Don't Date Your Brother's Best Friend

10

Luke

I was covering the bar, making good tips and double-checking the booze inventory when Ryan came in. I greeted him and refilled another customer’s drink.

“What can I get you, buddy?”

“Whiskey neat, beer back,” he said.

“What’s up?”

“My sister, that’s what’s up. I go over to have a nice dinner with her and Dad and try to talk to my family about shit that’s going on and she tells me I should keep it to myself,” he fumed.

“Are you sure that’s what she meant?” I asked.

“Yes. Because she thinks she knows everything,” he said with a heavy sigh.

“Ryan, that’s bullshit,” I said flatly.

“I know it is. You don’t have to tell me! I work all day, drop in to check on my ailing father and get bitched out by my sister who says I’m not allowed to talk about my divorce. It’s total bullshit.”

“Not her. You. This is bullshit and I’m done with it,” I said. “She left her life, her classes, everything so she could take care of your dad. We both know you could pay a nurse around the clock if you wanted to or put him in cardiac rehab at the assisted living in Pendleton, but you didn’t want to bother with it. Everything’s on her, and all you can do is bitch about Whitney and your own bullshit. The only person making you look like an idiot is yourself,” I said, throwing down the bar rag I had slung over my shoulder. “You’re having a rough time. I get it. But you can’t expect to dump your crap on everyone else, including your sick dad.”

He started to say something, but I held up my hand and continued.

“It’s been six months, Ryan. Your pride got stepped on. But you’re running all over town acting like you’re the only victim of a nuclear holocaust. Other people have problems, and even if they didn’t, your constant complaining is so fucking self-important that it’s getting hard to deal with. If you need to unload on somebody, I’ll listen, but not all day every day, and you can’t be so selfish when you’re around your dad. He isn’t doing well, and you need to be considerate of that. And you need to give your sister some goddamn credit. Because the best I can tell, she’s the one taking care of him and running the business while you run around town talking about how much you hate your ex. Guess what? No one will ever feel as sorry for you as much as you feel sorry for yourself. Now I’m done listening to you talk about your sister like she’s the one with the problem here. Go home.”

I rounded the bar to show him out. I had kept my voice low, trying to avoid a scene. But Ryan seemed bent on one.

I clapped him on the shoulder to turn him around toward the door and steer him out. I kept my face like stone. I wasn’t going to drag him, throw him out like I would have anyone else who caused trouble in my parents’ bar I shook my head, “Come on,” I said grimly.

“Get your hands off of me!” he shouted, and then he swung.

Punched me right in the face. I didn’t react. I didn’t hit him back, although I could have knocked him down with one shot. I could’ve broken his nose, blackened his eyes, but that was never what I wanted. I wanted Ryan to be calm, to be safe at home, to realize he needed help. He had gone so far off the rails that I had no idea how to help him. I shook my head again.

“Go on and get the hell out,” I said, my voice low. “Unless you want me to call Win Charles to take you down to the station to dry out.”

Ryan took a step toward me, trying to be threatening. I took him by the arm, opened the door and shoved him out. I slammed the door in his face, turned and gingerly touched my eye, which was already starting to swell where he’d hit me.

“I apologize for the ruckus, folks,” I said. “I’d like to buy you a round of beer or soda of your choice.”

I went back behind the bar, texted my parents about what had happened and started pulling beers. Half an hour later, my dad showed up and told me to go back to the kitchen and put a steak on my eye.

“I’m sorry about this, Dad,” I said. “I never expected him to react that way. I should’ve told him to leave earlier.”

“You didn’t provoke him. He’s the asshole here. Not you. Now go put a steak on your eye.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

I dropped into a folding chair with a cold steak on my eye. I tipped my head back against the wall and sighed. It had been a hell of a day. All I wanted was to go home and have a shower, stare at the TV and zone out, not have to think about the hit my oldest friendship had taken or Ryan’s downward spiral. I was past being hurt. I’d moved beyond that into total numbness.