I ready myself to take another lap to make sure I haven’t missed saying hello to anyone my sisters invited.
“Watch it, man. She’s my sister. I can’t be responsible for the irreparable damage she can cause to parts of your body I’m sure you cherish.”
This does nothing to deter him from waggling his brow at her. “That’s kind of what I was hoping would happen.”
I slap him on the back before standing up. “You’re on your own, man.”
I kiss Nat on the cheek. “Cut him some slack,” I whisper to her. “He did just get dumped.”
She sighs. “Two months ago. I’m surprised she lasted as long as she did. A pretty package can only fool someone for so long before they figure out that this”—she gestures toward Davis, who swirls the ice in his glass—“is what lies beneath.”
“Keep an eye on him for a few. Will you? I want to check in with Jen and Megan and see if—”
“She’s not here yet, Griff. It’s not even ten. What time is her shift over?”
I shrug. “She said hopefully she’d be off by nine, depending on how busy it was.”
“Then she’ll be here soon. And I don’t mean to sound like Davis, but are you sure you don’t want a drink?”
I shake my head and smile. “Nope. I want to remember tonight.”
“I don’t,” Davis says, butting into the conversation with an outstretched hand brandishing an empty glass. “Grab me another while you’re up and about?”
“Sure,” I tell him, my sympathy overruling the need to give him shit for his behavior. I hope Nat can muster an ounce or two herself.
Jen is busy chatting up a fellow grad student, and Megan hides in a quiet corner on her phone with, most likely, the guy we’ve never met. I scan the place with false hope, not so much for Maggie but for the two people I never expected to show their faces but who I still wish would: my parents. The thought bears no logic other than them most likely being the ones funding the evening. A small part of me thought they’d come around, that they’d even be proud of me. But their absence overrides their financial contribution. I think about all the functions I’ve been expected to attend for them, all the times I showed up not quite on time or in top form and realize they must know how I feel.
When I belly up to the bar, I remind myself I’m grabbing a drink for Davis, despite the underlying desire to have a beer.
“The guest of honor, huh?” The animated voice greets me from across the bar—a blonde-haired girl, tall and trim.
“Uh, yeah. That’s me.”
She crosses her arms on the bar and leans in my direction.
“What can I get you, gorgeous?”
…
Maggie
I sniff the shirt I’ve been wearing all day. Coffee. I do the same to the one hanging in the back room, the one I brought for tonight. Coffee. My hair reeks of it, too.
“What are you waiting for, beautiful? I clocked you out ten minutes ago.”
Miles hovers in the doorway, a package of filters in hand. I gesture at my attire and groan.
“What was I thinking agreeing to this after a shift? I’m all gross and coffee-smelling. You’ve seen the people he hangs out with. They’re, like, fancy.”
Miles convulses with laughter.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself at my expense,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Since when do you give a shit and a half about what someone thinks of your clothes? Honey, most girls work to get your hippie-hipster-coffeehouse chic going. But that’s you when you roll out of bed. He sees you, Mags, even though you hide. I think that’s what’s freaking you out.”
I nod. “I’m good at hiding.”
He peeks out into the shop, checking for customers no doubt, before striding in my direction. He drops the filters on the desk and wraps me in his strong arms.
“I know you are. I’ve been trying to find you for years.” His voice bears no bitterness, merely a statement of fact. Because it’s true.
I sigh, letting go of the tension as my head falls against his shoulder.
“You’re closer than anyone else has gotten,” I tell him. “And I’m grateful you’re still trying.”
He lowers his chin to my hair, resting his head on mine.
“You trust him?” he asks, and I let out a shaky breath.
“I think I do.”
His arms loosen, and he backs away to look at me.
“Then get yourself to a party. At a bar. Where you will not drink.”
“Where I will not drink.” I don’t need to learn that lesson twice.
Miles lifts the long-sleeved black peasant top from the coat rack and holds it up for inspection.
“So, you gonna wear the top that smells like coffee or the top that smells like coffee?”
I laugh and look down at my Royal Grounds T-shirt. Then I reach for the one in his.
“Gimme the fancy one,” I say, and he releases the garment into my hand before turning back to man the counter.
After changing and letting my hair out of its ponytail, I swipe on some deodorant and lip gloss and head out to the front of the shop.