CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX | DESIREE
“Looks like somebody could use a little more Chardonnay,” the bartender said.
“Huh?” I glanced up from my iPhone, confused.
“More Chardonnay,” he repeated, pointing at the empty wine glass resting next to me on the laquered wooden bar.
“Oh, right,” I nodded. “Yeah, I think I’m still about twenty glasses away from where I need to be right now, so keep ‘em coming.”
The bartender raised his eyebrows in silent judgement but said nothing as he flashed me the ‘a-ok’ gesture with his hand, then reached under the bar for a chilled bottle of white wine.
“Sorry,” I said. “It’s just been a long week.”
“I can tell,” he said, giving me a wise wink as he poured a generous serving into my wine glass. Then he wedged the cork back into the bottle and set it next to my glass. “I’ll just leave this here.”
I smiled appreciatively, then slumped forward on the bar.
You know your life is in complete shambles when even the bartender at Rusty’s Tavern thinks you’re a hot mess…
It was a Friday night, and I had reluctantly agreed to tag along with a group of fellow faculty members for a couple rounds of happy hour beers at the local dive bar.
Truth be told, Rusty’s Tavern was one of the last places I wanted to spend my Friday night… especially after the bang-up week I had had. But even a mildew-infested dive bar was better than going back to my apartment right now...
In a desperate attempt to motivate me to move out before my thirty days was up, my roommate Kas had already started the process of moving her new boyfriend in.
I couldn’t tell if Stuart was deliberately trying to drive me to the brinks of lunacy, or if he was just genuinely a terrible human being. Either way, he made living in the apartment next to impossible. He would cook six-course meals in the middle of the night, and during the day he would lounge on the couch in his boxers watching Jerry Springer and drinking milk straight out of the gallon.
The only positive to come out of the whole arrangement was the fact that Stuart served as one giant, partially-nude distraction from the memories of what had transpired at Rory’s apartment.
I kept thinking of ways to blame it on myself, I should have known better than to drive over to Rory’s place unannounced. I should have known better than to let my walls down so quickly. I should have known better than to turn a blind eye to all the things that made our relationship so inherently and utterly complicated.
Rory had a daughter… of course that meant that Charlotte had a mother, too. And of course the three of them would always be a family, in a way that the three of us never could be.
I was stupid to ever assume otherwise.
My iPhone screen lit up and I glanced down at the notifications. I had ten unread text messages to scroll through; all responses to the advertisement seeking a new roommate that I had placed on CraigsList.
My eyes skimmed the first text message, and I immediately grimaced. It was from an out-of-state phone number, and the message read,
‘Male, 34, looking 4 roommate / possible FWB. If this sounds like u, plz send pics ;)’
No thanks. I wrinkled my nose in disgust as I swiped the text message off of my screen to delete it. Before I could move on to the next message in the queue, my phone vibrated and the screen flashed to display an incoming phone call.
As soon as I saw Rory’s name on caller ID, my heart seized in my chest. I dropped the phone on the bar and reached for my wine glass, then swallowed down the biggest gulp I could manage.
The phone was still vibrating when I set the glass down, and I stared at the screen debating whether or not to answer.
Part of me was desperate just to hear his voice again… but another part of me felt foolish for ever thinking Rory could really be mine in the first place. Either way, 100% of me just wanted to chuck my phone behind the bar so I would never have to look at it again.
I was evaluating the trajectory I would need to sink my phone in the ice box behind the bar, when I heard someone slide into the stool beside me.
“Aren’t you gonna answer that?” he asked, nodding to my phone.
“What?” I glanced up and saw Andy White; well-meaning PE teacher and coordinator of teacher trivia nights at the high school.
“Your phone,” he said, dropping a bottle of PBR on the bar next to my wine glass. “Someone’s calling you… aren’t you going to pick up?”
“No,” I said, swallowing heavily and glancing down at the phone screen. “I’m not ready yet.”
“Oh,” Andy raised his eyebrows, unsure of what to say. The phone finally stopped vibrating and went to voicemail, and finally the screen faded to black.
“So,” Andy tried again. “I was surprised to see you here tonight. You don’t usually come to happy hour with us.”
“I needed an excuse to get out of the house,” I shrugged, taking another long sip of wine.
“Uh-oh,” Andy nodded. “Now I’m starting to understand why you went for the bottle instead of the glass.”
I tried to chuckle, but the best I could do was a weak smile.
“It’s just been one of those weeks,” I said, pinching the stem of my wine glass.
“Well, little known fact about me, I’m actually a substitute guidance counselor. So if you want to talk… I can offer guidance. Or counsel. Or even a little bit of both…”
I glanced at Andy and made another attempt at a smile.
“That’s really nice of you to offer,” I said sincerely. “Thanks. But… I think I’m just going to drown my sorrows in cheap wine, and keep my fingers crossed that I don’t do any long-term damage to my emotional well-being. Or my liver.”
“That doesn’t sound like the healthiest coping mechanism, but uh… cheers?” Andy clinked his beer bottle against my glass with a shrug, then took a swig.
“Cheers,” I said, taking a small sip of wine.
My phone started vibrating again, and when I glanced down I saw another incoming call from Rory.
“Is this guy bothering you?” Andy asked in a faux-macho voice. “Because if he’s bothering you… you can let him know that you’re friends with a PE teacher from Hartford High.”
“No. It’s…” my voice trailed off and I shook my head, unsure of what to say.
“Complicated?” Andy guessed for me. Then he teased, “Jeez, I was expecting a more descriptive adjective. You are an English teacher, after all…”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I said dryly, keeping my eyes locked on the phone.
I knew that Andy was just trying to be friendly, but I wanted to be alone. Even making polite small-talk felt absolutely draining.
The phone stopped vibrating as the call bounced to voicemail. Before the screen could fade, a text message popped up. It was from Rory,
‘I’m not giving up, Des. Not again.’
My mouth fell open and I cradled my phone in my hands, blinking down at the screen. I couldn’t tell if my head was spinning, or if all of the wine was finally catching up with me.
“Well, I guess I’ll leave you two alone,” Andy said finally, picking up his beer. He slid off of his stool, then he paused and turned back around to face me.
“I know you’re in the middle of some sort of complicated relationship with your phone at the moment,” he said. “But I’d love to take you to dinner sometime, if you’re interested…”
I swallowed the lump in the back of my throat and stared up at Andy. My head was still spinning in circles, but I tried my best to give him a warm smile.
“Andy, I can’t--”
“Say no more,” he cut me off, holding up his hands to silence me. “You’re not interested. I get it.”
He smiled and clinked the neck of his PBR bottle against my wine glass again.
“Well, I hope things work out with the guy on the phone,” he said. “He seems… persistent.”
I stared down at my iPhone again. Rory’s text was still at the top of my notifications list, and I kept my eyes glued to the words until the screen faded back to black.