LISA
"Jack and Coke," I bark.
The bald bartender glares at me as he pulls an empty glass from the rack and fills it with ice. Too bad I didn't think to invite Vance; we could have shared a father-son drink.
Fuck, this is all so fucked-up. "Double, actually," I modify the order.
"Got it," the big man sarcastically responds. My eyes find the old television on the wall, and I read the captions on the bottom of the screen.
The commercial is for an insurance company, and the screen is covered by a giggling baby. Why they choose to put babies in every damn commercial, I will never know.
The bartender wordlessly slides my drink across the wooden bar just as the baby makes a sound that's presumably supposed to be even more
"adorable" than giggling, and I bring the glass to my lips, allowing my mind to take me far away from here.
"WHY DID YOU BRING HOME baby products?" I had asked.
She sat down on the edge of the bathtub and pulled her hair into a ponytail. I started to worry if she had an obsession with children—it sure as hell seemed like it.
"It's not a baby product," Jennie had said and laughed. "It just has a baby and a father printed on the package."
"I really don't understand the appeal there." I lifted the box of shaving products Jennie had brought home for me, examining the chubby cheeks of a baby and wondering what the hell a baby has to do with a shaving kit.
She shrugged. "I don't really get it either, but I'm sure putting a baby's image on it will help with sales."
"Maybe for women buying their boyfriend's or husband's shit," I corrected her. No man in his right mind would've grabbed that thing off the shelf.
"No, I'm sure fathers would buy it, too."
"Sure." I had ripped open the box and laid the contents out in front of me, then made eye contact with her through the mirror. "A bowl?"
"Yes, it's for the cream. You'll get a better shave if you use the brush."
"And how do you know that?" I raised a brow at her, hoping she didn't know this from experience with Kai.
Her smile was wide. "I looked it up!"
"Of course you did." My jealousy disappeared, and she playfully kicked her feet at me. "Since you seem to be an expert in the art of shaving, come help me."
THE BARTENDER'S HAND thumps against the counter in front of me. "I said,
'Do you want another drink?' "
I blink a few times and look down at the bar, then up at him.
"Yeah." I hand the glass over, the memory fading as I wait for my refill.
"Another double."
As the old, bald bastard heads down the bar, I hear a woman's voice say with surprise, "Lisa? Lisa Manoban?"
I turn my head to see the somewhat familiar face of Judy Welch, my mum's old friend. Well, ex-friend. "Yeah." I nod, noticing that age hasn't been kind to her.
"Holy hell! It's been, what . . . six years? Seven? Are you here alone?"
She puts her hand on my shoulder and lifts herself onto the barstool next to me.
"Yeah, around that, and, yes, I'm here alone. My mum won't be chasing after you."
Judy has the unhappy face of a woman who's drunk way too much in her lifetime. Her hair is the same white blond that it was when I was a teenager, and her implants look too large for her small frame. I remember the first time she touched me. I felt like a man—fucking my mum's friend.
And now, looking at her, I wouldn't fuck her with the bald bartender's dick.
She winks at me. "You have definitely grown up."
My drink is placed in front of me, and I gulp it down within seconds.
"Talkative as ever." She pats my shoulder again, calling out her drink order to the bartender. Then she turns to me. "Here to drown your sorrows? Love problems?"
"Neither." I roll my glass between my fingers, listening to the ice clink against the glass.
"Well, I'm here to drown out a lot of both. So let's you and I have a shot," Judy says with a smile I remember from deep in the past and orders the two of us a round of cheap whiskey.