Page 63 of Jesse's Girl
14
JESSE
Things with Ada have fallen into a more comfortable rhythm since our conversation about keeping things in friendship territory a few days ago. Trying that old fake it ’til you make it advice on for size, I throw myself into acting like a friend around her. When we see each other at home now, things feel less… charged.
Marcus and I visit Carnival for drinks a couple nights in a row, and we chat with Ada at the bar, joking around like we always have. She’s in her element: dealing with all kinds of customers, slinging drinks with practiced efficiency, and managing the occasional drunk without missing a beat. Her usual sarcastic comments tell me she’s feeling a bit more back to normal in my presence, too, and I’m starting to think we might be able to move on.
Ada’s working the closing shift tonight, so I’m home alone, warm and exhausted from a day in the sun. I spent most of the day with my mom. Mentally stir-crazy but still physically exhausted, she’d begged me to take her out for a change of scenery. I drove her to the riverside where we set up a lazy picnic lunch, reminiscing about when Claire and I were kids. I hadn’t seen Mom laugh like that in a long time. It’s been a month since she got sick, and longer since I’d seen her happy. The relief I felt, realizing she looked like herself again, was huge.
Sticky with sunscreen, I decide to shower and head to bed, then read for a while before shutting off the light. My bones are tired but, inexplicably, my mind isn’t ready for sleep—and my thoughts keep drifting to Ada’s empty room. It feels strange she’s working so late and isn’t here. I don’t know why it’s bothering me; it’s not like she hasn’t worked late before.
What am I, some anxious mother hen? Get over it.
Insomnia isn’t something I normally experience, but my sleep rhythm has been a bit fucked ever since I flew home and dealt with that initial stress and jet lag. At this point, lying awake at night has plagued me enough times that I know not to fight it. With a resigned sigh, I pull on my jeans and a clean T-shirt and head out for a walk, hoping the night air and exercise will do the trick.
I find myself passing by Carnival without even realizing that’s where I was headed all along. Ada’s back is to the window as she arranges liquor bottles on a shelf, and it looks pretty dead—she’s only got one customer sitting at the bar. I check my phone; there’s about ten minutes until closing. My hand pauses briefly on the door handle before I tell myself it’s fine and go in.
“Jesse,” she says, clearly surprised to see me strolling toward her. “Thought you’d be in bed by now.”
“Yeah, same. Couldn’t sleep, though, so I went for a walk.”
She nods. “I’m almost ready to head home, if you wanna hang out until then.”
“Sure.” I sink onto one of the empty barstools, and Ada turns to finish restocking the containers of straws and drink umbrellas behind the bar.
The guy seated at the end of the bar tilts a bit, clearly sauced. He takes another sip of his beer.
Ada tucks a few juice bottles into a nearby fridge and wipes her hands on her skirt before tapping something onto the touch screen.
When my eyes land back on the guy, my jaw clenches. He’s staring at her breasts and he’s not even attempting to hide it.
I inhale a breath, straightening.
She prints his final bill and slides it in front of him, so engrossed in her closing duties that she hasn’t noticed him leering at her.
“Thanks, gorgeous,” he drawls in a messy slur, his eyelids at half-mast. He nearly falls off the stool trying to dig out his wallet, but rights himself at the last moment.
She ignores him and turns to me.
I jerk my head discreetly in the drunk guy’s direction. “Everything okay?” I mouth silently.
She nods, darting a wary glance at him. She leans toward me and turns away so he won’t hear her.
“He must’ve been drinking before he came in,” she whispers, “’cause I sure as hell didn’t overserve him… but he’s not looking too good.”
“Hey,” the guy calls out suddenly, and we both turn. “I actually want one more.”
“Nah, dude, you’ve had enough,” she says with ease, wiping down the bar. “We’re closing, anyway. Time to head home.”
“Ah, fuck,” the guy says, throwing an arm out at his side and leaning heavily on the other. “Come on, I’m fine.”
“Nope, sorry. Gotta cut you off.” I can tell she isn’t sorry, but she definitely deserves some points for trying to be professional.
“You don’t have to be mean about it,” he drawls, taking another sip of his dwindling beer. He squints at Ada, leaning toward her with a slimy smile. “You’re too pretty to be a little bitch.”
“Hey,” she says, loudly, and his drooping eyes widen a bit at her change in tone. “You don’t talk to me like that.”
I’ve seen enough of Ada at work to know she isn’t afraid of these assholes. But I can’t help noticing how my heart rate kicks up a notch.