“You wanted to leave this bar? That’s ironic. Since, you know, you never leave this bar. Ever.”
Dad laughs, a deep, scratchy sound that comes from low in his throat. “I didn’t just want to leave. I left. I left to take a job selling cars.”
“Selling cars?”
I almost spit my drink on my shirt. My dad can talk to a drunk guy until the dude’s weeping on the bar. He’s got a gift like that. But trying to bamboozle someone into driving off in some lemon? It’s so not my dad’s bag. At all.
“I just wanted something different, I guess. I couldn’t come to terms with the fact that the bar was in my blood.”
He shrugs his massive shoulders. The shoulders I expected to be weighted down with worry.
“What changed your mind?” I ask, curious to know more about this secret side of my father I never even realized existed.
“Your mother.” He looks over at Mila, one hip balanced on the pool table, my brother racking up the balls. “She was so passionate about you kids and keeping a home. It made me realize that you don’t have to run away, you know, to find what’s good for you. Not always. So I came back to my home and started our life, here, together.”
I close my eyes for a long second and try to imagine this bar the way Mila and my father see it; as a place exploding with energy and happiness and goodness. Not some falling down shack that needs major repairs to every single, solitary corner.
“And you’re happy?” I make sure.
He claps a big hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, I am. And I know I acted like an ass about your grandfather’s money. When I thought you and that Tyler idiot were really pulling through together, I wanted to rip your head off your shoulders. But you got rid of that dead weight, and the bar is doing well. Money is just money, we all have to make our own choices about what to do with ours, and the rest...” Dad pauses. Getting all sappy isn’t his thing. “Well, I noticed your place got a write up in the Herald.”
“You saw that article?”
It was a write up in Boston’s paper that proclaimed us the “best place for an old-fashioned drink mixed properly with good atmosphere that will improve as a stable base crowd finds its niche within the simple walls.” My favorite write-up of the seven that chose to feature us. It made me proud to know Dad read it.
“Of course. And I’m glad. I really am, son. Putting your love and heart into a bar is a commitment that’s gonna last a lifetime. Gonna satisfy you for a lifetime.” He nods to Mila, who’s turned the tables on Henry and is showing him how to shoot properly.
I can practically see my brother’s blush from here.
“You like that girl.” It’s not a question the way my dad says it. “Here’s my advice, son. Stop worrying about other guys who are better and fuckups from your past. Because there are better guys and you have been a huge fuckup. But you deserve that girl more than anyone else, because you understand a true vintage. You know how rare it is, among all there is to choose from, to find something so delicate and sweet, but also fulfilling and robust. She’s the champagne son, and you’ll be able to celebrate with her for the rest of your life. You need that. You really do.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I say, holding my glass to his.
“Cheers.” He clinks and we swallow the last sweet, hot rush of a memory-bonded drink. He grabs my mug and says, “Tell Henry he’s on glass stocking duty. That little shit think he’s fooling anyone showing up twenty minutes after you actually need him every single time? Plus that, he’s trying hard to reel in your woman, and that’s one fish too big for that boy’s line.” He shakes his head, laughing appreciatively. “Man oh man, it’s nice to watch the boy try his heart out.”
My dad and I take a moment to enjoy the sight of Mila mercilessly schooling Henry, and then I stride off to her, my dad’s words solidifying my resolve.
“Dickhead, Dad needs you to do some actual work, so get back there and help. Not that your karaoke didn’t gladden all our hearts while we were busting our asses while we were in the weeds tonight.”
I smile at his scowl, then scowl myself when he