Every eye except his is on me as I move into the bar. Past the pool table, where a man setting up his shot suddenly looks up and scratches. Past the jukebox belting out lonely country songs. Past the drunks arm-wrestling in the corner. By the time I am close enough to reach out and touch him, he still hasn’t noticed me. I take another deep breath. “Dax,” I say, over the twang of the music.
He straightens on his barstool. He turns around, and his bleary eyes focus on me. For a split second, I get what I drove eighty all the way home for—a bewildered smile. He’s happy to see me. For a split second, I know everything will be okay. I know I made the right decision in coming back.
Suddenly, the corners of his mouth turn down. He twists back to his beer, hanging his head in it once again. “Go away.”
Everything inside me crumbles. I look at the blonde on his arm, who’s giving me a triumphant sneer. I step closer. “You’re not happy to see me?”
Bleached girl drapes her arm tighter around his back. “He said go—“
He shakes the girl’s arm off of him and stands up. “Brenda. Order me another beer, would you, please?” he drawls, clamping a hand around my wrist.
I try to shake him away but he holds tight to my hand like I’m a recalcitrant child. He leads me past the gawking patrons, out to the corridor in the back, by the pay phone and the restrooms, where it smells like a nauseating combination of pee and ammonia.
Finally, he throws down my wrist and raises his hands in exasperation. “What the fuck are you doing here, Katie? This isn’t the place for you.”
“It is,” I tell him feverishly. “I realized something today. Wherever you are, that’s the place for me.”
“What?” He’s looking at me as if I’m speaking Swahili. I start to say it again, but he rakes a hand through his hair, annoyed. “Naw. You’re wrong. Boston—“
“Screw Boston,” I tell him, talking a mile a minute. “I hate it there. I only liked being there when I was with you, to tell you the truth. So I quit my job, and—“
“Wait, wait, wait. Back up,” he says, holding out his hands and blinking hard. I can tell he’s drunk, or close to it, because he’s wavering a little on his feet. “You quit?”
I nod. “It’s like you said. It’s not for me. I was wasting my time there.”
He frowns. He doesn’t look happy for me. In fact, he looks downright disappointed. “You belong there. Not here.”
The smile on my face starts to crack. “But—“
“You think you’re going to find your passion here? In this nothing town?” he growls, crossing his arms. “Get your ass back to Boston.”
“You said you only wanted me to be happy, Dax. Why can’t you accept that you are what makes me happy?”
He studies me for a moment, his expression hard. My words don’t penetrate that thick armor he has built around himself. “It was okay when I was younger. But I see the way your parents look at me,” he says earnestly. “It’s the same way your boss looked at me. You’re too good for this place. It’s like they constantly need me to prove I’m worthy of you,” he mumbles, pushing off the wall and having to brace himself with his shoulder against the other wall. He’s not just drunk, he’s sloppy drunk. He can barely walk. I try to grab his hand but he shrugs me off. “I’ll never be worthy,” he says, and then moves slowly away and back to the bar once more.
I stand there, alone, listening to an old Johnny Cash song drifting from the jukebox, then step outside to the eyes of everyone in the bar. Dax is at his barstool, with his back to me. He doesn’t even look at me as I pass.
The blonde’s still standing next to him though, and now she’s whispering something in her ear. Apparently, she’s bad enough for him. He’ll probably just take her home and fuck her senseless and leave her in the morning.
So why do I feel jealous of her?
Chapter 13
I have nowhere to go, so I get into my VW and drive home. As I pull into the driveway, my headlights illuminate the white Re/Max sign on the lawn. When I cut the engine, I sit in the car for what might be minutes or hours.
Then I climb out, use my key, and go inside.
My father is standing in the foyer as I come in. He’s holding his sheet, ready to turn in for the night. “Katherine?” he asks, bewildered. “Why aren’t you at your job, honey?”
My eyes flood with tears. “I don’t have a job anymore.”
“What?” My dad wraps an arm around me and leads me to the sofa. “What happened, kiddo?”
“I quit the job, Dad,” I take a deep breath. “I don’t think I want to be a lawyer anymore.”
He’s already shaking his head. “What? What made you make such a rash decision?’
“It wasn’t rash. I’ve thought long and hard about it.”
He stares at the ground for a while. “If law school is out, what do you want to do, then?” he asks me. “Have you thought about that?”
“I have, and I don’t know.” He starts to shake his head again, and I say, “But I know it’s not in Boston. I’m miserable there. I’m sorry. I know you’re disappointed but I just can’t lie about this anymore.”