The sultry beat of the bass drifted to the background of my mind. All I saw were his words and, as I whispered them to myself, the war raging inside my stomach ceased. “She is the light, and I am the shadow that chases her dawn.”
My pulse drowned out all the distractions of the bar. I didn’t glance up at the patron calling my name. I didn’t hear the vulgarity he spewed when I didn’t answer, my eyes fixated on the screen of my phone. His riddles had me at a loss for words. What should I say next? I couldn’t write shit like that, and I sure as hell thought his effort was wasted on me. But I liked him, and worthy or not, I wasn’t ready to run him off yet.
The guy waiting for his drink said my name again, this time his voice dripping with irritation and condescension. He was leaning halfway over the bar. His dress shirt wrinkled, his tie loosened at the knot. I glanced down to his left hand, and sure enough, a gold band sat proudly on his left fucking finger.
“You talk to your wife with that mouth?” I asked as I set my phone under the bar. I’d text Kieran back after I lost this asshole.
The man’s face was sharp with cheekbones that jutted out almost past his nose. His jaw was angular, peppered with a five o’clock shadow, and the muscle beneath tensed at my question. “Don’t strippers work for tips? I’d be nicer if I were you, gotta pay your bills somehow, babe.”
I exhaled a practiced breath. I was used to pricks like this, but for some reason I’d let this piece of shit under my skin. Fury narrowed my eyes as I met his brazen stare. “I’m not a stripper, asshole, and here’s a little tip for you, as well, never fuck with people who make your food or your drinks, you never know what might slip in.” My heart was in my throat, the adrenaline spiking my pulse as I leaned toward him and asked in a sweet voice, “What are you drinking?”
His too-prominent cheeks drained of color and his alcohol-glazed eyes dropped to the bar top. “Gin and tonic.”
I didn’t think a response was necessary, he’d had enough of my attention for the night. I grabbed the bottle of well gin from the back of the bar and made his drink without one glance in his direction. When I slid his drink over the bar top, he handed me a twenty and said, “Keep the change.”
My smirk held firmly even though my heart was still racing inside my chest. Back in the day, I wouldn’t have even barked back at a guy like that. I would’ve danced for him. Instead of making him a drink, I would’ve been on that stage slinging sex for dollar bills, and if Chance was alive he would’ve had me give the guy a hand job for an extra fifty. Drugs cost money. Sometimes Chance and I would blow through at least four hundred dollars in one day. It was disgusting to even think about how we’d thrown away so much money, so much time. My heart finally fell into a normal beat and, as the guy took off with his drink, I thought about what else I’d lost for drugs, and it wasn’t just my morality.
I ignored the stinging in the corner of my eyes and ran my fingers through my hair, pulling the strands into a messy knot. The hand on the wall clock seemed to tick in slow motion as I lifted my gaze. Four hours left of this shift, and I wasn’t sure I would make it. I should’ve been done with this place, working full-time for Kelly, but I couldn’t leave Jaime high and dry. Guilt would put me in a grave if I let it. I’d carried it around all my life, it was a tumor, and it continued to grow day by day.
I grabbed a few of the empty glasses sitting on the bar and set them in the sink. The pipes groaned as I turned on the hot water and the sound made me smile. If anything, it was a constant in my life. My life didn’t have many places to anchor, so I should be grateful to Jaime and the home he’d given me here. I plugged the sink and let it fill before I grabbed my phone. I told myself I shouldn’t reply, and I almost hadn’t earlier, but his words… I couldn’t stop my fingers from tapping out a response.
Me: I’m not sure what I like better… your smart mouth or your pretty words.
The edges of my smile touched the heat of my cheeks as I pressed send. I didn’t expect a quick reply, but before I could set the phone down it vibrated in my hand.
Cabrón: I’m partial to being a smart ass, but I hear the ladies kind of dig the romantic shit.
A laugh broke past my lips.
Me: I don’t think romantic and shit should ever be in the same sentence.
