99 Percent Mine

“That’s something I’ve never gotten. I mean, I know he’s fun when he’s in the right mood. But how is anything worth the stress he puts you through? How have you stayed his friend all these years?”

I don’t expect an answer and he doesn’t give me one.

His fingers touch my back as we walk through the crowd and find two stools at the bar. There’s a live band doing covers of old eighties songs, and the bartenders don’t have to abuse anyone. The Devil’s End is an ashtray in comparison to this place.

I try to keep my focus on the task at hand: showing Tom how to enjoy himself. It’s hard, because I’m nervous and he’s just staring at me.

“Okay. Getting a life, step one: Get a drink.”

“I think I know how to do that part,” he says, and orders himself a beer, and a glass of wine for me. The female bartender blinks fast when she registers his glory and gives me a congratulatory look.

“I’ll pay.” I scramble, but he hands over payment.

“I bet you pay for people a lot. But it’s my turn. Let me spoil Darcy Barrett a little.” He takes his change. “Let me get a taste of that feeling.”

I relent and take my glass. I feel it, glowing out of him: exceptional, golden happiness. He looks at his phone, texts, and puts it on silent. Then he focuses on me.

“Look at me, living my actual life after work.” He smiles at me and the room recedes. “I can’t believe I have no one to call back. Are you all right? You seem nervous.”

He’s gorgeous. I want him. It’s hard to carry on a polite conversation when those are the only two thoughts in your brain. But he’s noticing my dumb silence and I need to make an effort. “I’m nervous as hell. You want to talk to me about something. I don’t do well in these mystery situations.”

I’m feeling weirdly young and out of my depth. Weak, woozy adrenaline is in my blood. He decides to proceed like this is something we do together all the time.

“Jamie forwarded me the selfie your mom took, after your haircut.” He scrolls back through approximately a million texts from Jamie. It’s Mom, with a tear rolling down her cheek. I laugh and the knot of tension leaves.

“I wish she’d never learned how to take selfies. Imagine her, trying to hold perfectly still with the tear in position while she fumbled around with her phone.” I shake my head. “She sent one this morning, showing me her makeup, but look at Dad in the background. I am scarred for life.”

There’s Mom’s impressive eyeliner artistry in the white cavernous bathroom. In the background of the shot, my dad is on the toilet with his pants around his ankles, his face pure grievance.

“Your dad on the throne.” Tom laughs. “I don’t know how I ever found my way into such a royal family.”

I stretch happily on my stool and dangle my boots back and forth. I have never been this happy. Could this be life for the next three months? It’s so supremely livable.

“Tigers are very noble animals,” I remind him. His nickname from Dad has always been something that makes him a mix of embarrassed and pleased, eyes narrowing to focus on something, his face turning away.

“I’m lucky” is all he can say, touching his fingers on the engraved watch he wears. I know he needs me to change the subject very badly.

“Can we do this every night for the entire renovation?” I smile at his withering sideways glare. “Yeah, yeah. It was worth a try.”

I feel the shoulder of my tank slip for the tenth time and don’t bother fixing it anymore. This bra strap is pretty enough for the real world.

He takes my phone and looks at the picture of my parents again. “They made me realize things weren’t right with Megan.”

“What did they say?” I am incensed.

“They didn’t say anything. You know what they’re like,” he says, an eye narrowed in affection.

I do know what they’re like. Growing up, the unofficial Sunday-morning motto was Door locked? Ears blocked. “It was when I was finishing their deck. Your mom was making me a sandwich, and your dad comes up behind her and kinda . . . smells her neck.” He’s embarrassed. “Forget it.”

“No, keep going,” I say with reluctance.

“She obviously smells so good to him. Things hadn’t been right with me and Megs for a long time. I mean, the diamond ring did help for a while. But I decided that next time I was home, I’d walk up behind her and smell her neck. See what would happen. Maybe it would rekindle the spark.”

How very Valeska, prowling and sniffing. “And? No, wait. I’m not sure I wanna hear.”

“She smelled wrong to me. Not bad, but just . . . wrong. She pushed me off and told me I was sweaty. I realized then it wasn’t going to work anymore. We were never going to be like your parents, retired, still in love. I’ve never just . . . electrified Megs, and she deserves that.” He’s clearly been holding in that confession. “She and I talked all night and agreed. She’s been sadder about the ring, actually.”

“Did she give it back?” Jamie said she hasn’t. Tom nods yes. Now I don’t know who to believe. Ordinarily it would be no contest, but right now, he’s carefully looking away over my shoulder at the crowd, not meeting my stare.