Page 5 of Throwing Shade
She sighed. “I wasn’t going to say anything but I’ve been having some health problems and I could use someone to talk to.”
I squeezed her hand. “What? Is it serious? Of course, I’ll go out with you and…” At her smirk, I brandished the law dictionary menacingly. “You lying cow.”
“A lying cow who is dead on in her assessment of you. Come on. Live a little.”
“Live a little, Adele.” My dad gave a lopsided grin and exaggerated hip wriggle as he beckoned Mom to come dance with him to Sinatra singing “Come Fly With Me.” Mom threw her bright yellow dish glove at his chest, laughing and saying the last time he used that line she lost a really nice bra. I shuddered and rolled my eyes with the heavy disdain that only a fifteen-year-old could. It would be the last time I ever did.
I blotted my forehead with the back of my hand, the buzz of the air conditioning drilling into my temples.
“Mir?”
Blinking away the specter of the past, I smiled at Jude. “A drink sounds good.”
My friend stood up, refastening her wrist brace. “I have pieces to glaze at the studio so once you’ve finished your overtime, meet me at Chambers.”
With something to look forward to, my task went a lot easier. Blake got his case law and even thanked me stiffly. I replied with equal enthusiasm and headed out for that drink.
The nearby bar on the waterfront that all the lawyers went to on Fridays after work wasn’t somewhere I’d frequent in my free time, but Chambers had one big plus: Jackie, the bartender, was generous in her pours. She said that I deserved the top up after dealing with some of my co-workers.
Sadly, Jackie wasn’t there tonight and Jude had yet to arrive. I politely waited my turn, fiddling with my sapphire engagement ring that I now wore on my right hand, but after ten minutes of being ignored by the new guy tending bar I got more forceful, waving and saying “excuse me” every time he got into my orbit.
Nothing.
I wrote my name in a spill of water from the pitcher on the bar, watching the letters dissipate, beyond done.
Life was like a night sky where every decision was a star winking into existence, some a faint pulse, others so beautifully luminous that we continually oriented ourselves by them even years later. Trying to order a drink was an ordinary action that I didn’t think twice about, barely visible in my personal constellation. Too bad I’d forgotten that even the most seemingly inconsequential choice could suddenly explode like a supernova, leaving you desperate to survive the blast.
