A Mother Would Know (25)

“C’mon, I bet you kill at karaoke.”

“I don’t know.” Leaning down, I take a sip of my martini. “I’ve never done it.”

“You’ve never done karaoke?” Mac’s hand stilled on my thigh, a secret thrill. I tried not to think of when Darren had last done that. I tried not to think of Darren at all.

“Karaoke is supposed to be fun and silly.” I laughed. “Something you do on a drunken night with friends. You’re not supposed to, like, show off or try hard.”

Mac leaned back in his chair, looking me up and down as if appraising me.

How much am I worth? I sometimes wanted to ask when I caught him doing that.

Pitching forward, he slid his hands further up my bare leg. A slow smile spread across his face. “What if we sang something together? Come on. Just for fun.”

There was a quiver low in my belly as his fingertips slid under the edge of my short skirt.

“Karaoke’s not my thing,” I say.

“But you’re so good at it.” Suzanne smiles. “Remember that time you and Mac did that song from Grease?” She snaps her ring-laden fingers. “What was it?”

“‘You’re the One That I Want,’” I mumble, feeling Hudson’s eyes on me.

Mac’s the only person who could ever coerce me into doing karaoke.

“Yes!” She stops snapping and punctuates the word with a fist in the air. “You guys were great!”

“Thanks,” I say and then lightly laugh. “Well, we better order our drinks. We can’t stay super late.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Suzanne moves to the side, placing a palm on my back and gently guiding me forward. “Sit at the bar, and I’ll grab Jerry.”

Suzanne’s husband, Jerry, had been tending bar here since they’d opened. I’m glad to see that hasn’t changed.

As I swing my leg over one of the bar stools, Suzanne squeals. “Do you still like sangria? ’Cause Jerry made one today that’s to die for. You have to try it.”

I giggle. I’d forgotten what Suzanne was like in her element. “That sounds great.”

“Um...” Hudson raises his right hand as if he’s a student in class. “I’ll actually just take an IPA.”

“Okay, we’ve got a double or a hazy on tap.”

“I’ll take the hazy.”

“Great. I’ll go tell Jerry.” She sweeps away from us swiftly, a hurricane of bracelets, perfume and flowing clothes.

“See? Aren’t you glad we came?” Hudson scoots his stool forward, leaning his elbows on the bar.

“Yeah, actually, I am.” I glance around the room, at the sparse patrons, some at tables, some standing against the walls, a couple sitting down the bar from us. I don’t know any of them, and yet they seem familiar. My people. The kind I spent most nights and weekends with for years.

This bar was like a second home to me.

But that feels like a lifetime ago.

“Valerie Jacobs!” Jerry’s voice rings out. He’s aged, the front of his hair balding, the top thinning. I remember when it was thick and long, and he wore it in a ponytail Suzanne loved to twirl on her finger. Spidery wrinkles sprout from his eyes and gather around the corners of his mouth. His nose is bulbous with a hint of purple on his skin. But his smile is as big as ever, his eyes still friendly.

“Hey, Jerry,” I say as he makes his way over to us. “How’ve you been?”

“Can’t complain.”

I smile, thinking his catchphrases haven’t changed.

He sets a glass in front of me filled with purple liquid, fresh fruit floating on top.

“Yum. That looks amazing,” I say.

He narrows his eyes, studying me a moment. Then he says, “How is it that you haven’t aged at all?”

His penchant for flattery hasn’t changed much either. “Seems like he’s fishing for a big tip, huh, Hudson?” I joke, side-eyeing my son.

“No way!” Jerry’s eyes grow wide. “This is little Hudson?”

“I’m assuming by that moniker, you’re not going to say I haven’t aged at all,” Hudson teases, and in that moment, I know why I said yes to coming here with him. He puts me at ease.

“No, you’ve definitely aged,” Jerry says. “Last time I saw you, you were sitting at the end of the bar, doing homework while your mom had sound check.” He lifts a frosted glass onto the bar, beer foaming down the sides, and slides it in Hudson’s direction.

Hudson picks it up, brings it toward his lips. “Thank god those days are past us.” Then he takes a long sip.

A couple across from us motions Jerry over. The woman’s laugh is loud and high-pitched like the shriek of an electric guitar. And she clearly finds the man she’s with to be hilarious, because she’s been laughing nonstop since we got here. I remember ladies like her when we performed, their screechy giggles mixing with the music.

The sangria is syrupy-sweet on my tongue. I bite into a tart berry, and the sourness hits me in the back of the throat, a sharp contrast to the sweetness of the wine. It’s delicious, and I take another sip. The next few berries are not quite as tart. The song switches to “Straight Up” by Paula Abdul, and my body instinctually sways, my feet tapping to the familiar rhythm.