Authors: Faith Sullivan
Connor and I are splitting a meatball sub while watching the highlights of last night’s Yankees/Red Sox game. We won’t have customers for a couple of hours yet, and things are once again at a stalemate between us. We talk when we have to. We don’t avoid each other. But our relationship has deteriorated from a budding friendship to a boss/employee mentality. It hurts to be cut off from his emotions. Our new normal isn’t uncomfortable. It’s just not enough for me.
“Can you hand me a napkin?” I ask as sauce dribbles down my chin.
As he tosses one at me, his eyes never leave the screen.
“Wow, you do know I exist.” My bitchiness will get him going.
“What are you talking about?” he asks, taking another bite of his sandwich.
“We never talk anymore.” I pout like a spoiled child.
“We’re talking now,” he says, acting like I’m crazy.
Steering our conversation in a different direction, I change the subject. “We should go out sometime.”
“Where do you wanna go?” His enthusiasm level is off the charts.
“A Broadway show. The Central Park Zoo. The Metropolitan Museum of Art. The Botanical Gardens. A Yankees game.” I stop as he holds up his hand.
“I can see you haven’t given this a great deal of thought.” Things are looking up if he’s teasing me again.
“Connor, you have to get out of this place. You’re always here working. You need some stimulation.” The urgency in my voice is pathetic.
“Honey, I make sure to stay properly stimulated. Trust me.” I don’t like being reminded of his conquests. Watching my face fall, he changes tactics. “I thought you were going somewhere with Emily today?”
“I am, but that doesn’t let you off the hook.” I refuse to let him drop the subject. If it ignites his anger, so be it.
“I’ll think about it.” I groan as he shakes the ice in his cup.
Before I can ply a new strategy, the bell above the front door rings and Emily strolls in. I barely recognize her. She looks great. Her hair is straightened, falling to her shoulders. She’s wearing a sleeveless black tank and a graffiti-splattered pair of jeans that look so cool. It’s a far cry from her usual delivery uniform.
Kicking his feet onto the adjoining chair, Connor leans back to admire her appearance. Whistling, he heckles her. “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”
“Watch it, Donnelly. You don’t want my husband kicking your scrawny little ass all the way back to Brooklyn now, do you?” Her tough-as-nails attitude is even more refreshing when combined with the feminine vibe she’s rocking.
“C’mon, Emily. Let’s get the hell out of here. He’s no fun.” Out of habit, I hastily try to clear the table when Connor lightly snatches my wrist. I can’t deny the electric current that jolts through my body at his touch. He hasn’t touched me in so long.
“I’ve got it,” he says with a note of tenderness. “Go out and enjoy yourself.”
Oh, how I wish we could enjoy the city together like I always assumed we would when he asked me to move in. Whatever’s holding him back from me, I want it to end.
“Don’t forget, I’m going to hold you to your word. You owe me a rain check, mister.” I hope the telltale blush in my cheeks doesn’t betray me.
Gently squeezing my wrist before releasing it, he mutters. “No promises.” He pushes back from the table, gathering everything up before heading to the kitchen.
“Wow, that was intense,” Emily comments, her eyes wide.
“You have no idea,” I groan, watching the swinging door vibrate from his abrupt departure.
***
“This will look awesome on you,” Emily says, holding up a sexy off-the-shoulder top.
My wardrobe is in desperate need of a makeover, and the thrift shop on Canal Street that Emily suggested is just the place I need to up my game, since the women walking the streets of New York aren’t wearing stained t-shirts and worn-out sneakers. After stockpiling my tips, I’m determined that this shopping spree is going to transform my style from small-town mallrat to urban chic. One can only hope.
“Go try it on,” Emily urges, pushing me behind the fitting room curtain.
“I’m gonna have to buy a strapless bra to go with it.” I better upgrade my lingerie while I’m at it.
“Don’t you wanna flash your tits to all the guys at the bar who are already ogling your ass?” But I know she’s kidding since she detests the objectification of women on any level. From working in such a male-dominated environment, she’s developed a strong demeanor that insists on being treated like an equal, and I admire her for always standing up for herself.
“Let them keep dreaming.” I pull the shirt over my head. It hugs my curves, but not in a vulgar way, and it shows off my collarbone, a highly kissable spot. Maybe it’ll rekindle Connor’s interest in me.
