18 - Pseudo Dates

Jackson ran the bar through lunch while I managed office stuff. Even when the happy hour crowd arrived and business picked up, he seemed grateful for the constant activity. I knew he was dreading my mom's appearance, and this had me fighting my own anxiety. She told me she was bringing in the amended contract, and she wasn't going to like how I handled it.

Fifteen minutes before shift change, I slipped behind the bar. "Hey, Jackson. You can head out early if you want to. I'll manage the bar until Jill gets here."

His suspicious smile said he was on to me. "That isn't necessary. Hiding from an uncomfortable situation only makes the situation more uncomfortable."

"You're right. But I still wanted to give you the option."

"Thanks. Hey, have you given any thought to the party tomorrow night?"

"Damn. I forgot about that. Um . . ."

"It's okay if you can't make it. I've been doing a lot of thinking today, and I realized I don't need to do shit to impress people anymore. So what if I'm twenty-eight years old without a wife and kids. We don't have to take the same path other people take."

"Are most of your cycling friends married with kids? Is that why you feel pressured to bring a date?"

He let a sigh escape through pinched lips. "Only a couple of them. It's my uncle who puts the pressure on me. He's a cyclist too. He's been my surrogate dad since my real dad passed. I'm the only boy in the family to carry on the name."

Yikes.

"I'm sorry to hear about your dad's passing. But it's no reason for your uncle to put that kind of pressure on you . . . in my opinion."

"I know. I don't think he realizes how it affects me."

"Maybe you should tell him."

He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed again. "Yeah, maybe it's time I did that."

"Yes, by the way. I'll go to this cycling party with you. I assume we won't be cycling. I'm more of a beach cruiser gal."

He chuckled and the mood immediately lightened. "No cycling, but you'll probably get sucked into conversations you'll know nothing about."

"That happens all the time at the bar."

I was happy to have brought Jackson out of his slump, and we tended bar side of side until my mom arrived. To her credit, she didn't engage Jackson at all. She just waved the papers at me as she pointed to the office. It was go time.

"You finished the quarterly tax reports," she said when I followed her in. "Thanks, sweetie."

"It's my job."

She patted the seat next to her as she set the contract on the desk. Then she reached for a pen and laid it across the contract. "Here you go. It's amended just the way we discussed. I read through it myself."

I sat down and looked at the contract that I had no intention of signing. The trick was going to be handling it without making her suspicious of my motive, which had been triggered by her bad behavior with Jackson. I had every intention of honoring his request to keep quiet, but that didn't mean I couldn't issue my own form of punishment.

"I'm still not happy about this contract. I don't understand why we even need it. We've been running the bar without dad for five years. I've given you freedom to go on your trips with Anthony, and you've given me time to work on my degree. Let's just hire a full-time bar manager and keep things status quo for the next two years."

Her cheeks went from store-bought mauve to overcooked tourist as she glared at me. "It seems there is no pleasing you. I suppose I should blame myself. I've always tried to give you more than I had at your age. Clearly, I overdid it."

"You were married with a kid at my age."

"Exactly. And your dad and I never had much. Not until we bought this bar, which we did so you would have an inheritance."

"And that hasn't changed. In two years, I will get what you always wanted me to have, and you'll have your chunk. I don't see a good reason to do this now and complicate things."

She pushed up from her chair and started pacing the tiny room. That's when I noticed her phone propped against her purse. Was she recording this? "Did it not occur to you that I might want to have my chunk now? I've waited five years for your dad to reach out. To give me some scrap of hope that he still cared about me . . . about us. I'm tired of this life, Junie. I'm losing myself. I want out."

I knew this side of Mom. She liked to use my missing dad as a scapegoat for all the mistakes she'd made. Nobody's parents were perfect, and I didn't expect mine to be. But I was tired of getting sucked into their dysfunction. I had enough dysfunction of my own.

"I've tried not to make your life difficult, Mom. I hitched a ride from other moms when you didn't want to drive me to my meets. I even went to college in town so I could help with the bar. But it's time for me to follow my dream. If I've learned anything from you and dad, it's to be a selfish now and then."

She pursed her lips, and her shoes hit the floor with even more determination as her frustration built. She knew I was right, but she wasn't going to let this go without a showdown. Just then her phone dinged with a text. She picked it up and shook her head as she read the message. I watched the fiery gleam die out in her eyes as she dropped back into her chair.

"What's wrong? Was that someone giving you bad news?"

"In a manner of speaking." She turned to me, and I caught a glimpse of the helpless woman who hid behind her beach babe behatch persona. Sadly, it was the only part of her that felt genuine to me. "We're done here. Don't worry about the contract for now."

"Are you okay?"

"I will be. I just need a minute alone."

"Alright. Call me if you need to talk."

I was glad to escape the suffocating mood in the office, but I was a little freaked out too. The vibe had switched so quickly. Whoever had texted her had done what I was rarely able to do—stop her mid-showdown.

~      ~     ~

I continued to keep Jackson's secret confidential, although it felt wrong to withhold the information from Cabe. After I told him I hadn't signed the contract, I could tell he thought there might be something I was leaving out. He could have been annoyed that I didn't sign after his family attorney had done me a favor. Or maybe he was just upset that I had agreed to a date with Jackson.

