A bartender comes over and offers me a menu. He’s cute enough, but I’m in a sour mood so I don’t even smile. I just bark my drink order, and then add, “Make it a double.” Of course, I’ll regret this in the morning, but right now, I want to ignore how mad I am at Stewie and let the alcohol take away my problems.
This isn’t something I do often. I rarely go out drinking unless it’s a special occasion because to be honest, alcohol isn’t my thing. Sure, I drink socially now and then, but it’s not a regular thing. In fact, in our year together, Stewie has actually never seen me drunk. He would raid his dad’s liquor cabinet, but I wasn’t comfortable joining him because it felt wrong. My boyfriend never hesitated though, and he’d get smashed while playing video games. I’d just leave after a while.
My stomach growls and I laugh sourly. Dang, life is so strange sometimes.
“Here’s your drink,” the bartender says. He gives me a quick grin of sympathy, and I grimace back. It must be obvious how awful I feel.
“Thanks,” I respond. I take a long sip of my White Russian and the heat of the alcohol travels down my esophagus and into my stomach, warming me up. This is exactly what I need.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“Actually, can I get chicken nachos, please?”
The cute bartender nods.
“Sure thing. They’ll be out in a few.”
“Thanks.”
I smile to myself sourly again. At least I’ll get the whole plate of nachos to myself, with all its creamy sour cream, ripe green guacamole, and the crisp bite of tortilla chips. I hate when Stewie hogs all the food, leaving me with nothing but unattractive leftovers at the bottom. The worst part is that a lot of times I pay for dinner, even though he gobbles whatever he wants.
I sigh. But are Stewie and I really over? It’s embarrassing to admit, but we seem to be locked into an ugly cycle: break up, make up, break up, make up. It’s happened more times than I can count, and it’s a little pathetic, come to think of it. Maybe we should stay broken up this time. Emotionally, it would be healthier for both of us, and hell, I’m twenty-two now. I don’t want to be caught in this cycle forever. I want to find a real man who loves me, and who doesn’t whine when I won’t get up to serve him hand and foot.
“Did you order the nachos?” a voice asks.
I look up startled from my now-empty drink and find a woman standing in front of me.
It’s Jackie, a bartender who pulls a few shifts at the Hard Swallow. She’s hard to miss with her vibrant, curly red hair and take-no-shit attitude.
“Yes, those are for me. Thank you.”
She grins.
“No problem. Billy got busy so I’m taking over this end of the bar. Just let me know if you need anything else.”
I nod.
“Actually, can I get another drink? A Malibu and pineapple juice, please. And a shot of tequila as well.”
“Sure thing, hon.”
Jackie fixes me my drink and slides the shot in front of me. I down it without bothering with salt or lime and chase the tequila with a long sip of my mixed drink. Wow, that’s strong. I didn’t even have to ask Jackie to pour me a double. She just did it on her own.
“So, what brings you in tonight?” the redhead asks conversationally. “I don’t see you around often.”
I grimace. “It’s been a long night, and I needed to unwind. Actually, my boyfriend and I broke up.”
She shakes her head sympathetically. “Damn, that sucks. I’m sorry to hear that.”
I shrug. “It’s fine. He’s kind of an asshole, to be honest.” And then, I end up spilling the entire story to Jackie as she busies herself behind the bar. Her expression is rueful as she polishes a glass.
“Wow, that is a lot. Seriously? Just over some popcorn? I’ve burned that microwave shit more often than I can count. The directions on the bag are sometimes wrong.”
I nod. “I know, right? But yeah, he lost his cool because the popcorn was ruined. Geez! What a baby.”
Jackie is thoughtful.
“Yeah, and he shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
I snort. “Tell that to him, because he certainly won’t listen when I say that.”
“How old is your boyfriend again?” Jackie asks curiously.
“Twenty-two going on thirteen. Why?”
The redhead shrugs. “Twenty-two is still young. He’ll find his way in life, don’t worry. Just be patient with him.”
I shake my head ruefully. “I don’t know about that. I think I need another tequila.”
Jackie laughs. “No problem.”
She pours and I drink, but then the pretty bartender is called away and I’m left to my own devices. Jackie’s words echo in my brain. Am I being too hard on Stewie? He is going through a hard time since his video game career hasn’t taken off like he expected. And maybe he’s intimidated by me because I do well as a waitress. It’s a blue collar job, but there’s no denying the fact that management likes me, and my customers tip well. Plus, I genuinely enjoy what I do, whereas sometimes I wonder the same for Stewie. He professes to love video games, but I’ve seen him throwing his controller at the wall in frustration.