“How does it look? Let me see.” Who would have thought Emily of all people was into clothes?
Throwing back the curtain, I strike an exaggerated pose, holding my hastily twisted hair above my head. “What do you think?” “Girl, you are on fire!” she exclaims, clapping her hands in approval. “And you’ll get a lot of mileage out of a top like that. You can dress it up, dress it down. It’s a must have.”
“I really wish I could find a pair of jeans like yours.” The girl’s fashion sense is off the hook.
“Well, if you ever want to borrow them, just let me know. They should fit you. They’re a four petite.” She stands back to reexamine my frame.
“I think I can squeeze my big-ass thighs into them.” Ugh, I have to stop eating all that bar food.
“The only thing that keeps my weight in check is being on my feet all day.” I don’t want to remind her that I’m also on my feet for most of my shifts without seeing the same results.
“Emily, your biceps are sick. If I were you, I’d wear tank tops all the time. Show those suckers off. God, I’d kill to be that toned.” I wonder what Emily’s husband looks like. I bet he’s fine.
“Again, another occupational hazard from lifting all those cases of beer. It’s all good until I throw my back out again.” She grimaces at the memory.
“I don’t know how you do it. I’m always yelling for Connor to help me when I have to bring one up to the bar.” I don’t mind having a big, strong man around.
“Uh huh.” She gives me a knowing smile.
“What?” I ask exasperated.
“You’re into him. I should have known.” She doesn’t sound entirely happy about the idea.
“Even if I am, he’s not into me. At least, not anymore.” And just like that, my buzz is gone.
“Why, what happened? Did he cheat on you?” Wow, that’s sudden. Emily doesn’t fool around.
“He’s been with a few girls since I moved in. We never officially dated or anything, but it doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in having some sort of meaningful relationship down the line. Intimacy is a stumbling block for him.” I never thought I’d be having this conversation with Emily. I should shut my mouth before I divulge too much and share things I’ll regret saying later.
“You intimidate the hell out of him. You know that, right?” she asks, a mischievous glint in her eye.
“I highly doubt it. He doesn’t intimidate easily.” Her remark throws me off guard. What if she’s right?
“You have to admit, I have a somewhat different perspective on the situation. To me, his cockiness is such a turnoff, but some girls eat that up. It’s like he’s trying too hard or something. Like he’s insecure at his core. But with you, he doesn’t seem to know how to act. You’ve thrown him off his game, and man is it fun to watch.”
“I’m glad we amuse you.” I’m pissed and I don’t care if it shows. Connor may be a prick, but I’m not going to stand by and let her rip him to shreds.
Holding up her hands, she acknowledges that she may be overstepping her bounds. “Now, don’t go getting mad at me. I know he gets under your skin, but you can wrap him around your finger if you wanted to.”
“Gee, thanks. But I don’t envision it happening. He’s my boss and…”
“He’s totally in love with you.” She interrupts, finishing my sentence for me.
“Well, I’m glad you think so. But is it okay if I completely disagree?” I ask stalking back behind the curtain.
“You’re good for him, Michelle. Maybe you’ll make a man out of him yet.” I take in her words while staring at my reflection in the mirror as strains of Avril Lavigne’s ‘Complicated’ filter into the dressing room.
Yeah, maybe…if he doesn’t break my heart first.
My mind is frazzled after a hectic Friday night. It’s the kickoff to the Memorial Day weekend, and apparently the local crowd isn’t fleeing the city to celebrate. They’re staying right here at Donnelly’s Pub. Massaging the crick in my neck, I squeeze the water out of a sudsy rag in the sink behind the bar. It’s time to start wiping down my tables. There are only a few stragglers left, including Miguel.
My apron is heavy with the tips I raked in tonight. It makes me feel good that I’m able to start paying my parents back for all the money they lost when I dropped out of school—the first semester’s tuition, two months of rent on the apartment, and the moving expenses. Needless to say, it’s going to take a while to fully recoup their wasted investment.
It’s hard to believe that I haven’t been home in two months. Connor didn’t think it was a good idea for me to be running home until I got settled. But now that spring’s turned to summer, maybe it’s time. Whenever I call Mom and Dad, they keep saying how much they want to see me. And Tony’s home from school, so it’d be nice to catch up with him. He might have learned more about Connor from Sal before their semester ended. It’s worth a shot.