Although I'd explained that it was more like a 'pseudo date' with a coworker, I couldn't blame him. I would have been upset if he had told me that he'd asked Stella out—hypothetically. Which, of course, triggered a different set of alarm bells. Why did I care who Cabe asked out?

After a blissfully quiet day off, I met Jackson at the home of his friend Ellen. She and her husband, Keith, were hosting the party. I learned that Ellen was the only cyclist in the family. Keith spent most of his time building multi-million-dollar yachts.

I also learned that Jackson had won a number of cycling races and tended to blush when his friends boasted about his racing skills. It quickly became clear that he was a favorite among the group, and I enjoyed listening to the stories. When his uncle showed up, Jackson's mood sobered, and I didn't mind when he put his arm around me as we were introduced.

"Stan, this is my friend, June. June this is my Uncle Stan. He and my dad started this cycling club."

Ah, his father was a cyclist too. So, why did he act like his cycling life wasn't worth mentioning in the interview? "It's great to meet you, Stan."

"Likewise. Jackson tells me you own a bar with your mom. That's an unusual lifestyle, I'll bet."

"It's been my life for so long, I couldn't tell you how unusual it is. But there's never a dull moment."

"I can't understand why Jackson chooses to bartend. I mean, he has great people skills. But there are so many other careers where those skills would come in handy."

Jackson stiffened beside me. If I had to guess, he was probably tired of hearing his uncle harp on this topic. "Bartending is not my career. I'm still figuring that out," he said. "But I might as well do something I enjoy in the meantime."

"I agree," I said. "We should make each day count. You never know if you're going to be hit by a Guinness truck tomorrow."

Jackson laughed. "That's very specific. I think I'd prefer a truck filled with expensive champagne. That would really piss people off."

"Do we want to talk about death at a party?" Stan's face turned sour, although I remembered it had started out that way.

"Sorry. It's just a figure of speech." Jackson made his apology like he'd done it a thousand times, and it rubbed me the wrong way. It was clear Uncle Stan had grown accustomed to manipulating his nephew.

"What do you do for a living, Stan?" I asked.

"I own an air conditioning sales and service business."

"That sounds like a steady gig."

"It is. I've been trying to get Jackson interested in it for the better part of ten years. He could take over the sales department and make a good living when I'm ready to retire."

"Hmm. Selling air conditioners is very different from mixing cocktails. One client is looking for an appliance to keep them cool, and the other is looking to relax and have conversation with friends."

"But I'd like you to show me a bartender who drives a Mercedes and lives in a beachfront home. You can't have those things on a bartender's wage."

"I suppose you're right. But some people will forgo the fat paycheck for a job that makes them happy."

When I glanced at Jackson, he looked like he'd swallowed a pickled egg whole, and I cursed myself for trying to make a point on his behalf. "Speaking of drinks, I'm ready for a refresher."

I held up my nearly empty glass, and Jackson snagged the opportunity to end the conversation. We excused ourselves and hurried to the kitchen counter where a makeshift bar had been set up. Ellen was standing there ready to accommodate us.

"Did you get sucked into Stan's vortex?" she said as she poured me what looked to be a double. "Poor Jackson just got home from Hawaii, and he's already being harassed."

"I'm afraid I might have stirred the pot," I said. "Sorry about that Jackson."

"It's okay. I'm glad you said it. Nobody aspires to be an air conditioner salesman. And the more people who tell him that, the better."

We took our drinks onto the patio, far from Uncle Stan, and the balmy summer breeze did a nice job of carrying any remnants of that uncomfortable conversation out to sea.

"Thanks a lot for coming with me, June. If you hadn't been here, I would have been left to explain why I didn't bring a wife back from Hawaii."

I was beginning to understand why Jackson hadn't brought up the cycling in his interview. It probably triggered some unpleasant memories. "Parents have a tendency to transfer their aspirations onto their kids. In your case, uncles. I think my parents expected me to take over the bar when they retired."

Jackson nodded at his drink. "Your mom told me what happened with your dad. That sucks."

"It only sucks if you let it." I said this as I lifted my glass. "Here's to not letting our parents or uncles get inside our heads and tell us how to live our lives."

"I'll drink to that." We acknowledged our dysfunctional families with a toast, and I felt like we had made some positive headway. Jackson seemed like a good guy, and any opinion I had about him being a self-absorbed ass were snuffed out.

When it was time to go home, Jackson didn't make it awkward by trying to kiss me, and I was in bed before eleven o'clock. Although I didn't have to do it, I texted Cabe and told him I was home safe and that my 'pseudo date' behaved himself.

After this, my conscience engaged in a small battle with itself on why I needed to keep Cabe in the loop about my personal life. I wanted to blame him for confessing his commitment to our relationship, but I finally let it go. The hardest part was trying to fall asleep when I received an answer from Cabe in the form of complete silence. 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Are any of my readers out there cyclists? I've never been much of a bike enthusiast. Maybe it's because I was hit by a car while on my bike when I was sixteen. My mom was across the street and saw the whole thing. I can still hear her scream. Despite the drama of the moment, I only received a twisted ankle.

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