Happy Hour

Andy chased his drink with one nimble lime squeeze, fighting the urge to cringe. Cracking in public after his first shot would have left him glowering in self-disgrace. A seed fought its way past the crevices of flattening pulp, but was caught between his clenching teeth. That was close.

Kristine could sense that's how it happened, anyway.

She watched her boyfriend set the glass down and take the seed from his mouth with a napkin between his thumb and forefinger. His eyes crunched up in a smile, he rubbed his nose and let out a long exhale. Kristine could see that he’d stopped tapping his foot against the table leg. He’d always tell her to relax when she’d tell him she was beginning to feel queasy and anxious. She didn’t think he’d noticed the way he traced people’s faces for hostility, for insincerity, for anything that’d possibly incriminate him, or that he could incriminate with. She wondered where he’d picked that up.

Kristine felt calm now too. Her first drink was settling in the warm nest of an empty stomach. What was it that was bothering her before? She glanced at the small candle at the center of the table. Her tense composure simmered to a stagnant, rewarding ember.

She could see the candle wax pooling in the center, like a white porcelain hot tub. She felt an urge to dip her cold finger in.

Warmth was mounting from the small pub; yellow lamps resembled the small candles on the tables, checkered cloth draped the wooden tables, and forest green cushions complemented the seats.

Kristine couldn’t help but shiver. She turned to the window beside their table. The clouds were a very dark silver. She had forgotten the ill-mannered animosity, like a defenseless animal’s flight instinct, that had creeped at the back of her thoughts just a minute ago. It must’ve been the cold.

“Did you like the drink?” Andy asked.

She turned to him, nodding, about to say something, but then she glanced behind him. The man in the green jacket caught her eye again. Oh.

She remembered now.

When Kristine had walked into the pub with Andy at her side, the man had been staring at her from a corner at the end of the bar. She didn't get a good look at his eyes. She’d only notice a strange glimmer, like a reflector. They reminded her of a lighthouse, scorching light to sea. It made her want to drown.

“They’re here.” Andy whispered.

Kristine turned back toward where the hostess was, walking her parents, Martha and Dan, towards their spot in the back of the restaurant.

---

I could sense an opportunity, glancing at the young woman. I looked down at my green jacket, it reminded me of a forest. Maple trees sense low temperatures during spring. This is when they ooze out their sap, I’d remembered reading that somewhere. This opportunity, given that I’d too, relish in sweetness as the trees, would come to me with grace. I could sense a different temperature here, too.

The older man chose the chair across from the younger one, Andy, was his name. I’d heard the young woman say that earlier. The mother clutched her purse in her hands for a few seconds before letting it flop on the table in front of her daughter.

The older man landed on his chair like a gavel in a courthouse. He seemed to disprove of the arm rests. He shifted his weight with one leg stretched out, while the other bent at the knee. He tried again, another position. This time, the chair made a dragging sound, like a train breaking in its tracks. He settled for letting one arm hang over the armrest and the other over the backrest. Both of his legs splayed out in front of him, taking over some of the younger man’s space.

The older woman pushed her purse to the corner of the table. She glanced at her husband, pursing her lips. His left arm, the one on the armrest, was partially on her arm rest too. She scooted her chair forward, but the man didn’t budge. She glanced up into blank space, she looked like she was searching for something. Her gaze landed on her purse again. She grabbed hold of it and placed it in her lap, her hands clasped tightly above it.

The young woman turned to look at me again, just for a second. I got a feeling she also felt an opportunity here, but not with them. Was she afraid? Of me? I didn't think so. She didn’t seem to like them very much. I started to think she’d like me if she knew me.

They talked for a while. They drank, and finished their drinks, ordered again.

---

“I don’t like the food here much,” Martha said. She was beginning to slouch in her seat, setting her drink down.

“Your father only likes it here cause’ he can stare at the hostess’s tits”

Andy laughed.

One of the table legs was shorter than the rest. It tipped to the side with added pressure.

Dan slapped the palms of his hands on his lap, ignoring Martha. He patted the pads of his fingers on his knees, humming a low tune. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. He looked for the waiter, then looked down at his hands on his lap. His left leg did a couple of bounces. This was almost recognizable as a sign of boredom, if it weren’t for the subtle hostile undertones, like shaking ants from his leg.

He lifted his hands and placed his elbows on the table. The wobbling table leaned towards Dan. The shorter leg opposite him, lifted an inch from the ground.

