A Toast to the Good Times - By Liz Reinhardt Page 0,35
your dad was our saving grace for a long time. He kept us afloat so I could make sure I could be at all of her doctors’ appointments, your mama sent over meals for us to enjoy together so I didn’t have to take time away from Karen to cook. And even when we knew she wasn’t going to make it, your parents made sure that we had the best last months of her life together we could have asked for.”
His voice hitches and his fingers go tight around his glass.
I have no words.
Rusty sniffles hard and wipes a quick, impatient hand over his eyes, before he clears his throat and holds his glass up to me.
“So, before you go swearing off family and writing off your dad because he doesn’t have the best looking bar stools, you ask yourself what’s really important in life. And that’s the end of this sad old drunk’s lecture. To friends who always have your back, even when you’re lying in the mud and don’t expect to ever get the hell back up. Cheers.”
I tap my glass to his and shoot the last fiery gulp of my drink while he swallows the sticky sweet remains of his.
I’m thinking of Rusty and Karen, who used to sit by him in the bar some Friday nights when he stopped in to have a drink before they went on a date. How she looked at that old bastard like the world revolved around his drunken ass, how she laughed at his lame jokes, and how they were always just decent and cool to each other, like two friends who also happened to be crazy in love.
I tighten my hand on my glass and hold a blink for a few long seconds to help wrap my head around a loss that jarringly sweet and sad.
Mila’s face flashes in front of my eyes.
Then the red dress.
And the kiss.
What the fuck? Where did that all come from?
“Rusty—”
He waves off my words before I can even form them in my own head. I don’t argue, because I don’t know what to say. I came here to drink away feeling like the world’s biggest prick, and this... I don’t even know how to process all of this.
My dad almost let his business go under to throw a lifeline to a friend. And, in my mind-blowing selfishness, I walked away and left him struggling.
All of them struggling.
I never even bothered to ask about them. I never took the time to know what the hell was going on.
“I think I should go.” My head is spinning, and this time I doubt it has much to do with the series of drinks I just tossed into my near-empty guts, not that they helped. I pull out my wallet and toss a twenty onto the bar top. “It’s on me.”
When Rusty nods in thanks, I can tell his eyes are watering.
I pause before pulling my hood over my head in preparation for the freezing walk home.
“You have plans tomorrow, Rust?”
“This is it.” He gestures to the sad, falling-down bar, and, though I didn’t think it was possible for this place to get any more depressing, Rusty’s taken it to a whole new level.
“You want to swing by the house and have dinner with me and the family later on? We always eat around six.”
He nods slowly, looking into that glass like it might bring back a little of the woman he’s missing so hard, it’s breaking him apart.
“I’ll think about it. Thanks, Landry.”
When I push through the door and the blustery wind hits me, it freezes the tears I’ve been fighting and stops them from falling. And I get why Rusty is in there drinking his wife’s favorite frou-frou drink.
What I don’t get is why didn’t Dad tell me all of this? Or Mom? How did they let me go on not fully understanding what was important?
I blink hard against the roaring wind that’s picking up, probably preparing to dump a blizzard load of snow on our heads.
And then Mila’s in front of me again.
Except this time, the red dress is replaced by a thick red jacket and furry boots.
And this time, she’s really here.
Chapter 10
“Hi. Um, so you were here after all. Your mom said you’d probably be here—”
“You talked to my mom?” I watch the look of horror break over her face.
“Wow. Yes. I mean, I know...what this must sound like. Look like. Like some twisted version of Single White Female. Or Fatal Attraction.