I’ve just finished stocking the bar when Sara walks in. In the almost three weeks she’s been here, she’s always been perfectly groomed. But today, her hair’s in a messy bun instead of the sleek one I’m used to. Her shirt is untucked and her pants are wrinkled. It’s her red, puffy eyes that give me the most concern, though.
“Hey, honey. You okay?” I ask as she clocks in.
“I’m good. How are you?” She steps around the corner and I follow her. She shoves her shirttails into her pants and ties her black apron on.
“I’m well.” I watch as she smooths her hair back and uses a couple bobby pins to secure it.
“Sorry. I took a nap this afternoon and it was hard to get back going.”
“Been there.” I try to comfort her frazzled state with my smile.
She rushes to the bar and takes in the occupied tables the way she always does. I study her, noting her energy is off.
She’s like the canister of a vacuum cleaner. Her strong exterior contains the chaos on the inside. She appears orderly, her emotions spinning in one direction, no one the wiser to just how gross she feels inside. The problem with that is, eventually she’ll be full to the brim. And when that happens, all the messy feelings will spew out and go all over the place.
It’s better to empty yourself after every shitty thing that happens, that way it doesn’t fester. And I’m really worried she’s got something festering.
I don’t know nearly enough about the situation to feel like I can intervene, and I don’t want to get my head bitten off by an angry Archer again, so I decide to get to know my employee for a while before leaving for the club.
I allow her to go about her business, flittering from table to table, taking perfect care of my guests. But when everyone is taken care of, I grill her.
“You and Archer are close, huh?”
“Yeah.” A soft smile crosses her feminine lips. “Our childhood was horrible. My mom wasn’t one to be tied down, so she’d take off whenever she met some handsome man who promised her the world. It would make my dad sad. Then, he’d lose his job and take up drinking. A few months would pass, money would get tight, but Dad wouldn’t leave his recliner to take care of us.”
“Then what would happen?” I ask.
A table catches her eye and she leaves to take the order, but gets right back into the story when she returns.
“My mom would come back, beg my dad to take her back in. Which he would, of course. Things would get better for a few weeks. My dad would get a job. My mom would pretend to be Suzy Homemaker.” She pauses, counting her pour of wine. It’s her first bartending job, so everything she does is by the book. “And it would start all over again. My mom would start hanging out at the bar until she met some other guy and so on and so forth.”
“I can’t imagine having such instability growing up.”
Sara disappears for a minute to deliver wine, then comes back and presses some buttons to add the drinks to the customer’s bill. “It was hard, but also it wasn’t. I had Archer. He took such good care of me. He made sure I got on the bus in the morning, he made sure I had food.” She chuckles. “He even learned how to braid my hair so the kids at school wouldn’t make fun of me.”
“Really?” I laugh too because I can’t imagine it.
“He wasn’t very good at it in the beginning, but after a few months, he’d even taught himself to French braid.”
“You realize I’m going to give him a hard time about this, right?”
“I’m counting on it.” She winks.
“Will you be good without me for the rest of the night?” I ask.
She waves me off and gets back to work. She seems to have everything under control, so I head next door.
I sink into my chair behind my desk at Blur. I try to lose myself in paperwork, but my new, sad sibling friends keep popping into my mind. I bring my phone to life and shoot a text to Archer.
Me: How’s babysitting going?
Archer: These kids are insanely busy. All the time.
Me: I don’t even have enough energy to own a cat, so kids are out of my wheelhouse.
Archer: Don’t recommend them. Messy. Loud. Exhausting.
Me: You sure you don’t want to come to my house tomorrow so you can get a break?
I ran to the store before work and picked up a lovely brioche to make French toast, some fresh fruit, nuts, and vegan cheese. I plan on making a charcuterie board so we can snack all morning and afternoon tomorrow. I don’t know if kids are into that, so I also grabbed donuts.
Archer: I’d actually love that. Let me check in with Sara after she wakes up. If she’s not too wiped out from working tonight, then I’ll take you up on that.
Me: Okay, talk to you in the morning.
Later that night, as I lie in bed, I rethink about all the new information I’ve collected. I picture a little girl who looks like Emmy and a little boy who looks like Lou trying to fend for themselves. It’s such a depressing image.
My parents weren’t the most enthusiastic. They were older when they had me and didn’t know quite what to do with all my enthusiasm and charm, but they were always there for me. When I came out to them in high school, they were worried for my safety, but they were supportive.
I got backlash from some of my friends, and being a small town, not everyone understood, but I knew my home was a safe place. My parents were retired by the time I was a teenager, so they were always there. Mom crocheting and discreetly reading romance novels, while Dad tinkered around in the yard, complaining about how the salty air was ruining his fence. I swear he replaced every slat on that fence once a year. They were good people and they gave me a good life. They didn’t spend their inheritance from my grandparents, and they had quite a few savings of their own, so even in their death, they took care of me.
I can’t imagine growing up in a home where the most responsible person is an eight-year-old. It makes me understand Archer more. He’s so protective and so hesitant to admit something bigger is going on with Sara. If she’s having a hard time, I’m sure he will think it means he failed.
This is too heavy for late night thinking. I get out of bed and pad to the bathroom. A hot bath will help me relax. I slap on a face mask and fill my claw-foot tub, sprinkling salts and oil into the water. I grab the tray that clips to the edge of the tub and grab my iPad. If there’s one thing I picked up from Mom, it was her love of dirty romance novels, but I doubt hers were of the gay variety. I flip through my e-books until I come across the new gay romance I picked up. Then I settle into the water and begin reading.
A few pages in, I’m obsessed with the plot. It’s a cowboy romance about a ranch hand and cowboy. The ranch hand knows he’s attracted to the cowboy, but doesn’t understand why. He’s always been with women, even though he was never truly into it.
Oh, sweet ranch hand. That cowboy will figure you right out.
In my head, I picture my own face on the young ranch hand, and of course, it’s Archer playing the role of the big, strong cowboy in ripped Levis and boots. It only takes a few chapters for the ranch hand and cowboy to be alone in a barn. The cowboy steps behind the ranch hand, close enough they almost touch.
My dick hardens under the water. My imagination has gone wild and I’m completely lost in the fantasy. It’s ridiculous. I’ve never even stepped foot in a barn personally, but in my mind, Archer and I are there and he’s going to do all sorts of dirty things to me.