Speakeasy (True North #5)(28)
She smiles. “Oh, goody. Birth control is my favorite part of the job. Have you ever taken birth control pills?”
“Yes—in college. But not for the last five years. I wasn’t very good at remembering to take them.”
“What about an IUD?” she asks. “They’re effective for at least five years, and basically foolproof. We’re seeing a lot of young women choose them, especially now that the future of their health insurance seems a little unstable.”
Hmm. “Tell me more,” I say.
Chapter Nine
Alec: Did you hear the one about the dyslexic?
May: Hi Alec.
Alec: Hello! Just checking in. You doing okay?
May: Still embarrassed.
Alec: It wasn’t that hard of a slap. I didn’t see your handprint on her mean little face.
May: Not about that!
Alec: :) I don’t have any idea what you should be embarrassed about. I’m not.
May: Good to know.
Alec: Do you want to hear a bad joke about a bar now?
May: Sure
Alec: A dyslexic walked into a bra. (That’s the whole joke.) May: I like that one. Short and sweet. Also, I like bras. And everything inside them.
Alec: **Waits for more descriptive details.**
May: Perv.
Alec: Hold out.
May: Why are you texting me?
Alec: Just to see if you’re still talking to me.
May: But we weren’t chummy before.
Alec: That seems like a mistake.
May: You’re looking for a repeat.
Alec: Not opposed to that idea. But I promise that even if we didn’t recently have spontaneously combustible truck sex, I’d still be texting you right now with my bad jokes.
May: Why?
Alec: A) Everyone else has already heard them. B) I think you’re fun.
May: That is nice of you to say.
Alec: I’m not just being nice. If you ever want to hang out and talk and drink mocktails, you know where to find me. I won’t even try to get you naked.
May: You are a good man.
Alec: Not really. I’d still be thinking about getting you naked. But I wouldn’t expect it.
May: You caught me at a really wild moment. I never do that.
Alec: I know. Doesn’t make it wrong, though.
May: Okay. True.
Alec: Goodnight May. Prepare to get more jokes soon.
May: Funny ones?
Alec: Probably not. ;)
Chapter Ten
Alec
Even if the evening I spent with May was one of the best nights in history, the rest of my week is a drag. I’m behind the bar every night for the next five nights. Usually I get Tuesdays off, but Smitty doesn’t show up for his shift at all that night. I suppose everyone fucks up once in a while.
By Saturday morning I’m beat. Even so, I buy two of my sister’s lemon-poppy muffins and drive to the hospital in Montpelier. Turns out that Hamish had a heart attack and called 911 by himself. It probably was his ambulance that I spotted from my parking lot.
“You are the son I never had!” he says, peering into the bag.
“You have a son,” I point out.
“Not one that brings me muffins.” Hamish beams at me. “Now if only you could spring me from this jail.”
“What are you in for? How long is your sentence?” He looks thin, but then again he always looks thin.
The elderly carpenter scowls. “They say I gotta have surgery. On my ticker.”
“That’s no fun. When?”
“Monday. Then it takes a few weeks to recover. Might have to stay with Tad.” He makes a face at this idea. He and his son don’t get along. Hamish is an old hippie, and Tad is an uptight wanker as far as I can tell.
On those few occasions when he came into the Gin Mill, where I have nine exclusive craft beers on tap, Tad drank light beer. That’s all I need to know about Tad.
“You let me know if there’s anything I can do, okay?”
“We’re still having that party,” he grumbles. “Might have to put it off a couple weeks.”
“Yeah, we totally are,” I agree, hoping to cheer him up. “Hang in there, okay? Is there anything else I can do, besides feeding the cat?”
He shakes his head and points at the bakery bag. “You’re already doing God’s work here and I appreciate it.”
“Okay, man.” I laugh. “See you after the surgery.”
That night I work a long shift and then sleep until eleven thirty, skipping church. My mother won’t be happy. But I get up in time to go to Sunday luncheon at my uncles’ farmhouse. It’s our family tradition. My mother cooks a feast that we eat while trying not to lose it whenever my uncle Otto says something harsh.
Today my mother has made a delicious roast beef, with mashed potatoes and a salad. I eat too fast while I glance around the table at my family. On the surface, our gathering is really not so different from the Shipleys’ Thursday-night extravaganza. Except I never invite friends the way they do at the Shipleys’.
Mom wouldn’t mind if I did. She’d probably enjoy the company. But somehow it’s usually just us—Uncle Otto, Uncle Art, mom and her brood. Well—four of the five of us. Julian doesn’t live in Vermont and we never hear from him.