Just an inch, was enough for an exigent disbalance, tipping off the entire ecosystem. The drinks followed, leaning like a weakening tower on quicksand. An icecube clinked and a drop of Martha’s drink swung out from her cup onto the table. Martha’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Dan, can you stop moving the table? Sit still for a second” She pursed her lips and crossed her arms in front of her.

“What?” Dan looked in disbelief at Kristine and Andy across the table, before turning to his wife. “I just moved it once. Just right now, I don’t keep moving the table.”

“What?” Said Martha

“You’re telling me to stop moving the table as if I’ve been doing it a lot, and I haven’t. I only did it just now, just once.” Dan half-patted, half-shoved Martha’s shoulder with his large knuckles.

“Mhhm, fine, it was a ghost then. If it wasn’t you, it was a ghost.” Martha said, unwavering, despite her words. She smiled a tight smile at her daughter across the table and widened her eyes. Her expression looked stuck, frozen, waiting for a cue to end her resistance.

Andy gestured to Dan, drink in hand, “Yeah, I think it was a ghost who looked at the hostess’s tits too”

Dan burst into a cackle.

“That’s right, huh? Damn scared me too” Dan brushed his knuckles against Martha’s shoulder again. Martha leaned away from the touch, taking a sip of her drink.

Martha glanced at Kristine, her daughter’s gaze dropped from Andy’s and had focused on the table in front of her.

“Hey hun, how’s school going?” Martha asked her.

Dan’s attention focused on his daughter, taking a sip of his beer. “What are you studying again?”

Kristine blinked away from her daze, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

“Psychology” Like I’ve told you five hundred other times before, she thought.

“When are you graduating?” asked Andy

Kristine’s eyes widened a second, she was very still. She blinked in silence.

“I told you the graduation was in a month, you asked about it last week, babe” She said, a small vertical line forming between her brows.

“No, yeah, yeah, I just forgot a sec,” Andy drank. “I’m just trying to really remember it. I wouldn’t miss it. You know I wouldn’t do that.” Andy replied, snaking an arm behind Kristine, patting her back softly.

Kristine looked up at her boyfriend, Andy’s eyes were suddenly very sullen. They searched, or fought, against any form of lingering resignation in her. Kristine blinked, turning away and shaking her head softly. The corner of her lips lifted in a tight smile. She was so silly sometimes.

“Yeah, right, I didn’t mean to sound so aggressive, sorry” She took a small sip of her drink.,“You okay?” She added.

“Of course,” Andy replied, his fingers kept at Kristine’s shoulder. He glanced at Dan, across from him. “Gotta keep 'em happy, right sir?”

Dan scoffed, “Tell me about it.” He replied, chuckling again, “Martha still doesn't budge, and we’ve been married twenty years. I just gotta get her dinner and I’m off the hook” He let out another loud laugh.

Martha rolled her eyes, her lips made a curved line, not like a smile, but a scar, pinching her cheeks at each end. She looked at Kristine, reaching out across the table to pat her daughter’s hand.

“You and I are the same, sweetheart, you got that from me” Martha continued to speak through her tight smile. Kristine focused on the darkened circles on each side of Martha’s face, at the ends of the scar-smile.

---

We are like our parent’s right? I thought this as I looked down at my dusted fingers; I brushed them against the green coat. I took another drag of my drink. That’s the way things are…right? We’re supposed to be like our parents, that makes them proud. Some of them want to carry out, no, entrust, customs; years of muscle memory to their young ones.

I looked at the back of the young woman’s head, then at her mother. Some parents have a different approach, one engulfed in nobility, the ‘I want you to be better than me’, mantra. That one’s ringing with a strange abstrusity. It sounds healthier, but heavier. Heavier, like having just beat your weightlifting record at the gym, you’re proud for just a moment. Soon enough, you gotta prove that you’ve grown stronger, so you lift another, a heavier one. That way, you know you’ve made progress.

Surely that’s a good thing. It sounds like a good thing. All things considered, if you’re not ready to lift the heavier weight, it’ll only crush your bones. A cast can fix that. What fixes a parent’s confined potential?

---

“Now where’s the waiter?” Dan broke out again.

“That’s what I was wondering.” Andy added, arm still over Kristine’s shoulder, his fingers reached past her chin and tapped on Kristine’s collarbone subconsciously. She was very close like this.

