Page 21 of Dating Goals
“Are you sure you don’t want my help?” I offer, already reaching for a rag.
“No.” She snatches it away before I can grab it. “Out.”
“But—”
“Now.” She plants her hands on her hips.
I raise my hands in surrender, sliding off the barstool. “All right, all right. But if I don’t make it back to the cabin, it’s on your conscience.”
“I’ll light a candle for you,” she says dryly.
I toss the twenty francs on the bar for a tip, even though I didn’t drink anything. “You’re really not going to give me a ride?”
“Guete Nacht, Griffin.” She makes a shooing motion with her hands. “Watch out for the foxes.”
6
ANIKA
Dodging pink and yellow balloons that brush against my face, I squeeze between chattering couples at my friend Ivy’s baby shower. Their apartment in Bern feels cramped with all these people, most of whom seem to be sporting matching rings and baby bumps.
Ivy’s British husband James hovers nearby, refilling everyone’s champagne glasses (except Ivy’s, of course) as everyone makes an effort to speak English for his benefit.
“Have you picked names yet?” Maja asks, adjusting the pink “It’s a Girl!” banner hanging crookedly on the wall.
“We’re thinking Sophia.” Ivy beams, rubbing her belly. “Or maybe Lucy.”
I’m the only one here without a ring on my finger. Even wild-child Heidi got married last spring in a barefoot ceremony on some beach in Thailand.
“The nursery is almost ready,” Ivy says, rubbing her swollen belly. “We went with a woodland theme.”
Maja chimes in from across the room. “Oh, you must see what we did with Luna’s room! The unicorn wallpaper is so cute.”
Lisa and Sarah compare notes on their recent promotions at their banking firms. Beside them, Eva cradles her six-month-old while discussing sleep training methods with Alessia, who’s due any day now.
I sit down on the sofa and take a sip of my champagne, trying to focus on the bubbles dancing on my tongue instead of the growing hollow feeling in my chest. These women used to share my adventures. Backpacking, spontaneous road trips, late nights singing and dancing.
The conversation swirls around me like I’m watching a movie. Career women discussing their latest promotions and upcoming business trips. Mothers swapping stories about first steps and preschool applications. And me, somehow belonging to neither world, stuck in a limbo I never noticed creeping up on me.
When did I become the outsider in my own friend group?
“How’s the pub doing?” Lisa asks between bites of carrot cake. “I keep telling Gustav we should drive down there for a weekend.”
“Great!” I force a smile, the lie tasting bitter. “Really great. Busy season’s coming up with winter tourism.”
Eva nods, bouncing her baby on her knee. “That’s wonderful. Though I can’t believe you’ve never remodeled.
“The tourists love it,” I say, which isn’t exactly untrue. The few tourists who wander in seem charmed by the vintage vibe. But charm doesn’t pay the bills.
Truth is, most of them head to that new place, Alpenglow, with its Instagram-worthy craft cocktails and LED light displays. Meanwhile, I’m lucky to fill half my tables on weekends. Last month, I had to dip into my savings just to keep the lights on.
Ivy claps her hands. “Your father would be so proud.”
My chest tightens at the mention of Papa. He poured his heart into S’Holzfass for thirty years. He knew every regular byname, remembered their drink orders, their stories. The pub was more than just a business to him. It was home.
But maybe that’s the problem. I’m trying to preserve something that doesn’t fit in this world anymore. Like my vintage records and ancient cash register, I’m stuck in a time that’s passed.
Ivy waddles over with a plate of mini quiches. “Remember when we used to spend every weekend at S’Holzfass? Dancing on the bar?”
