We wander through downtown, the city bustling around us. It’s nice to be out amongst it all. I’m grateful for so many things these days. Maybe that’s the main difference between old me and new me. New me knows what it’s like to lose your independence. New me has been through some shit.
A few blocks away from the water we turn into a brightly painted bar in an old building. The booths have scarred old wooden tables and teal leather bench seats. It’s cool. Behind the bar, a tattooed woman with a braid of gray hair hollers hello to Leif and he blows her a kiss. Obviously he’s a regular. We grab a booth near the back.
“What do you suggest?” I ask, checking out the menu.
Head cocked, he asks, “May I be so bold as to order for both of us?”
“Go ahead.”
“Any allergies or strong dislikes?”
“I don’t like pickles.”
“You don’t like pickles? Weirdo.” He turns in his seat, waving a hand at a passing waiter. “Two of my regular, please, Andi. And may I say you’re looking particularly radiant today.”
The lady smiles. “Why thank you, Leif.”
“What do you have on your burger if you don’t have pickles?” Leif asks, making himself comfortable. Which apparently means reorganizing the salt and pepper shakers, straightening the cutlery, and smoothing down the white paper napkin. The man is a fiddler.
“Meat, cheese, ketchup,” I say. “The normal things.”
“But pickles are a normal thing.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Pickles are a normal thing to take off hamburgers, not put on them.”
“Huh.”
“What are your allergies and strong dislikes?”
“Mint,” he says. “I hate that shit.”
“You don’t eat Mint Oreos? That’s so sad. How about mint chip ice cream?”
“Yuck.”
“What are you even doing with your life, Leif?”
“Living it happily mint free, is what I’m doing.”
“We both hate green food items,” I say. “Interesting.”
“It’s like we were always meant to be together.” He gives me a wink to show he’s joking. “What’s your stance on Kermit the Frog, though?”
“He seems like a cool dude. I mean, he plays the banjo. That’s pretty great.”
“It is indeed. So it’s not the color green, just certain foodstuffs. Okay. I can live with that,” he says. “How are you taking to the single life?”
“I haven’t been single in so long.” My shoulders slump. “Oh, God, I’m going to have to register for a dating app. I’m actually going to have to go out and meet new people. That’s so depressing and scary.”
“No,” he drawls. “To the contrary. It’s an exciting new adventure in the life of Anna.”
“Are you saying that to try and make me feel better or just pointing out my general negativity and shitty attitude?”
He grins.
Two ridiculously large and ornate beverages are placed in from of us. I’d guesstimate them to be about a quarter of a gallon of Bloody Mary cocktail topped off with an entire and intact lobster roll balancing on top of the glass.
I stare in wonder. Or horror.
“Aren’t they magnificent?” asks Leif, clearly in awe of our lunch.
“This is your usual?”
“Every Saturday without fail. It’s how I celebrate the upcoming weekend since I get Sunday and Monday off.” His smile is beatific, there is no other word. The man is clearly experiencing his version of nirvana in this battered old booth. “Normally I’m here on my own. Sometimes Ed joins in. His wife Clem now and then too. But she just has the fried oyster bun and a beer, the coward.”
“How do I even . . . what do I do with this?”
Leif laughs. He does that a lot.
Andi returns with a couple of plates and, thank God, the dismantling process can begin. I carefully remove the skewers holding the lobster roll in place and put it on a plate. The wedge of lemon comes down too. I stir up the mixture with the celery stick and skewered olives. Never has a beverage been garnished to such a degree. Now I can actually reach the edge of the glass to take a gulp. And promptly cough a lung up. That’s a lot of vodka. No small amount of cracked pepper in there either.
“Too much Tabasco sauce?” asks Leif, reaching to pat me gently on the back.
“Is that what’s in it?”
“You never had a Bloody Mary before?”
“No.”
He puts a hand to his heart. “Aw. I’m proud to be bringing you this new and wonderful experience.”
“This is hands down the strangest lunch I’ve ever eaten. Drunk. Whatever.”
“Well, you have seven months of living to make up for,” he says. “And I am here to help.”
I honestly don’t know when the last time I laughed was. But I’m laughing now. “You said the conversation regarding you and relationships required alcohol. Seems we’ve met that requirement. Go for it.”
The smile swiftly disappears from his face. “I dated the woman who tried to kill my sister-in-law.”
I have nothing.
“She was the receptionist at the tattoo shop. Obsessed with Ed. So she tried to kill Clem to get her out of the way. Tried twice, actually. The first time she hit her over the head with a bottle and gave her amnesia. The second time she stabbed her. Clem’s lucky to be alive.” His fingers beat out a frantic beat against the table. “I was staying with them and she . . . ah . . . she used me to get close to them.”
Oh no. “Leif.”
“This was about a year ago,” he reports, matter-of-factly. “Live and learn, huh?”
I cover his hand with mine. I’m not really a touchy-feely person, but this is important.
“Yeah. So I have terrible taste in women. It’s why I don’t date anymore.”
“Hey,” I say. “You couldn’t have known.”
“I was sleeping with her, Anna. Of course I should have known.”
“Because you’re a trained psychologist with years of experience sufficient to recognize a psychopath, right?” I give his fingers a squeeze. “Leif, people like that are genius at manipulating and hiding who they are. What they are. They have to be to survive.”
He slips his hand out from beneath mine, his gaze dropping to the floor.
“Does Clem blame you?” I ask.
“She’s way too nice for that.”
“How about your brother?”
“No.”
“Just you then.”
“Yes.” His tone is hard. But at least he’s looking at me again.
“I’m so angry that she used you and hurt you.”
He grunts dismissively. As if his pain meant nothing.
“Sounds like we’ve both been screwed over,” I say. “So let’s both be sensible, rational adults and keep the blame where it belongs, on the people who did the wrong damn thing. Because anything else is pure lunacy.”
His lips flatline in displeasure.
I take another sip of the Bloody Mary. “Oh God, this is like gazpacho gone wrong.”
Leif gives me a look.