Sex & Sours Page 5

  When Devon confirmed that she hadn’t swapped shifts or called in sick, I decided I would grant her the grace of another half hour before I called her and told her not to bother showing up tonight.

  When she did finally saunter in, forty-five minutes late for her shift, I’d already decided that it was time for a formal warning. I didn’t want to leave any room for misinterpretation. If this behavior continued, she could start looking for a new job.

  Since it was busy, I decided to wait until the end of her shift to speak with her.

  Action became necessary at around 11 p.m. when I overheard a customer ask her for a recommendation, and her response was a terse, “How about you pretend you’ve been to a bar before and just tell me what you want.”

  Devon was quick to cut in and ask her to get some clean glasses so that he could take over, and I knew I’d have to find some room in the budget to start paying him more.

  Once Riley had returned, I ushered her into the office. She followed and took a seat in the small room. I shut the door to drown out at least some of the noise, even though it was futile at this hour.

  Sitting down, I considered her. Arms crossed, back straight, prepared for a fight. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “How long have you worked here?” I knew the answer already but wanted to lead into this gently.

  “A year.”

  “And before The Basement, did you bar back anywhere else?”

  Her brow furrowed, clearly trying to pre-empt where I was headed. “Yeah, a bunch of places. Why?”

  “At any of those establishments, was it ever appropriate to be rude to a customer?”

  A huff of breath that sounded suspiciously close to a scoff escaped her, but she still said a petulant, “No.”

  “So, you can understand why I wanted to speak with you.”

  She threw her hands up. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I fought with my boyfriend last night, and now he’s not texting me back, and I didn’t mean to be rude or whatever, but, like, it won’t happen again.”

  I doubted that. “I know that it can be difficult to separate work and home life.” And I certainly knew from personal experience how badly it could blow up in your face if you didn’t. “But I would ask that you leave your personal problems at home when you come to work.”

  She gaped. “So, I should just not care that my life is falling apart?”

  “Does that explain why you were late to your shift today?”

  “I was barely fifteen minutes late. Getting through Lower Wacker was a nightmare.” Huh. Not a local, then.

  “It was forty-five minutes, actually. And it wasn’t the first occasion. If you aren’t able to get to work on time, Riley, then I’m the one who’s sorry because this isn’t going to work out. Consider this your only warning.”

  Her face broke out in disgust as she angrily stood up. “This is her, isn’t it? She’s totally gaslit you into this.” I was insulted that she thought I couldn’t come to this decision myself, but that thought was immediately forgotten when I heard Riley spit out, “Fucking bitch.”

  A torrent of rage washed over me. “Get out.”

  “Finally.”

  I heard the deep rasp in my voice, the only outward sign of the extreme prejudice I was feeling about her. “No, I don’t think you understand me. You’re fired. I don’t want to see you here again.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “You’re fired. Hand your key to Devon and get out of my bar.”

  She mumbled as she turned to leave. “Probably slept with you, too.”

  I slammed the door behind her.

  It didn’t escape me that I was now in a position where I couldn’t return behind the bar for the exact reasons I’d just admonished Riley for. Unfortunately, I would also drive myself to distraction if I spent any longer in this tiny office. Instead, I found Devon and asked him to call me if there were any issues, and I walked the short distance home.

  Once I was inside the apartment—my apartment, I had to remind myself—the vice around my ribs eased.

  At the sound of my keys hitting the kitchen counter, a wary Siamese slinked around the corner, loudly complaining even as I filled her bowl with dinner.

  “Yes, Luna, I can hear you,” I said fondly, scratching her neck. She let out another loud meow before digging in, and I left her to eat.

  Pouring myself two fingers of whiskey, I sagged back into the leather couch, a purchase that was only days old, and looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the sparkling lights of the city.

  Home.

  It still didn’t feel one hundred percent real.

  A month ago, I’d been in a suite overlooking the strip, finalizing notes for an interview with Eater. In the span of four weeks, I’d been dumped, kicked out of my own company, and forced home.

  How had Tiffany phrased it the other day? Demoted and castrated.

  I snorted into the silence of the apartment. It felt oddly fitting.

  Soon, even the whiskey wasn’t doing enough to soothe, so I called the one person I knew would be awake at midnight.

  Jordan and I had worked together when I’d first started bartending, and even though he was a good decade older than me, we’d hit it off. He opened his first bar a year later, and I was happy to take the offer to work for him. He taught me a lot in those years and was one of my biggest supporters when I opened my own place.

  It rang a few times before he picked up, but I could hear the distant sounds of conversation in the background, so I knew I hadn’t woken him.

  “Buddy!”

  “Hi, Jordan. Not interrupting, am I?”

  “Wouldn’t matter if you were. How are you? I heard about Piper.”

  “Good news travels fast.”

  “Need me to send you the name of a good lawyer? I’ve got a few that specialize in contract law.”

  “No, thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather not drag this out any longer than it has been. I’d like to focus on what comes next.”

  “Yeah, understood. Well, offer’s there if you need it. Still, can’t believe she pulled that. It’s not right.”

