Page 37 of When We Were More
After Mr. Wickham walks away, Shannon and I basically squeal like we’re sixth-grade girls and high-five. We’ve got our first client.
I was more nervous than I expected when I put in my notice this morning. I’m giving the firm a little over five weeks’ notice, as is Shannon. Come January, we’ll have our own small business, providing accounting to others in our communities. We figure that between Aron Falls, Elladine, and Meadow Creek, we’ll have plenty of business.
“You go ahead and get going. I’m gonna stay around for a bit and finish my soda. I wanna bask in the moment for a bit.”
“Are you sure? I hate to leave you alone…”
“I’ll be okay, Mom.” My tone is teasing.
When I’m alone at the table, I lean back and take the first deep breath I think I’ve taken in over an hour. We did it. We’re branching out on our own. As scared as I’ve been to take this step, now is the time. I want to do things that my grandma wouldn’t have been afraid to do. Or, if she was frightened, she would have conquered that fear. I want to live my life how she would’ve, in a way that would make her proud.
I pick at my salad, having only eaten about half of it because it’s not hitting the spot. But I need to be careful because the kind of food I’m craving won’t be friendly to my figure. I’m not unhappy with my body, per se. However, I worry that if I don’t watch what I eat and maintain my current weight, I’ll grow more self-conscious if my curves get… curvier.
Deciding that the background music and the ambience of an increasingly crowded bar on a Friday night is a vibe I’m enjoying, I order a glass of wine and pull out my e-reader. I get a few odd stares, but I don’t care. If I want to read in a bar, I’ll read in a bar. I smile when I realize I’m already channeling my inner Gram.
I’m not sure how much time passes because I lose myself in my book, but I become aware that what was a pleasant ambience of background noise in the bar a while ago has now become less pleasant. I close my book and survey the bar. The place is fairly busy now. It is a Friday night, so it’s to be expected. I don’t know how this many people have arrived since I last looked, but it seems like a lot.
I’m going to finish my wine and head home. Having about half a glass left, I take a sip and start people watching to see what kind of crowd has gathered here at this small pub that’s just outside of Aron Falls.
There are people of all ages, most of them in small groups, but there’s a noticeably larger group over in the far corner. It’s a bunch of men, probably around my age, give or take a few years either way. Most of them are fairly rowdy. Yet some of their party are sitting around the periphery of the group, chatting in a more toned-down manner.
Several attractive women hang around the area, and two equally beautiful women walk by my table, and I distinctly hear the words “bachelor party.” That explains it. I glance down at my watch, and it’s only eight forty-five p.m. From the looks of things over there, some of these men must have pre-gamed.
I take another sip of my wine and entertain myself trying to pick out which of them is drunk and which of them is sober. It’s not hard to do because it looks like a fair number of them are drunk. They seem to be the ones the women are congregating near, but some of the women have set their sights upon the men on the edges. I clap inside my head when one of the men holds up his left hand and shows a woman his wedding ring, politely shooing her away. Impressive, not that it should be. That should be the expectation, but I’ve learned the hard way that not all men honor their marriage vows. The woman and her friend give theman a pouty frown, but move on to the next table, and I follow them with my eyes.
That’s when I nearly pee my pants.
Sitting on the periphery of the group, but clearly with the group, is Henry. There’s a serious-looking man around his age next to him who’s almost as good-looking as Henry is and looks strikingly similar. I would guess a brother. I have a quarter of my glass left and a sudden need to get out of here. A quick glance back at the table reveals that the women must have gotten at least a bit warmer of a reception because they’ve helped themselves to two of the seats at the table and are smiling at Henry and his maybe brother.
Yeah, I definitely don’t want to see this. It bothers me more than it should.
I decide that the wine is too good to waste, and I don’t give a shit if it doesn’t appear classy for me to drink it all in one gulp. I down what’s left, and I signal to the server that I’m ready for the check. I tell him that I’m going to run to the bathroom, and I’ll be right back to pay.
After I’ve used the restroom, I walk out the door and glance down at my phone to see what time it is.
“You should be careful looking at your phone and walking. It’s a good way to get hurt.”
I know that voice, and I drag my gaze from my phone and up the body it’s attached to, until I’m looking Henry right in the eyes. He’s not standing in the middle of the hall. He’s leaning against the wall, as though he’s been waiting. I don’t know what to make of that. There are no other females in the bathroom, so it’s not like he walked one of his new friends there and is waiting for her. Weird.
“Do you make a habit of hanging out near the doorway of women’s restrooms?”
He answers without hesitation.
“Only when I want to talk to the woman who’s in the bathroom, and I don’t want her to escape without getting the chance.”
“Have you been drinking?” I smile at him, trying to tease my way out of the embarrassment.
“One beer since seven thirty. That’s it. I’m very sober.”
In my jeans and sweater with my hair tossed up in a messy bun, I suddenly remember that he has a table with beautiful women to get back to, and I’m probably not where he wants to be spending his time.
“Well, I need to go pay my bill so I can leave. Have a good night, and enjoy your company.”
I push past him and return to my table, only to find the check holder sitting there with a signed receipt and a very generous tip. I squint my eyes, trying to read the scribble, thinking initially that the server gave me the wrong check; however, everything on it matches up to what I was expecting to pay.
Just as I figure out that the messy signature I’m staring at vaguely looks like it could read ‘Henry Aron,’ I sense him behind me. I turn too fast, and he’s so close that he puts his hands on my waist to steady me.
“You paid my bill?” I accuse him. He picks up the receipt and glances at it, then looks back at me with a smirk.
