“That I had probably just come from a meeting of what we called the 420 Club.” I lock eyes with a table full of twenty-something men, who nod in understanding. “You guys know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” They lift their beers, laughing, as I address the rest of the bar once more. “But honestly, I heard music. If hearing music in your head doesn’t mean you’ve just found your fucking soul mate, I probably belong in a straitjacket. Which may be the case anyway, but I digress.” Grabbing my glass, I take another sip of my drink, before continuing.
“I’ve always been a planner. My mother claims I was the one who put her on a schedule for my feedings as a baby, not the other way around. So even when I was a little girl, I knew the type of man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Just my luck that man went to the University of Nebraska, too.”
“Go Huskers!” a voice shouts, and I look in its direction.
“You’re from Nebraska?” I ask a man I estimate to be in his mid-fifties. His skin is pale, gray hair thinning.
He nods. “Kearney.”
“Ah, so you had electricity.”
Chuckling, he nods once more. “Most days.”
“Well, I grew up in a little town called Hickman.” I pause for emphasis, which I learned in some of my acting classes. “Let me repeat that for you. Hick…man, Nebraska. I mean, if that doesn’t scream we marry our cousins, I don’t know what does.”
Laughter fills the space once more. I glance behind me, meeting Aiden’s eyes as he leans against the back counter and winks. He probably didn’t expect there to be an opening act for the band scheduled to play later. I hand him my glass, an unspoken request for him to fill it. Two manhattans and two tequila shots in the span of less than an hour isn’t a smart idea, but being smart isn’t in the cards for me tonight.
“Now, something I should mention is that I have a slight affinity for the number three.” I hold up a hand. “Don’t ask. And no, I’m not OCD and have to lock and unlock the door three times. Except on the third day of the third week of the third month of the year.”
There’s another burst of laughter and applause. Once it dies down, I continue. “I like to think it was a sign when Trevor walked into my history class at exactly 3 PM on September third and proceeded to sit in the third row of the lecture hall… Which also so happened to be the row I sat in because, well, it was the third row. I always sat in the third row.”
I feel a tap on my back and glance behind me to see Aiden handing me a fresh drink. I thank him with a smile, then take a sip before placing the glass beside me on the bar.
“Our relationship began like all good relationships do… By me pretending to be inept at U.S. history so he’d tutor me.” I bat my eyelashes, passing everyone a demure look. “But after our first test and he saw I got the top grade in the class, he realized it was all a ploy. So he asked me out, and the rest is history.
“Fast forward four years. Trevor graduated with a degree in finance. I graduated with a degree in English and a minor in theater, which is probably why I have absolutely no problem telling a bar of complete strangers about my breakup. And my mother said theater would be useless.” I roll my eyes, my expression oozing sarcasm. “I’m proving her wrong this very second. Anyway, after graduation, Trevor was accepted into Columbia Law here in New York. There wasn’t even a question in my mind. I would move to New York with him.”
A nostalgic smile lights up my face as I recall those early days of living in the city. For the longest time, I thought I made a mistake, especially when I was forced to take a cold shower in the middle of winter because the building superintendent hadn’t fixed the hot water heater. Or when the smoke alarm went off anytime I tried to cook because it was placed right above the stove. Or when we lost power on Christmas and had to order Chinese takeout because the meal I’d planned was a lost cause without electricity. At the time, all the disasters made me long for the comfort and space of Nebraska. I now look back on everything and laugh.
“I worked as a bridal assistant for a wedding planner during the day. Honestly, it was the perfect job for someone as obsessed with planning and organization as I am. Essentially, I was the bride’s bitch. ‘You need Voss water instead of Evian? At your service.’ ‘You don’t want your maid of honor to look better than you, even though she’s prettier on the inside and out? That can be arranged. We’ll be sure to pick a dress style that doesn’t complement her body type.’ ‘Don’t want the groom to find out you had one last fling with his best man the night before the wedding? There’s the morning-after pill for that.’
“However, being a wedding planner’s assistant didn’t pay enough to cover all our bills, not to mention my student loans, so I got a second job as a bartender. All to support Trevor so the only thing he had to worry about was studying. I figured he’d return the favor down the road. I suppose he did, in his own way. After he passed the bar and got a job at an incredible firm, we eventually moved into a great apartment in Brooklyn. One he paid for, which he reminds me regularly.” I pinch my lips, shaking my head at how blind I’ve been. “My support of his dreams has been nothing short of unwavering. I don’t think he’s ever truly supported me in mine.”
I jump off the bartop and grab my glass, pacing as I attempt to come to terms with how Trevor could be so callous as to break up with me without even a hint of remorse or regret.
“I was the perfect girlfriend. I kept our place clean, despite working long hours. On those nights he worked late, I often dropped by the firm to bring him dinner. I was so convinced if I did everything right, we’d fly off into the sunset like Danny and Sandy and live happily ever after. Hell, I even waxed for him.” I gesture to my crotch area. “Do you have any idea how much that hurts? That shit feels like someone just doused gasoline all over your nether regions, then lit a match and tossed it, forcing you to wallow in agony for hours with no relief in sight.” I pause, allowing the laughter to swell, then die down. “But I did it for him. Because that’s what people do when they’re in love, isn’t it? They do everything to keep the other person happy.”
Everyone seems to nod in agreement.
“What they don’t do is break up with them on their thirtieth…fucking…birthday because they no longer think their partner of twelve years is serious enough.”
“Fuck him,” a man shouts above the silence, his New York accent thick. I look in his direction as he raises his beer toward me. “He doesn’t deserve you anyway.”
I nod, smiling in appreciation. “You’re probably right. Because everything he’s done tells me I deserve someone so much better than what I allowed myself to settle for, all because he checked off every box the teenage version of myself said she wanted in a potential husband.”
I blow out a long breath, blinking back the tears forming. “But how do you tell your heart to stop loving someone?”
My expression turns pleading, inwardly wishing someone has the secret to this. The atmosphere shifts, becoming more solemn. I hate ending my story on such a sour note, so I force a smile, although it doesn’t reach my eyes.
“I’ll tell you what you do, Evie.” My voice wavers. “You take a page from Scarlett ‘Fuck All Men’ O’Hara. A lovely Irish lass, much like myself. You worry about it tomorrow.” I lift my glass and practically the entire bar follows suit. “Because tomorrow is another day,” I finish in my best Scarlett O’Hara impression.
In an instant, the deafening sound of cheers and applause surrounds me. By morning, I may regret consuming the amount of alcohol that provided me the loose lips to share my heartache with a room of strangers. Based on the phones that have been pointed at me the past several minutes, I’m sure I’ll be a viral sensation by tomorrow. Right now, none of that matters. All that does is trying to salvage what I can of my thirtieth birthday.
With a smile, I curtsey once more, slowly turning to each corner of the bar to offer my thanks for their rapt attention.
And that’s when I notice him.
Outwardly, there’s nothing unique about him.
Except for the disheveled light brown hair that curls over the collar of his perfectly tailored suit.
Except for the penetrating blue eyes that remain locked on me, the heat in his gaze making me think he can read my innermost secrets.