  Would there be a time when I wasn’t doomed to have this conversation with every person in my life?

  “Few things in business are. Anyway, it’s done now, and it’s a lesson I won’t soon forget.” Not to mention a memory best left in the past. “How about you? What are you working on right now?” Jordan was always working on something.

  “Funny you should ask. I’m in Brooklyn right now, looking at a new project. I can’t share much yet, but I think you’ll like it. If you weren’t running your own place there, I would have asked you to join me. Would be like the good old days.”

  “You’ll have to drop by here sometime and tell me about it.”

  “You know I will.” There’s a break. “Are you looking after yourself?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Not what I asked. Is the shoulder still giving you issues?”

  I rolled it on instinct. The ache never went away, but the movement helped. “Nothing worse than usual. Though, I might need to get back to a physio soon. I forgot how much work it was behind the bar. I’m growing soft in my old age.”

  “Careful who you’re calling old.”

  “I’d never insult you like that. Besides, you pull it off better than I do.”

  “Just don’t push yourself too hard. I know how stubborn you can be.”

  “Who, me?” We shared a laugh.

  “I’d like to meet the person more stubborn than you, buddy.”

  I couldn’t help it; I barked out a laugh, surprising both of us. “Well, then, you’d have a field day with my head bartender.”

  “Handful?”

  “And then some.”

  Something about my tone must have conveyed more than I meant it to because he made a suggestive sound, and I rushed to cut him off before he could insinuate anything. “Not like that. I’m not about to mix business and pl
easure.”

  “Says the man who dated his business partner for four years.”

  “It’s a new rule. I don’t plan on making the same mistake twice.”

  “But you’ve thought about it.”

  And that was the problem, really. I had thought about it. I needed to stop thinking about it.

  “Goodnight, Jordan. Make sure you drop by when you’re in town.”

  “Like I’d miss up the opportunity to support you. Good luck, Sam. I’ve heard the crowd over there is a bit of a tough club to get into.”

  7

  Tiff

  If I slept at all last night, it didn’t feel like it.

  I’d tossed and turned next to Hannah for hours until eventually giving up and wandering out to the couch. I hadn’t even bothered to turn a light on; I just sat on the couch in the dark, trying to get my head clear.

  All night my thoughts had been a running loop of yesterday’s uncomfortable dinner and the unavoidable conversation Hannah and I needed to have this morning.

  Fuck.

  It had been going well, if a bit awkward. Hannah’s parents were polite, and we’d discussed their trip to the city. I’d recommended a few restaurants that I knew had great food but without the extortionate prices.

  * * *

  Then, Hannah’s dad, Clinton, had asked about work, how long I’d been doing it, and what had gotten me started in bartending. I’d told him the truth; that I’d started mixing drinks for my college boyfriend and had quickly learned as many recipes as I began trying to make up my own. That’s where I’d discovered how much I loved coming up with new combinations and surprising people with twists on their favorites.

  Her parents had shared a pointed look during my story, and that’s when I’d realized Hannah had stiffened. She interrupted with a laugh and told her parents, “Tiff is joking. She’s never had a boyfriend.”

  I’d been too confused at the time to say anything (and the last thing I’d ever do is embarrass someone in front of their parents), but it had killed my appetite. I’d choked down some food along with my complete and utter rage at Hannah’s lie and somehow managed to make it through the rest of dinner with a forced smile.

  I knew Hannah wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about my bisexuality, but I’d never thought she would outright deny it to anyone. Especially after she’d made such a big deal about how important this dinner with her parents was to the future of our relationship.

  By the time we’d gotten home, I’d been silently seething for so long, I didn’t trust myself to talk to her without blowing up in her face, and we were both too tired to start fighting so late at night. So, without talking about it, we’d both silently ignored it, knowing that we’d have to face it in the morning.

  And now it was morning.

  The bedroom door creaked open, and Hannah stood in the doorway, watching with an unreadable look. “You didn’t need to sit out here. I’m already awake.”

  Hannah moved to the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind her. My head immediately fell back against the couch.

  Fuck.

  If I had any hope of getting through this conversation, I was going to need coffee. A lot of coffee. I was half a cup in by the time Hannah made her way into the kitchen.

  It was awkward, to say the least.

  But if there was one thing I’d never learned, it was to leave anything the hell alone.

  I faced her head on, jumping straight in. “You lied, Hannah. To your parents. About something that isn’t even your goddamn business. Do you know how hurtful that was? You know I don’t lie about my sexuality. I’m not about to hide who I am. Not to you, not to your parents. You didn’t even warn me.”

  “Because you would never have gone along with it.”

  Which was correct. “Why? Why would they even care that I’m bi?”

  Her arms crossed tightly across her chest. “Do you know how hard it’s been trying to get them to accept my sexuality? For them to understand that this isn’t just a phase? You don’t get it. My mom is Japanese. Gay marriage still isn’t legal there. Getting her to understand that this is who I am and I’m not able to flick a switch and turn it off has been hard. We didn’t talk for a year after I came out.”

