“Don’t make me come over there,” she snaps, ready with her comeback, “you know, I will drag you out by that scraggly beard of yours if I have to.”
That makes me cringe. She would do it too. Emma has our mother's inner Gorski fury. Why is it the tiny women tend to be most terrifying? Maybe it’s because we think they should all be sweet and innocent, which they can be, but cross them and you’d better watch out. You will have your balls served on a platter.
“Please don’t do that, I’ll go if you buy my favorite thing on the menu.” I can’t believe I spit that out,I didn’t want to go.
Hey, can’t go wrong with drinks and wings, right? It’s what I wanted for dinner anyway.
“How about I double it and you buy my Cosmo’s?” I can hear the grin in her tone, “Wyatt is playing tonight so I need you to be my dance partner.” I picture her shaking her hips in the pediatric scrubs she has on right now.
“Ehh- Not sure I can keep up with you. You know I suck at dancing.”
“Maybe it’s a tequila night then, thatalwayshas you strutting your stuff on the dance floor.” Emma pops her lips excitedly.
“Hell no,notequila. We arenotdoing that again.” Jose Cuervo is not part of my party group, and for a good reason.
She giggles, no doubt thinking of the time I came home on leave, multiple shots of tequila consumed, and little miss Emma started dancing on the bar. Grady hasn’t witnessed action like that since his drinking days twenty years ago. I don’t remember much about that night, but pictures and receipts are proof we went off the rails.
No tequila for this guy. Ever.
Emma let out a groan, “I gotta go, my break is over.”
“Oh, I’m so sad.” I jest.
I imagine her sticking her tongue out at me like we did as kids, but her words surprise me, “I love you brother. See you at seven,” Emma’s quick to darken her words, “remember, don’t make me come and get you.”
“Message received, sister.” I mock then hear her laugh before we end the call.
I toss my phone in the center council and stare out the windshield, a small grin ghosting my lips. Smiling doesn’t happen often, and it feels foreign. My sister is the only one to put it there, and even that is a struggle more days than not. It hurts me to know I disappoint her.
Why?Why can’t things be like they were before boot camp?
I’m just a shell of the man I once was, no ambition to continue.
*Demons*So don’t continue. How about you end it? You’re a disgrace to your family. They will be better off without you.
I shake my head at my thoughts then start the truck.
First things first, I need to head home and shave this overgrown jungle off my face.
Best not temp the little hellion.
For a Friday nightHarbor’s Edge Bar and Grillit isn’t as packed as I thought it be, then again, this bar’s atmosphere draws a different kind of crowd. The walls are covered in local sports memorabilia and signage, as well as a few comical signs from the owners’ home country of Ireland.
Grady, the bar’s owner and I have a good connection and our talks come naturally, often relating to our enjoyment for classic rock.
I’ll be sure to ask him tonight as to why there’s a‘For Sale by Owner’sign in the window. Why would he want to sell this place?
Emma, Wyatt, Derek, and I grew up coming to this bar to watch Derek’s band,‘Fold or Fade’, who now go bySly Vanand soon will be making bookoo bucks. This is where they picked up their first true gig, mainly out of pity from Grady but hey, you gotta start somewhere. Now the band has a manager and a record label, plus their first official album is coming out in a few weeks, it’s been all a buzz over the local rock radio stations. It’s fucking awesome to hear someone you know play on the radio, but why did it have to bethatsong? Couldn’t it have been one I didn’t help create?
Fucking hell. I want no part in it.
They have their dreams on track and are ready for the big time.
Mine dreams went up in flames.
“You’re here!” My sister finds me near the entry and launches herself in my arms. Her eyes shimmer before she blinks it away, eyes that likely were set on the door every time it opened, waiting to see if I walked in or if I stood her up for the up-teenth time. “Ooh, now this,” her fingertips trace along my clean-shaven jaw, “this I like. Much better.”
Approval by the facial hair snob.