Nowhere in that plan is convincing Ian to stay with me.
"You put me back in bed?" I ask, realizing that I went to sleep last on the couch.
"Yes, that loveseat is way too small to be comfortable," Ian says, sitting down on the coffee table to pull on his boots.
I nod, too many thoughts still racing through my mind to form any coherent conversation.
He stands when he's finished and approaches me. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he leans in and gently kisses my forehead.
"Good bye, Kelli. Happy New Year." He turns and leaves, shutting the door firmly behind him. That goodbye was so solemn, so final. I burst into tears, climb back in bed and throw the covers over my head, hoping my friend sleep will come and ease this pain.
******
I wake in time to take a shower and eat something before I'm supposed to be back at the pub. I rush in through the front door three minutes past six. Shit, I hate being late! Of course no one notices or cares, but it irks me.
The pub's pretty quiet, but there are about twenty who are using the hair of the dog to remedy their hangovers. Among those present are Tom, Ben and Abby.
"Hey guys," I say as I make my way toward the kitchen. Sean is behind the bar.
"Hey Kel," Abby says.
"Hello, Beautiful," Tom calls out.
Sean nods at me, and Ben raises his glass.
I push my way into the kitchen and freeze. There on the table in front of me is Cindy, that slut from months ago, the one I thought Ian might be seeing. She's wearing another tiny black dress, or maybe it is the same one, but it is pushed up around her waist revealing a red lace thong. She's on the table, on MY table, and her hooker heels are clasped around Ian's ass and she's pleading with him, "Come on Baby, go down on me. I'm so horny for you. Come on Baby."
Ian's back is to me and he doesn't seem inclined to fulfill her request. He's concentrating on her fake tits, his large hand squeezing the silicone, or saline, or whatever the hell they use. Given the size and strength of his hands, I wonder if there is any chance he could pop them.
"Oh, hello," Cindy says calmly, arrogantly. I'm pulled from my thought and look at her. She looks smug and not at all embarrassed that I've walked in on them.
Ian stiffens, his shoulders pulling back, but he doesn't seem embarrassed either, and he moves slowly as he raises his head from her neck, drops his hand from her breast, and turns his head to look at me. His eyes are cold, and hard.
It doesn't take a genius to figure out what's going on. If I had walked in on this little scene two months ago, it might have had the effect he was going for. Now, well, I'm past jealousy. I love Ian and Ian loves me. He doesn't want Cindy. If he was going to give himself to anyone, in any meaningful way, he'd choose me. I know that. Jealousy isn't an issue.
But I can't help putting that bitch in her place.
"Kinda sad that you have to beg him to lick you, don't you think?" I say as I walk over and clock in. After storing my purse, I grab an apron, heading back out to the bar. "I have the opposite problem. I can't get him to stop making me come."
I push open the door as she mutters, "What a fucking bitch!" I smile, but it is a hollow victory. No longer in the moment, my heart clenches and tears fill my eyes. Even though I know he was doing it to send me a message, it's never easy to see the man you love wrapped up in another woman's legs. Especially that horrible woman. Although, in some sense, I suppose that made it easier. Had he chosen a nice girl, a sweet girl, I might have felt threatened or possibly jealous. By choosing Cindy, he assured me that he wasn't serious about another woman, just serious about us not being together.
On that front, this little tableau he created for me was superfluous. I have a good enough understanding of Ian's pain to know that he and I cannot be together without some major work; something he's clearly not interested in doing.
Needing some air, I head out to the patio on the premise of bussing the tables. It is quiet out there, one person smoking, looking at his phone. When I come out he looks up and says hi, but goes right back to his phone. The tables are clean, so I stand in the far corner, facing out toward the street and try to get myself back together.
When I return inside, Ian is behind the bar and Cindy is at a table with a couple of her friends, looking pissed. Ian catches my eye and holds my gaze for a moment. His look tells me he's sorry. It tells me he knows it was a lame attempt at making a point. And it tells me that his decision is final. There will never be an ‘us'.
Chapter 10: Happy 30th to You
I'm numb. I go through the motions, but I don't feel anything. I go to work, I see Ian, I act normally. I smile and flirt and to everyone else, nothing seems amiss. But inside, inside I force myself to be numb.
I came to California to start my life over. Did I hope a guy would enter the picture, yes, of course I did. I am 32 years old after all. Yet I also thought I'd do some soul searching and figure out the perfect job to make me feel intellectually stimulated and socially responsible. I'd make new friends and expand my worldview through their experiences. Then, after those things were established, I'd stumble upon the man of my dreams.
And he wouldn't be broken. I didn't realize I should have included that little detail in my daydreams. On the checklist: tall, well-built, smart, funny, not broken.
The pain of Ian's rejection is more than I can handle right now. I'm too disappointed in how I've handled this move that if I let myself feel that pain, I'd break. I know I would. So I don't acknowledge it. I push it down and I focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
I drink more than I'd like, but I use the excuse that I work in a bar to mask the true reason.
Of course, the job search is slow. Finding a new job is never easy, and it is made more complicated by the fact that I'm trying to get a job in a new field. I begin to wonder whether or not I should give up and take a job at one of the universities. But that seems like admitting defeat and I can't bring myself to do it. This move has already cost me my heart, I'll be damned if it costs me my idealism too. I'm going to make a difference in this world through my profession. I will, dammit!
******
It's eight o'clock on Sunday night and the place is dead. On shift are me, Ian, and Pappy, that's it. Across the bar are Ben, Jaye, Tom and Wilson.
"Kelli, have a shot with me!" Jaye says.
"Sure thing," I reply eagerly.
Clearly not expecting that as my answer, Jaye shares confused looks with Ben and Wilson. "What?" I ask. "I've decided that I need to drink more. Consider it on the job training. What shall we shoot? Or maybe, let's not take a shot, but have something we need to sip. Pick a good sipping whiskey, Jaye. It's dead in here, I've got time."
I'm alone behind the bar at the moment. Pappy's making stew and Ian's bussing the tables. He's currently out on the patio.
"Alright then, Redbreast it is!" Jaye says excitedly.
I pour the drinks and stand in front of Jaye to take my first sip. "Here goes," I say and drink. It tastes horrible, and I want to gasp and clutch my throat, but I remain calm and act as if I'm sampling a fine wine instead of this hell water.
Ben is watching me closely, judging my reaction. Still trying to gain a few brownie points with him, although why I can't honestly say, I nod my head and say, "Hmmm, excellent."
He eyes me skeptically for another couple seconds before smiling and raising his glass in salute to me. Score!
I take another sip, turning my back to hide my reaction, but I am enjoying the warmth that's spreading up from my belly.
Pappy comes out with two bowls of stew. "Who's hungry?"
Jaye and Wilson raise their hands and Pappy sets the stew in front of them.
"Hey Pappy," Wilson says after a bite, "what are you going to do for Ian's birthday? He's turning 30, right?"
My head whips around to Pappy, "Ian's birthday is soon?"
Pappy nods. "'Tis on Saturday," he says to me before looking at Wilson. "Ye know how he is, there isn't much I can do. I've got Hal, Tracey and Sean workin', so at least he can have the day off."
"Knowing him, he'll probably show up here anyway," Jaye says.
"I think we should get him a cake. One of those big fake ones with a stripper popping out of the top!" Tom says.
"Tom!" I say and flick a rag at him.
"What? You can try and deny it, but every man fantasizes about fucking a girl who pops out of a cake," Tom retorts.