She wouldn’t even talk to me, which was making it a million times worse. I tried calling multiple times but got sent to voicemail every single time. Texts went completely unanswered unless they were about work, which got one-word responses. We had a video conference the day before, and she wouldn’t even look at the screen, opting instead to pretend to busy herself with paperwork at her desk. She responded strictly with business talk and referred to me as “Mr. Anderson.”
It was worse than if nothing had happened. It was colder than that.
Making my way into the building, I tried to focus on the moment, on the work at hand. It wasn’t easy, but I managed to get through the paperwork with minimal fuss, and when I walked out of the building, I called Mason to tell him the news. He was beside himself with relief and happiness and insisted on a celebration.
“I don’t know, Mason. I’ve got a ton of work to catch up on,” I said.
“Oh, come on,” Mason said. “Let’s just go out and have a few beers. Just us boys. You can catch up on all your work after you leave and go back to San Francisco. How much longer are you going to be in town and can just have a beer with your brothers?”
He made a good point. When the old bar was running, I was making a habit of splitting my time between my home and the bar, but I wasn’t ever having enough time to sit down and just have a beer. I was always on the move, always on the go for the next thing. Either I had to get on the plane back to the coast, or I had a video conference in the morning. There was always another reason not to relax.
“Okay, fine,” I said. “Just a few beers, and then I have to get my shit together.”
Mason cheered on the other end, and I smirked as I shook my head.
“Do you remember Southside Mulligan’s?” Mason asked.
“The bar we went to when Matt was still underage?”
“That’s the one. Meet us there tonight. We will see if we can get that stick out of your ass.”
“Very funny,” I said. After I hung up, my thoughts returned right back to Amanda. As much as I wanted to see my brothers and hang out with them, hanging out with Amanda would have been better, but that wasn’t an option now and might not ever be again. I sighed and got in my car, starting it up and heading for the hotel for a nap.Arriving at Southside Mulligan’s, the oldest bar in town—the closest one to the high school, and thus, the rite-of-passage bar—filled me with nostalgia. A lot of memories were made there, and I walked into the bar to notice that not a whole lot had changed. The carpet was different, though one would hope so. The stuff I remembered had been there since the seventies. There was the old karaoke setup in the corner for the Wednesday night karaoke nights, but the old wooden deck with the CDs and complicated sound gear was gone. Instead, just a small stage with a railing in front of it, a mic stand and a mic, and a laptop bolted onto a small table next to the stage were all that was there.
My brothers were crowded around the table we always sat at when we were younger, and I made my way to them. Mason pulled me into a hug when I got there, and I noted that he had already had a few beers before I got there. Tyler offered me a seat, and I plopped down beside him while Mason and Jordan went to find the waitress. Apparently, the service also hadn’t changed much in Mulligan’s either.
“Hey, bro,” Tyler said. “I think Jordan wants us all to do a shot now that we’re all here. After that, I already put in an order for a pitcher of the good stuff.”
“Ah, good,” I said. “I’d hate to have the stuff Matt drinks.”
The rest of the brothers arrived at the table with the waitress and a round of shots. Another waitress followed closely behind with a giant platter of fries that she sat in the middle of the table. Lifting our shots to the air, Mason nodded toward me, indicating that I was expected to say something.
“Oh, yeah. Uhh, here is to… new beginnings,” I muttered and slammed the shot back. I hadn’t even asked what it was, but it turned out I didn’t need to after the fact. It was most certainly Fireball whiskey.
“Woo!” Jordan said as he slammed the shot glass down on the table. “Who’s up for another?”
I shook my hands and sat down, pouring myself a mug of the pitcher beer and grabbing a handful of fries.