Page 13 of Vesper Martinis

I'm not sure I would call these people my friends, but I’ve been here so many times that calling them acquaintances seems a bit cold.

“Call,” I say, putting two chips into the pot and then taking a sip of my drink. It’s my second glass of the evening, and my neighbours have noticed.

Kenny shifts in his chair, rubbing his back against the rungs, all the while looking at me with a suspicious gaze. I know he wants to ask me about it. And I don’t want to tell them I’m sulking.

I don’t want to tell them I’m sulking because of my impromptu lunch with Welsey and his friend Minnie. I thought she was his girlfriend and got jealous, so I approached them and shared something personal with Wesley. I didn’t intend to tell him about the sandwiches. It just popped out like it had a mind of its own. And then he let me look at his sketchbook. I could tell in his eyes that he wasn’t into it. That he was scared of what I would say. That made it even more meaningful when he let me look. I was telling the truth about how good it was and that it would look good on our walls at the bar. They were mostly pencil crayon sketches of things like different kinds of drinking glasses and flowers in grass and vases. I can imagine it up in a frame alongside the bar's back wall where the long leather booth is.

Anyway, as amazing as that lunch was, the fact that it was amazing is why I’m sulking. Because I feel even worse now about how I’ve treated him. Yet, I feel like I can’t stop. If anything, the complement I gave him makes me want to double down—make it clear that we’re not friends, as much as I wish we were. I wish we were more. But it wouldn’t work. Something would go wrong, and it’ll fall apart, and I don’t want to go through that again.

Brenda and Leo call, and soon after that, we reveal our cards.

“Woohoo!” Brenda shouts when she has the winning hand.

She reaches out and slides all the chips towards her.

We don’t technically bet for money since we’re here just for the game. Instead, whoever has the most chips at the end of the game doesn’t pay for their dinner. Plus, bragging rights.

I sigh and finish off my whiskey.

As someone who runs a bar, I should know best that drowning my sorrows in alcohol is a bad idea. To be honest, it’s not even helping. Every time I close my eyes, I see Wesley in his tight white button-up, smiling and chatting with the customers. I can see how he smirks at them and how their shoulders shake as they giggle or laugh at whatever he says.

I wish it was me he looked at like that.

“What’s up, man?” Kenny finally says.

I put my drink down and spin it with my hand.

“What do you mean?” I ask as if I don’t know what he wants.

“You’re moody and sad,” Brenda says matter-of-factly, as per usual. Brenda tends to be the one who calls out bullshit happening in the group. Like when she thought Leo was cheating because he kept fixing his sleeve. Turns out it just kept riding up because he was wearing his wife’s sweater and it was too small for him.

“I am not,” I deny, and Brenda gives me a look over her round glasses, calling me out on my shit. “It’s nothing.” I get up and get a glass of water.

I can already feel myself wanting to talk about it, and I’m afraid that if I have another drink, I might spill my guts.

I don’t talk about my feelings.

If I did, I would’ve told Wesley because he is the one who should know why I’ve been a lying ass.

I sit back at the table as Leo deals the next hand. They all look at me like we didn’t finish the conversation I didn’t want to have.

“I’m not talking about it,” I tell the group as they pick up their cards, peeking over them to watch me speak.

“Why not?” Brenda asks. “It’s not like we’d tell anyone. Who’d want to hear it?”

I can’t tell if that brings me comfort or if I should be insulted, but they have a point. Boy trouble isn’t high on a list of gossip items with this group. They prefer to talk about how much something costs at the grocery store or what bad haircut a neighbour’s dog has.

“Fine. I like this guy. The trouble is he is my employee, and I think he hates me, or at least I think he does because, well… I wanted him to. So, I lied to him. Then I was mean to him. I wanted him to hate me. So he doesn’t like me, and despite that, I can’t get him out of my mind. I want to kiss him, but I don’t want to fall for him. Childhood trauma, don’t judge me.” I exhale as a huge weight lifts off my shoulders.

Fuck, I chuckle to myself. If I had known how good that would feel, I might have done it months ago.

I look around the group and wait for their responses.

Leo nods as he looks at his cards. The thing I like about him is that if he has no advice or anything to say, he won’t say anything at all. Brenda always has something to say, and Kenny will give advice no matter what.

“Well, if he’s your employee, then I would assume that would simplify it. You can’t have him, so you need to get over it. Or leave,” Kenny says.

“I agree,” Brenda adds. “You have limited options here.”