Being that I had already consumed several vodka tonics, I leaned in a little too close to her for his comfort. She noticed right away and used it to her advantage by wrapping her arm around my waist. It took five minutes for her to finally get her point across before he slowly backed away.
We’ve been best friends ever since.
Although Shannan is fun—a blast, really—her responsibility level mirrors that of a new teenager. I’d ask her to watch Dillon so I could keep working where I’m happy but, unfortunately, staying with her would mean he’d be exposed to just as much adolescent behavior as he would with my own crazy mother.
I’m seriously screwed.
Leaning down and placing my forehead gently on the bar, I whine to the floor. “Being an adult sucks.”
Being a working parent trying to raise a little boy alone sucks, too.
I met my husband, Gabe, at a college fraternity party. I knew I had no business being there, but it was my eighteenth birthday and I wanted to celebrate by doing something spontaneous, if not a little ridiculous.
I had been dancing with my friends, and happened to be doing it with a full drink in my hand. When Gabe stepped in close from behind, wrapped his arms around my waist, and I felt his warm breath on the skin of my neck, I jumped with surprise. The liquor in my glass shot out and hit his face like an ocean wave determined to drown a smiling minnow.
Gabe laughed and called me cute.
Three hours later, we found our way to an empty room on the third floor and ended up tangled together under the sheets of a beat-up old bed. His voice was soft and gentle as he coaxed me into having sex, citing it was harmless and convincing me it was all in a night of fun.
Shannan puts down her glass and tries to ease my worry. “Dillon’s six, Lucy. He’s not a baby anymore. He starts school again soon, right?”
Dillon is sweet, thoughtful, and kind to everyone. That’s not how he came into the world, though.
Nine months after meeting Gabe, our one night of fun turned into several endless nights of trying to comfort a screaming infant.
“Yes. This fall,” I agree, then change the subject. “So, what’s next?”
“Yes. Next,” she says, sliding the next shot of tequila in front of me. “What else do you have?”
Tryst is a club we’ve never been to before, and tonight it’s a cesspool of chaos. Normally, Shannan and I would go to Majesty’s, but a few weeks ago, she had a run-in with her ex-boyfriend’s new fiancée.
Needless to say, this run-in pissed her off. Because she caused such a scene, including property damage, we were both asked to leave and never come back. Until that night, I’d never been kicked out of a bar. At the time, I was pissed as hell at her for dragging me into such a mess. Now, though, after a couple shots of tequila, I’m finding what she did kind of funny.
“My mother,” I state, which is met with a smile from her that’s worthy of award. “She’s going to be the death of me, Shan. She’s got a new boyfriend. She met him on the internet.”
“Oh, yeah?” she nudges, her dark brown eyes shining with glee.
“His username is Sunshine.”
“Sunshine?” She giggles. “Holy crap, she can pick ‘em.”
“Right? ‘Hi, meet my newest stepdad, Sunshine.’”
“Oh God, Lucy. That’s awful,” she says, stating the obvious. “Maybe he’s not so bad, though. Sunshine sounds like a beautiful name.”
“For a woman!”
“Or a cat,” she says, cracking herself up.
I give up.
After we clink the edges of our glasses together, we slam the shots back and get ready the next.
“Last one, then we’re on to you,” I insist.
“What else you got?”
“My monster-in-law.”
“Uh-oh,” she mumbles, looking down and fidgeting with her napkin. “What’d the evil queen do this time?”
It was no secret that Gabe’s mother never approved of our relationship. She thought I’d purposely gotten pregnant to trap her son into a marriage he didn’t want. Before ever trying to get to know me, she had already decided I was nothing more than a thorn in her overbearing, self-promoting, high-class side. The way she talked to me with such disregard in front of Gabe had always hurt the most.
Regardless of her determination to keep me out of her son’s life, Gabe and I were married a few months before Dillon was born. It wasn’t the wedding I’d always dreamed of having, but my son was coming, Gabe was a good man, and as much as we didn’t want to admit it, we both felt we had no other choice.