“When I was working customer service, I was always looking at the tables. I didn't take my eyes off them. I didn’t let one table slip, good service people do that. I always did.” Andy said, and looked across the room, his gaze briefly landing on Dan. The older man didn’t seem to notice, he took the final drag of his beer.

“Dad, there’s a lot of people here, they might be understaffed.” said Krstine, peering through her lashes, meeting her father’s eyes for a second.

“Shouldn’t work at a restaurant, if you can’t handle rushes.” He replied.

“Yeah, it's simple, if you can’t handle the stress, just quit.” Andy added.

Kristine felt the remains of her last drink evaporate, with it, a piece of her comfort. She was hoping to hold on to that a little longer.

“…that’s true.” Kristine trailed off, playing with a loose string in her sweater.

I turned to look at the older woman, she must be tired.

“I’m tired of waiting” Said Martha, “We should’ve gone somewhere else”.

The table was quiet for a second.

“You just like coming here ‘cause of that girl’s tits, huh?” She added, “Food isn’t even that good.”

“What girl? Relax” Said Dan, “And, the food is good, you just don’t get the right thing.” He added.

Dan glanced over his shoulder, pretending to look for the waiter and then toward the hostess. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out an exhale. He stole a glance at his wife. “Look, it’s happy hour, I just got off work... Let’s enjoy a night together,” Dan added, meeting his wife’s gaze.

Martha was silent for a second and turned away from him. She opened her lips, as if sighting, but nothing came out. She closed them again. Martha crossed one leg over the other, she bumped Kristine’s shin with her shoe, unaware. Kristine looked under the table, and then up at Martha, but her mother was searching the air again. Martha searched the air when she wanted to focus on anything else but Dan. Her pupils focused on the walls, the people around them, colors, movements, and nothing at all.

Silence rested, looming like a fog. The evening settled upon them, the windows of the restaurant had turned dark, a cold winter night was approaching outside. The corners of the glass windows turned a misty white, a sign of the cool temperature materializing.

Kristine looked through it, seeing her reflection, almost unrecognizable in the dark hues. She shivered. A warm exhale sent a circle of fog into the window from her nose; she hadn’t realized how close she was to it. Still, she couldn’t really see anything. Her face was making a strange figure on the glass, reflecting everything back but itself. It reminded her of a water drop, no, an oil drop. She was blurred, tinted. Were these windows tinted? It was difficult to make anything of herself.

She hadn’t realized her lips began to move. Lately, she’d almost always missed her lips moving, she missed her own words and what they meant.

“Who is that?” Asked Kristine, barely above a whisper.

“You really are just like your mother.” Said Dan, elbows on the table again, “Look just like her.”

“That’s what I always tell her! Spitting image, I can see where she gets her looks.” Andy added.

Martha sipped her drink again, her lips finally relaxing from the drying scar smile and instead, curled into a soft smile.

The waiter had returned at some point, with their appetizers in hand. Kristine hadn’t remembered ordering anything. She glanced at Dan who said something, the waiter replied, his words stuttering. He looked like he’d been slapped in the face. He walked away. Kristine didn’t have to know what her father said, she could feel it. He’d complained about something. The worst is, he hadn’t complained in a way that was direct and forward, not even like a complaint. It was rather, Dan’s version of transparency. Something like:

“You the only waiter here tonight?” He’d always let the silence drag.

He’d chuckle afterwards, as if playing off his words, except, there was never a punchline. This is when Dan would not want to overstep, so instead, he’d knock down the staircase, so no one could step at all, no one could walk through. He’d leave no options for the other person, but their transparency, not Dan’s transparency though, real transparency. He’d liked to strip them away from themselves. He’d speak indirectly, almost entirely like a joke. Dan thought if it didn’t sound aggressive, it simply wasn’t.

The man in the green coat took a last sip of his drink and stood. He looked at the bartender who was facing away, and picked up the crumbled dollar he’d placed on the table as a tip. He could sense she was looking at him, she’d been thinking about him too. He was excited, elevated, this was his chance. His stomach churned. Maybe he’d bloom better than a maple tree. If it wasn’t for his motivated heart, his knees would buckle. He didn’t have much strength anymore. His stomach called out to him again.

Andy and Dan exchanged a joke, or a comment. They chuckled as they began picking at the food. Martha opened her napkin and placed it on her lap before reaching for the food.