“Hey, Michelle, are you busy?” It’s Miguel waving me over.
“Nah. What’s up?” I give the room a quick once-over in case anybody needs anything. They’re all nursing their drinks, in no hurry to leave.
Connor has his elbows propped behind him on the bar shooting the breeze with one of the regulars. He wants his patrons to feel at home, so he doesn’t mind if I take a few minutes to chat with the customers—as long as I don’t keep anybody waiting, of course.
“I overheard Connor saying you went down to Ground Zero by yourself.” Talk about getting right to the heart of the matter. Miguel isn’t one for subtlety. I’m not sure how to approach this subject with him.
“Yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was going. I didn’t want to bother you at work.” But Miguel sees right through my flimsy excuse.
“I do get breaks, you know. You could’ve called me on my cell. I could’ve met up with you.” He reaches out and pats my arm. “It’s hard going there, especially alone. I would’ve had your back.”
Something about his utter sincerity heals part of the lesion crisscrossing my heart. For a man who stares death in the face every day, his words make me embarrassed of the way I reacted.
“I know. It was stupid on my part. I’m afraid I didn’t handle it well, either.” I press my hand to my forehead.
“What happened?” His brow furrows.
“The short version?” He nods. “I basically flipped out and then couldn’t find my way back. After wandering around aimlessly, I somehow stumbled across the bar. Connor’s dad was out front, and I lost it in front of him. He calmed me down, and then he told me about Danny.”
“Yeah, we were all worried when Connor closed the place after Danny died.” Miguel tilts his head, giving Connor a sideways glance. “How’s he doing?”
Making sure that Connor was still engrossed in his conversation, I decide to tell Miguel the truth. “Not good.”
Nodding like he anticipated my answer, he rummages through the pocket of his jeans, removing a business card. “I approached Connor about attending this support group, but he turned me down flat. Didn’t want to talk about it. Acting like he isn’t going through hell when it’s blatantly obvious to everyone around him that he is. He needs to talk to other people dealing with the same type of pain. Michelle, you have to get him to go.”
Exhaling deeply, I start to protest. “But Miguel, I’ve tried. He just shuts me out.”
“Try harder.” I bristle at his demand. “You’re the only who can get through to him.”
“And how do you figure that?” Miguel’s half plastered every time he’s at the bar. How much can he possibly notice? Now he’s the expert on whatever messed up relationship Connor and I have?
“You got him to reopen the bar, didn’t you?” His response extinguishes the fight building inside of me.
“But I’m going to have to dupe him or something. He’s never going to want to go there willingly,” I counter, placing my hands on my hips.
“Then you do what you gotta do to get him there.” Determination burns within Miguel’s eyes. Who knew he had it in him?
“Well, if he pitches a fit and closes the bar again, don’t blame me,” I warn, leveling him with my gaze.
“He won’t.” He lifts his beer bottle to his mouth, taking a satisfying swig.
“I wish I had your confidence.” I mutter quietly as Connor strides over.
“I thought you’d be heading off to your cabin in the Poconos, Miguel. What are you doing hanging around here?” Connor starts to open another bottle, but Miguel holds up his hand, indicating he’s good for the night.
“I bought that place when I was still married. After the divorce, it’s just brings back bad memories for me, man.” His shoulders slump.
“But it’s such a beautiful place, right on the lake. The pictures you showed me were spectacular. You should give it another try.” Connor heads to the cash register, ready to close out.
“I will if you will.” Miguel taunts.
“What do you mean?” Connor’s tone is light, but his stance is suddenly guarded.
“We all gotta embrace life, right,
mi amigo
? And you’re too young to be needing this kind of advice from an old man like me.” He laughs to diffuse any tension he might have created. Sliding off his stool, he gives us a wave before heading out.
“He’s like Yoda, that one. Wisdom riddled with confusion,” Connor sighs and picks up Miguel’s empty bottle.
“I don’t know. I think he’s on to something.” I tread carefully.
“Is this about me taking you out? Fine. Let’s settle this. How does Monday sound?” He’s agitated. And it’s not the type of invitation I am looking for.
“Connor, I’m so sorry. I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I have a date.”