  I felt for her; I did. But that didn’t explain her actions. “What does that have to do with me?”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Because it gives them hope. If they heard about you talking about dating men, they’d start asking me why I don’t. They don’t understand the difference.”

  I could see how badly she felt, and it chipped away at my anger. It didn’t make it right, but she had her reasons, and she sounded pained. Family meant a lot to both of us, and it was obvious that her parent’s approval was important to her. I just wished it hadn’t required her to erase a part of my identity. “You made me feel like there’s something wrong with me. Which is bullshit.”

  Her face crumpled, eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I know, I’m sorry, I really am. But can you at least understand why I did it?”

  I sighed, sagging against the counter. I still wasn’t a hundred percent okay with what had happened, and there was a nagging worry that Hannah wasn’t as accepting of me as I’d assumed, but I could (frustratingly) understand why she’d said what she had.

  “I don’t like it, but I think I can.”

  “Are we ok?” She whispered.

  The last of my fight left me, and I stepped closer, pulling her into a hug. “I won’t lie about who I am,” I said, soft and firm, into her hair.

  She sniffled into my shoulder. “It’s not even lying. It’s just … selective sharing. I don’t know why you’d need to bring it up to my parents anyway. Why you’d bring it up at all. Unless you miss it.”

  I pulled back, needing to see her expression. “Miss what? Being with men?”

  “Do you?”

  The embers of my anger flared at the question, which was ignorant and rude and the kind of complete nonsense partners had asked me in the past.

  I cupped her face with both hands, letting my words leave no room for doubt. “No. I don’t miss it. I’m with you. I’m dating you. I don’t want anything else.”

  Hannah leaned up to kiss me, relieved, and I forced myself to move past the lingering disappointment I felt to meet her lips, accepting her murmured apologies as she pressed against me.

  When she exited the bedroom a second time, much later, we settled into a semi-comfortable routine. I quickly devoured another cup of coffee while Hannah fixed herself a juice and spoke at length about her work.

  I wanted to pay attention, but it was difficult. Even if I wasn’t coming off of two hours of restless sleep, my mind kept returning to what she’d said and how I felt last night.

  As I sat curled up on the couch, staring into my coffee, Hannah’s words blurring into white noise beside me. I wished I was alone. Some quiet would really be nice right about now.

  “Tiffany?”

  I snapped my head over to Hannah. “Sorry, zoned out a little.”

  “I was telling you about the new curator. She’s a very interesting person.”

  “That’s sweet,” I said, distracted.

  She frowned. “What’s wrong? Is this still about last night?”

  “No. I’m just …” tired, “thinking about work.”

  “If you hate it so much, just quit.” There was disdain in her tone as if this job wasn’t worth keeping anyway. As if it hadn’t been the last four years of my life. As if she didn’t know exactly how much it meant to me. “It’s not like there’s much of a future in it anyway. You could be earning twice as much if you got a desk job. And we’d get to see each other more.”

  “I don’t want a desk job. I love what I do.”

  “Then why do you complain so much about it?”

  Even though we weren’t moving, she was backing me into a corner. I hated it. “I’m supposed to like every part of my job?” My irritation bled through, and I took a calming breath, urging myself to be reasonable. Ha
nnah had been listening to me complain; that was true. And she wasn’t wrong about our mismatched schedules. My job meant working multiple nights a week and most weekends. It was hard to date around that. And I might still have a nagging urge to move on, but that didn’t mean I wanted to completely change who I was. I adored bartending. If she couldn’t accept that …

  Hannah sighed. “Yeah, but what about the future?”

  “This is my future. Bartending might not be glamorous, but I wouldn’t want to do anything else.”

  “I don’t understand why you won’t leave. You’ve said yourself the new owner is an ass.”

  “He’s …” And I was surprised to find myself on the cusp of defending him. Bastard. He’d started to get to me. “I’ve worked with people like that before. He’s just declaring his territory. It’s only been a week.” I didn’t really think Sam would change in the future, but I was about as willing to have this conversation with Hannah as I was to rehash our earlier one.

  My mind, my body, and my spirit were drained. Everything in the last week had culminated in a bone-deep exhaustion. All I wanted was for things to keep working smoothly. Was that so hard to ask?

  What had felt right a month ago (steady girlfriend, a job I liked and was good at) now left me questioning … Was I doing the right thing? Was I still happy?

  Finally alone, I weighed my feelings from last night. I knew I’d forgive Hannah (some part of me had already). Yes, it sucked, and I wasn’t going to discount my hurt, but I got it. Not everyone’s parents were onboard or enthusiastic. My dad still had issues with it. Sure, he was supportive, but he never could understand that I was still bi, no matter which gender I was dating.

  Eventually, I just accepted his support (“You do whatever you want, sweetheart. As long as you’re happy.”) and let the rest slide.

  So, yeah. I got that it wasn’t easy. I’d just hoped that maybe being someone’s girlfriend would have extended to, oh, I don’t know, not being blindsided by bi-erasure at the dinner table? But, hey, this was my first relationship rodeo, so what did I know?