The man in the green coat left his seat at the bar, walking towards their table. He was limping. He carried three different plastic bags, different colors, swinging at his side. His coat made a sound like a giant plastic bag, inching closer, unavoidable. Each step was a journey, his shoes were muddy. His beard was unkempt, and a dusty beanie covered his outgrown hair.

Kristine could see him through the window’s reflection, she kept looking. Somehow, he was very clear to see, more clear than anything. She knew what was coming before he was even halfway across the room. She turned her head down, focusing on the wooden table. She clenched her hands into fists, and focused her gaze on her hands instead.

The man in the green coat stood right in front of their table now. At first, Andy had no reaction, he had removed his arm from Kristine’s shoulder.

Dan looked up at the man, his brow furrowed. Andy too, furrowed his brows, turning to face the man.

“What? Can I help you?” Dan asked, a little like he was unsure. Not unsure of what he said, but of how to say it. Martha glanced at her husband briefly as he cleared his throat, then at the man.

The man said nothing.

“Hey! Can you hear me dude?, I said ‘can I help you?’” Dan looked, unblinking. The man above him held his gaze, then looked down at Martha. His eyes seemed unable to be still.

The man searched her eyes, Martha pinched her purse. He turned to look at Kristine, this should work, he thought, but her eyes were nowhere in sight. Not for him.

The man could feel his throat closing, his breath hitched. He looked at the food.

“You gotta go, dude.” Dan said, louder this time. The man didn’t budge, just stared at the hot food on their plates.

Andy turned to look at Kristine, whose head was still bowed down.

Martha raised a hand “Excuse me, hello?” She called out. “Someone get a manager please, he’s bothering us!”

The entire restaurant turned to see. Countless eyes on them. Elusive whispers broke their way into the thinnest of air. Kristine never really understood that reference, thin air, until now. She couldn’t get enough in her lungs.

She could think of nothing to say or do.

The restaurant staff came out to their table, Kristine couldn’t hear what they were saying. She could briefly hear her parents' voices, Andy chimed in too. She had focused on the skin around her thumbnails. It was strangely itchy, she began to pick at it, her index fingers taking turns running up both sides of her thumbs.

She remembered the way she’d sit in her mother’s lap when she was younger. Kristine must’ve been around six or seven. She’d remember her mother’s own fingers intertwined with each other, except for her thumbs. Her thumbs moved in small circles around each other. Kristine had tried to imitate her mother, but her fingers were pudgy. She couldn’t move them fast enough like her mother’s. She remembers her mother’s perfume, infused in her coat, Kristine wanted to smell like her mother. She remembers her father’s voice somewhere in the background of that memory, or was that now? Her father’s voice was always present, adjacent to her comfort, a child’s comfort and safety. It was like a low motor, on standby. Now, it sounded like a freight train. It was alarming, warning at the train tracks, but she was tied to them and couldn't move. Those thoughts were very hard to separate now.

Instead, Kristine let out hot air through her nose. Strange, how her body was still warm, yet, she felt like ice hugged at her fingers.

She could see from the corner of her eye, the man in the green coat was being escorted out of the restaurant. Occasionally, he’d bump into another table and knock someone’s drink down, or accidentally push a chair with his heavy, leaning step and plastic bags.

Kristine turned to the window again. The man in the green coat walked, or limped, across the street. He looked like a walking boulder, rounded and dragging each step. She saw him sit by a staircase leading to an empty building. He sat against a dark wall. An ‘out of business’ sign stood over the darkened window above the staircase. She saw him rummage through one of the plastic bags.

Another man walked around the corner and stepped beside him. The man standing looked like he was saying something. After a minute or so, they sat together, side by side.

Kristine was almost positive she could see the glimmer of a smile on both their faces. It was hard to tell, but there is a very distinct way in which a person’s lids crunch up on the sides when they smile. The way their eyes drooped made people look like they were drunk.

Kristine remembered hearing somewhere that the leaders in some early civilizations would have a drink with each other before deciding on tense diplomatic or political affairs. Some people, during these times, even considered maliciousness in denying a drink. They’d do this as a form of icebreaker, with enough time to sober up before coming up with a decision. They’d believed to be more transparent this way, stripped of hostility. She’d been noticing that lately on strangers. People looked like children when they really smiled, and when they drank. She wondered if people had happy hours back then, did they need them?

Kristine could hear her parents laughing, she felt Andy’s arm find its way around her shoulders again. It began to feel very heavy.