“IT’S OFFICIAL!” TRISTAN SLURS, and we all do an Alabama Slammer shot together. “You’re twenty-one!”
Bob the bartender looks at me funny and shakes his head. He’s been serving me for a few years, and he genuinely seems surprised that I was underage. He points to the rest of the band and demands their driver’s licenses. I’m the last one to turn twenty-one, so he’s in the clear.
“I could have gotten in real trouble, you assholes,” he says and angrily goes to help another customer.
Dax laughs. “There’s no way he didn’t know.”
I shrug it off and take Alex’s shot from him. “Are you going to drink this?”
He waves me off and leaves the bar.
“What’s up with him?” I ask. Dax ignores me and Tristan takes a call on his phone.
We’re getting ready to leave on our first big tour. I gather that he and Tabby are having ‘issues’ and I’m not surprised. Their relationship has been a disaster since before it even started. I shrug my shoulders and drink his shot.
My phone buzzes and my mother’s phone number pops up.
I pick it up and hear her and Bill singing “Happy Birthday” into the phone. I cringe when they attempt to hit the high notes and they finally stop. “Hey, honey,” my mom says. “Happy Birthday.”
I know she tries to make this day special for me, ever since my dad killed himself, but it’s always a huge fail. I can’t seem to find happiness on such an otherwise dark day.
“Promise you’ll come visit us when we move,” she begs. Mom and Bill are moving to North Carolina to be close to the rest of her family. They decided not to sell the house that I grew up in just in case I need a place to crash when I’m not on tour. I accept the gesture as a sign of their love for me.
“I will,” I say. I see Tristan returning from the other side of the bar with several more drinks and shots. “Hey, I gotta go.”
“Be safe and we love you.”
I hang up as soon as he slides onto the barstool next to me. “Hey there, mama’s boy,” he says, and I want to pummel him. He’s constantly making fun of me and the dozens of times a week that she calls me.
“Shut the fuck up, douchebag.”
“I can’t believe we leave for tour tomorrow. It’s crazy, isn’t it? We’re going to be huge rock stars.” Tristan throws back a shot and pushes one toward me.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, dude. We’re popular here, but out there, who knows.” I try to ground him in reality a little bit, but he won’t stay out of the clouds.
“What time do we have to meet the bus?” I ask, scanning the room for tonight’s hook-up.
He groans. “Five thirty in the morning.”
“Shit.” I do a shot and wince. “What the hell was that?” I ask, pointing to the empty shot glass.
“I don’t know. Bob made it for us.”
That explains it.
He must have poured a dirty ashtray into the most god-awful booze he could find as revenge. I feel like I’m going to puke.
“Suck it up.” Tristan laughs and picks up his phone. “I’ve got to make a call. See you tomorrow morning, birthday boy.” He snatches his phone from the bar and trots to the door. He must be looking to get one last night in with Kirsten before he’s on the road for a while.
I don’t know how much time passes, but the place is practically empty and Bob is wiping down the bar in front of me. The house lights flick on and I squint. “Jesus, turn the lights down.”
“Last call was an hour ago, G. Time for you to get going.”
“What time is it?” I ask. Did I fall asleep in here?
“It’s just after three. C’mon, we all want to go home.”
How did so many hours go by and I didn’t even notice? There are at least eight shot glasses turned upside down in front of me, and I have my hand wrapped around a warm beer. I must have fallen asleep sitting up.
“I’m going,” I say and stand up. I walk out to the quiet city street and hail the first cab I can find. I give him an address and lean back into the seat.