Cabrón: Noted.
Cabrón: So, did you decide?
My bottom lip was pinched between my teeth as my eyes scanned the bar. One of the newer girls was bent over shaking her ass to some horrible rap song. I cringed. If Kieran only knew where I was right now.
Me: Decide on what?
Cabrón: If you like the smart ass or the poet better?
Me: The jury is still out. I don’t know you well enough to decide.
Cabrón: We should remedy that… dinner tomorrow?
Me: I’m kind of busy the next few days. What about Thursday?
I had to work at the restaurant tomorrow night. My father’s friend rented out the entire place for his daughter’s quinceañera, not to mention, the next couple of days I was splitting my time between here and training at Irene’s so I could be ready to work there after Thanksgiving. Working three jobs, I could handle it, but it wasn’t really helpful when it came to dating.
Cabrón: I can make Thursday work.
Cabrón: I could pick you up at seven?
The swarm in my stomach fell quiet as I tried to picture Kieran, that handsome face and smile, his soapy scent competing with the smell of the dumpster just outside my apartment building, or the mildew that crept along the stairwell leading to my front door. Just a few more things to add to the other hundred reasons why I shouldn’t consider dating a man like him. I couldn’t back out now, but I sure as fuck wasn’t letting him pick me up.
Me: I’ll meet you somewhere.
Cabrón: The smart ass and the poet think that’s a terrible idea… really, I don’t mind.
Lying by omission, it was my daily life, but straight-up deception, it wasn’t my thing, not anymore at least, and he was making this difficult. Why do men have to be so damn valiant? I swallowed the sick taste coating my tongue as I typed out my response with trembling fingers.
Me: I’m not ready for you to see where I live. Just pick a place and I’ll be there.
The tone screamed crazy bitch, and if he was smart, he’d lose my number, but instead he answered in what felt like record-breaking speed.
Cabrón: Meet me at Across the Page.
I’d never heard of the place.
Me: Is it casual?
Cabrón: If you ask me, I’ll just tell you to wear that dress again, but yeah, the place is chill.
The shallow rise and fall of my chest finally gave way to longer, deeper breaths as I smiled. He didn’t push the issue, but once I was sitting across from him at dinner, dodging my realities wouldn’t be as easy.
Me: Thursday at seven, I’ll be there.
Cabrón: And when she says goodbye, her aftertaste lingers and it favors the flavor of anticipation.
I couldn’t look up from my phone. His poem held me in place. He made it easy to believe I wasn’t standing in a strip club, that there wasn’t a part of me, however small she had become, shaking in a corner. She was pale and skinny with dirt under her nails, and that smell, it would never go away, and it reeked from her flesh. The scars on her soul were hideous and raised, puckered and putrid. He’d see them, he’d see everything, and I wondered if he’d still compare me to the dawn. My heart was too poisonous to hold, and the worst part of it all, was that I feared he wouldn’t risk his own to cure it.
“You have a date?”
“Jesus, Maria can’t keep her mouth shut for five minutes.”
Maria smirked as she wiped down the table. My father, on the other hand, just stared at me.
“What, Papa? Spit it out.”
His hair was starting to gray on the sides. And his belly? My mom and I had a bet going that by New Year’s he’d outgrow the customary pants we always got him for Christmas. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his eyes narrowing as he said, “I worry.”
A ton of bricks settled inside my sternum.
“I’m almost thirty.”
“Does he come from a good home?”
I shrugged and I didn’t miss Maria’s snicker. My father’s eyes were almost slits as he stared me down like I was teenager. I wanted to be annoyed, but I’d given him plenty of reasons not to trust me.
“My friend who gave me the job at the women’s shelter, it’s her brother-in-law.”
I grabbed a white rag from the bucket on the floor. The place was trashed. At least a hundred people had passed through for the quinceañera. I’d always thought the tradition was a waste of money. A wedding-sized celebration was too much for a girl turning fifteen. My mother still had mine and Maria’s dresses in vacuum-sealed bags stuffed away in the attic.
