Flock

SEAN GUIDES ME INTO THE dark bar by the hand, our bellies full after feasting on fajitas, our collective pockets lighter after tipping Selma profusely. Uneasy, I fidget behind him as I take in our new surroundings—neon lights of every color line the walls, the floor littered with overused cocktail tables. The only thing that looks new is a jukebox sitting in the far corner. The bar has the shape of a shoebox and smells a lot like a soured dish rag.

“’Sup, Eddie?” Sean greets the man behind the bar. Eddie looks to be in his early thirties and rough around his every edge. His eyes are the color of midnight and his size is intimidating to say the least. I can’t help but note the presence of a familiar tattoo on Eddie’s arm as he drapes a soiled towel over his shoulder.

“Hey, man,” he replies, eyeing me over Sean’s solid frame. “I can see what you’ve been up to.”

Sean gives him a lopsided grin. “This is Cecelia.”

I give him a little wave behind Sean’s bicep. “Hi.”

“What are you drinking?”

I grip Sean’s arm, hesitant. He knows I’m not of age. He runs his thumb over the back of my hand.

He’s got this.

Of course, he does.

“I’ll take a beer.” He turns to me. “You?”

“Jack and Coke.”

I damned near giggle when Sean’s brow lifts. I lean in. “I’ve always wanted to order one. The alternative is a martini, and I don’t think Eddie would make one of those.”

He grins. “You thought right.”

Sean pays for our drinks and leads us to a table on the far side of the bar closest to the jukebox. He pulls out the leftover stash of quarters from our laundry run and hands them to me. “Choose wisely, or Eddie will throw us out on our asses.”

I take the money and make a few selections before joining Sean at the table. He lifts my drink to me, and I thank him before taking a huge sip. My eyes widen as the whiskey latches to the back of my throat and I start to choke. Sean winces and turns back to Eddie, who raises a skeptical eyebrow.

Even with the burn threatening imminent death, I know I need to play this underage drinking thing off a lot better. With watering eyes, I clear my throat as Sean chuckles.

“First time drinking the hard stuff?”

“Piece of cake,” I say, as the warm liquid starts to filter through my veins.

He shakes his head, a rueful smile on his lips. “Where exactly did you grow up again? I’m thinking there’s a ville on the end of it.”

“Shut up. And you’re calling me small town? There’s like four stoplights in this one.”

“Twelve.”

“I told you I didn’t party much in school.”

“Or ever,” he jests.

“I just…” I sigh.

“Just what?”

“Well, my mom was a mess and lush enough for both of us. One of us had to be the grown-up.”

Sean’s hazels soften and I decide they’re far more green than brown. “Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t trade her for the world. She was a lot of fun.”

“Was?”

“Yeah. I learned how to drive when I was eight.”

He leans forward. “Come again?”

“That’s right. I had mad skills,” I boast, braving another drink of my whiskey with a splash of flat Coke.

“Sure you did.”

“We didn’t have a lot of money, so we made do. My mom was creative. She always found a way to make that extra twenty dollars a week work. One su

Sean leans back in his seat, his beer halfway to his mouth. “I love that.”

“She had this way about her, a way I’m envious of sometimes. She could make something out of nothing, made ordinary days spectacular.” I study Sean as he nods. “You remind me of her in that way.”

He winks. “It’s all about the company we keep.”

“Don’t credit me for being the fun one. We both know I’m not. I’m a ‘stay-in-the-lines’ kind of girl and you’re, well, you’re the red crayon.”

He kicks back and shrugs. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Nothing wrong with being responsible and taking care of the people you love.”

“It’s insanely boring,” I take another swig of my drink. “My friend Christy saved me from being a total introvert.” I dart my eyes down. “I’ve never wanted to be the center of attention, you know? But I always envied those people who could make ordinary days, extraordinary. Like you, and Christy, and my mom.”

“You have it in you.”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t. I’m just meant to be a fan of those who do. Anyway, what about your parents? Tell me about the restaurant.”

“I’ll do one better; I’ll take you there sometime soon. I want them to meet you.”

“I’d love that.”

“They’re my idols—both of them. Good people with strong opinions, big hearts, all about family and loyalty, married for over thirty years. They work side by side every single day. They live out in the open, fight out in the open, and make up out in the open.”

“They love each other out in the open, huh? Maybe that’s why you’re so openly affectionate with me?”

“Probably.”

“Well, those are good idols to have,” I drawl, my fourth mouthful of drink going down a lot smoother. “This isn’t so bad. Maybe I’m a whiskey girl.”

“Easy, killer.” He peels at his beer label. “You don’t talk much about your dad.”

“That’s because I have no idea who the man is. I really have no clue why he wants me to be in his life at all. Appearances are deceiving. I may be here, but he’s not. Half of the weeks I’ve been here, he stays in Charlotte. After nineteen years, he’s still a mystery to me. An iceberg. It’s pretty bad when you can’t see any humanity in the man responsible for half your created life. When I got here—and although I was pissed about it—I tried to keep an open mind, but it’s proven pointless. If I had to choose one word to describe him and our relationship, it would be evasive.”

He nods and takes another sip of his beer.

“And your mother?”

“Absent,” I say softly, shaking off the threatening emotion and muster up a smile. “Painfully so, as of the last six months.”

He turns my hand over on the table and runs the pads of his fingers on the inside of my palm. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s life. I’m all grown up now. Mom did her job. Dad at least helped pay some of the bills. I really have no reason to complain.” But it’s hurt that seeps into me as I recall a time where I felt like my mother’s priority.

“I miss her,” I admit as I pull my hand away and shake my head. “They say she was born in a directionless generation. I honestly have to agree with that assessment. For years, she lived this big abundant life, always looking for more, wanting more and never really carrying any of her grand plans out. I admired her so much, and something—something—must have happened along the way. I still can’t figure it out. It’s like she forgot who she was and just…gave up.”

“She’s what, in her early or mid-forties?” Sean asks.

I nod. “She had me when she was my age. I guess you could say we grew up together.”

He shrugs. “So, she’s close to halftime. She’s probably trying to figure out how she wants to live out the second half.”