Page 2 of Up In Flames
Phoenix
I’m not telling him to change who he IS. I’m telling him to change what he’s DOING. Try something different. What can one night hurt?
Hell, at least he might come, and it won’t be by his own hand for once.
The conversation dies after that because therereally isn’t anything for me to say. I thrive on routine. I like knowing what comes next, but I suppose that does make my life slightly predictable.
Maybe Phoe’s right, and I need to change things up for a night.
The only problem is I really have no idea what that would even look like.
I think about that text conversation the entire drive home from the fire station. I think about how my friends are all happily paired off, leaving me on my own once again.
When I finally make it home and step into the shower, I try to imagine spending every night for the next six weeks exactly like this one: alone and adrift with no bearings or anchor. And then I think about life once I return to the fire station after my mandatory rest period, and honestly, I can’t say it looks a whole lot better.
In the last five years since my divorce, I’ve been in survival mode. Filling my time with my friends, my contracting business,and the fire station to distract myself from debilitating grief and loneliness.
But now, my friends all have partners, my business can basically run itself, and I just got banned from the only other thing in my life with meaning. It’s times of anxiety like this that I used to find myself loading Karen and our shit up in the truck and heading for the coast.
My place of solace.
There was freedom in how powerless the vast expanse of the ocean made me feel.As a business owner, I’m responsible for every decision that gets made during the day, and the ocean never allowed me to decide a single thing. I could sit in the sand and watch the incessant ebb and flow of the tide and find comfort in knowing no matter what I did, the ocean’s cycle would continue long after I was gone.
Some probably think that’s morbid, but to me, it was peace.
Right until Karen walked out and took every ounce of my peace with her. I sold the beach house to Hudson and Shannon last year, and I’ve taken my anger and bitterness out on the one thing that was always able to center me. No more trips to the coast for me.
By the time I get out of the shower, I’m so tired of wallowing that I’ve made up my mind.
I’m doing it.
I’m trying something new.
Phoenix said one night.
I can do something different,besomeone different, foronenight.
I slip on a pair of jeans and choose a shirt that’s just a little too tight. I work my ass off trying to maintain my physique after forty, and I’m proud of it, but showing it off isn’t my normal M.O.
The tight material strangles my biceps, and I’m immediately uncomfortable, but I leave it in place, figuring my discomfort is sort of what tonight’s all about.
I’ve been out of the game so long, I’m not even sure what the gameisanymore, and I definitely don’t know where to start. A quick search on my phone tells me there’s an upscale karaoke bar on the north side of town. Normally, I’d never choose a place like this, which means it’s perfect for tonight.
Do I honestly think I’ll go through with a casual hookup? Probably not. But a hint of desire or attraction and some nice conversation would do wonders for my mental state.
I arrive at the bar twenty-five minutes later, throw my truck in park, and make a pact with myself. Three hours. Three drinks. And if the opportunity presents itself, I’ll start a conversation.
Pulling the door open, I scan my surroundings. It’s a nice place, though the crowd is younger than I’m used to. Immediately, I wish Jake, Phoe, or Hud were with me.
There’s a mix of high-top and low-top tables. A platform is set up in the corner, and a guy is onstage singing a song I don’t recognize. A low hum of chatter permeates the air, and the microphone’s volume is at a comfortable level for conversation.
I snort.That last thought makes me sound so old.
Do women my age even come to places like this to meet people?Hell if I know.
The first, and only, date I’ve been on since my divorce—which Jake set up for me through some app—was a disaster.
The woman was offended when I offered to pick her up, telling me she was capable of driving herself. Then she fussed at me again for opening her door. And thinking I’d learned my lesson, I’d told the waitress Miss Independent and I would split the bill, but that, too, was the wrong move. My date got up and stormed out of the restaurant like I was the most inconsiderate asshole on the planet. I was so embarrassed that I gave dating upaltogether after that. I value traditional roles and manners and chivalry and shit, but apparently, that’s all as dead as my sex life.