“Does he have a name?” he asked. His tone too even, and his posture too stiff.
“Kieran.”
“What kind of name is Kieran?”
I smiled as he tried to roll the R.
“It’s Irish,” Maria answered for me, and I threw my wet rag at her. She squealed and threw it back.
My father sighed and ran his hand threw his thinning hair. “You girls act like you’re little kids.”
“Why are you in such a mood?” my mother asked as she came into the front of the restaurant.
“Mel has a date.” Maria chimed in again, and this time I was contemplating pouring my bucket of bleach water over her head. Grown woman or not, I wasn’t above being immature if it got her to shut her damn mouth.
“With who?” Mom set the tub of silverware she was carrying on a clean table and sat down. “Manny, hand me that stack of napkins in the bus station.”
“A guy I was introduced to. He’s—”
“Related to that girl who gave her the job at the shelter.” My dad finished my sentence for me as usual, and I bit the side of my cheek so I wouldn’t utter some bitchy remark that would only end up giving me another ton of bricks to carry around.
“Good family?” my mother asked with raised brows.
My shoulders sagged. “Yes.”
“He goes to St. Ann’s,” Maria offered and I shot her a death glare.
Her eyes widened as if to say “what did I say?” but her smirk wasn’t as innocent.
My father’s mouth broke into a smile. “He does? What’s his last name?”
“O’Connell, but he attends regular Mass, Papa, you wouldn’t know him.”
“But I could… know him. I’ll ask around.”
I groaned. “Are you kidding? Please don’t. I’m capable of making a good choice. I mean, I know what you’re thinking. And I promise you, five years sober will be six and then seven. Nothing, not even a man can derail me…” My parents shared a look and it cut me deep, spilled my guts onto the freshly mopped floor. “I’m not her anymore, I’m not.”
The ache in my throat extended down throughout my chest as the room went silent. Maria avoided my eyes as I walked past her toward the kitchen.
“Querida.” My father’s whisper stilled my legs. “Your choices are yours to make, and we do not doubt you…” I watched as the tears filled my mother’s eyes as he spoke. “We hope for you.”
They hoped I wouldn’t relapse, that I wouldn’t fall for another asshole who’d turn me into a monster.
“It’s one date…” The words were strained as I spoke around the lump in my throat. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
My father rested his palm against my cheek, transforming me into that little girl I’d always tried to remember. The girl before the bad choices, the drugs, the sins. “Cuidado mija.”
“I’ll be careful.” I leaned into his touch and closed my eyes.
His aftershave was still the same after all these years, and if I kept my eyes shut, I could pretend I was still his baby girl. He lowered his hand, and my eyes opened to a smile blooming across his face. That hope he’d spoken of earlier highlighted his dark brown eyes in flecks of gold.
“Irish…” His smile turned into a grin. “Gorda, isn’t your great grandmother Irish?”
My mother nodded as she rolled a set of silverware into a napkin. Her voice remained tight as she answered, “Yes, I believe her maiden name was Foley.”
“Don’t worry, they’ll look up his entire family tree before Thursday,” Maria mumbled under her breath as she passed me her dirty rag to throw into the bucket.
I laughed and my father gave us both a reproachful glare, but said anyway, “O’Connell… what does he do for a living?”
I placed Maria’s rag into the bucket and wrapped my fingers around the handle. I lifted the uneven weight, the water splashing a few drops onto the floor, as I said, “I may go on this date and hate every minute, and this entire conversation would’ve been pointless...” I met my father’s eyes. “I promise, if it goes well I’ll answer any questions you have.”
“It’s a deal.” The way he said it almost had me rolling my eyes.
“I’m sure you’ll have a great time.” My mother looked up from her stack of rolled silverware, her face relaxed. She smiled all the way to the wrinkles that surrounded her eyes.
She had her hopes up, and as my lips pulled up at the corners, my smile matching hers, I admitted it to myself. I had my hopes up, too.