes. “Will your man friend be joining us?” His voice sounds pleasant enough, but the mention of Jack has all 7 of my coworkers grimacing like their bowels have seized up.

I clear my throat and swallow down my disappointment, “Uh, no, he’s graciously decided to stay home so he didn’t impose on our celebrations.” I hate how all of them offer me small smiles, knowing I just spewed a bunch of bullshit. But they are gentlemanly enough not to call me out.

Joe claps his hands, “Alright, well more booze for us then.” He checks his watch. “We’ll meet at Mayes in one hour. Go home, shit, shave, shower, and shine.” He lets his light blue eyes travel over each of the men, his shoulder deflating. “Fuck, unless we become completely different people, we still aren’t getting laid tonight.”

I punch his shoulder lightly, “Buck up, Buttercup. I’ll be your wingwoman.” I hold my left hand up and pretend to place my right on a bible. “I solemnly swear that I will do everything legally within my power to ensure each of you achieves orgasm by the end of the night.”

“With another person.” Ishaan amends in a hopeful voice.

“With another person.” I conclude, dropping my hands. Staring at these men who have become my family over the last year, my heart skips a beat in my chest. They are such good guys, honest, loyal, funny as hell, and smart. They aren’t bad looking either, just none of them do it for me. And I don’t do it for them. From the moment I came in for my interview, it felt like coming home to the family I always wanted. It just took me almost 28 years to find them.

Standing around our parking lot, the guys laughing and making fun of each other, I snap my fingers as I remember a key piece of advice. “Boys, one last thing before we part ways, wear clean clothes that do not have holes in them and fit you properly. Especially your gutchies.”

“In case we get into an accident, Mom?” Seth teases, using one of my many nicknames. I shake my head at him.

“No, nothing will ruin your chances of getting any action faster than old, discolored, ripped undies.” I shiver in disgust at just the thought. I point at Mike, “Especially you.” He feigns surprise, then scowls.

“It was one time, MoMo and cheap toilet paper.”

I toss over my shoulder, as I get into my SUV, “No excuse, Skidmarks!”

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