Gabe was five years older than I was. He was still in law school when we got married. So, not too long after Dillon was born, I realized I would be left to raise him alone. Between our five-year age difference, his ambitions to start his own practice, his mother always meddling in our business, and a newborn baby to settle at home, our brief marriage quickly started falling apart.
Neither of us had any problem communicating our concerns to one another. After talking it through, we both held onto hope that things would eventually turn out okay. And for a little while, it was. Our marriage was finally coming together.
Then he died.
“I got a letter in the mail today. She sent it as some passive-aggressive warning, I just know it. The family counselor is requesting a plan of action for Dillon, or Margret wants to take me to court. She’s considering fighting for custody.”
“Custody?” she shoots back, blasting anger. Putting her hand on my arm, she leans in. “Lucy, he’s your son.”
“Obviously that’s not what matters,” I return, lifting the shot glass and tossing it back. “She’s told me before when Gabe was alive that he worried about leaving me alone with Dillon.”
“That’s a lie!” she cries, garnering the attention of the bartender standing at the register in front of us.
“I don’t know if it is. Gabe worried about everything when it came to Dillon. How much I was feeding him, how much I’d let him sleep. He was never home, so he constantly worried.”
“Men,” she says, focusing now on the very attentive bartender, who I also note is a cute blond with green eyes and a nice smile.
“Yeah,” I press on. “So now I get to deal with her next week after I submit this ‘plan’.”
Her face grows tense before asking, “You’re not really doing it, are you? Meeting the counselor, I mean.”
“What choice do I have? Margret’s half-right. I don’t make a lot of money, I struggle with daycare, and now my hours may change or I’ll need another job.”
“Lucy,” she draws out slowly. “Every parent, married or not, has those same issues. You’re a great mom, and anyone can see how much Dillon loves you.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” she needlessly offers.
Sitting in stilted silence, we both gaze into the large mirror hanging behind the bar. The woman next to me is seated beside a man who’s obviously her date. He’s touching her chin and looking down at her with adoration.
“No man is worth putting up with their shit. And they all have shit,” Shannan tells me in a small whisper.
“Most of the time, I don’t even want one, but damn if I don’t miss the weight of one on top of me.”
Shannan tries not to, but she loses control and the shot she just threw back comes flying from her mouth. It hits the top of the bar, the glasses, and most likely me, but I don’t look down to notice.
“Lucy Monroe, you’re a dirty bird,” she declares as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, then uses her napkin to clean the rest of her mess. “You’re the only woman I know who can handle a life full of heartache, but still actively fill out applications for more.”
The bartender, now known by his nametag as Tyler, brings her another shot. She accepts and lifts it again in toast. Our glasses clink as we down another.
“Do I want a man? No. Do I need a man? No. But, still, it would be nice to share life’s burdens with someone again, ya know?”
“Maybe?” she questions.
Shannan wouldn’t understand what I’m talking about. Her days are spent getting manicures and highlights, whereas mine are spent struggling to make sure the bills are paid, my son is happy, and my dead husband’s mother doesn’t get a notion to take him away from me.
“It’s stupid. Men complicate things,” I express, and wait for her to correct me. When she doesn’t, I push forward. “Maybe I’ve had my one chance living with contentment and that was it. Maybe I’m not supposed to find someone again. Dillon keeps me busy, and he makes me happy.”
“Lucy,” Shannan draws out. “Gabe’s been gone five years. I didn’t know him, but I highly doubt, as much as you’ve raved about him, he’d want you sitting around, still pining over a future he’s not here to give you.”
“I loved him. I did. But…”
But I’ve grown up.
I no longer believe in fairy tales, and I don’t wait for that one person to come and sweep me off my feet.
Instead, I struggle day in and day out to be the mother my son deserves. And, so far, it’s been enough.