Kathy’s apartment—but he’d passed the buck to Pete instead. Odd.
His thoughts drifted back to Kathy. They worked opposite schedules. She was a day-sider, which was standard for most local reporters. He worked nights and weekends. They’d only exchanged workplace pleasantries before she came out with Emily to meet him and Mike for a drink a few months back. Pete was smitten, but also drunk. More drunk than usual, because Emily was around. Kathy seemed accepting, and their conversation was breezy and funny. He didn’t have to work hard to make her laugh or keep her interested. The random bar outings didn’t translate into much else. The times they’d see each other were few and far between. She hadn’t crept into his thoughts until Chaz interrupted him at work the night before. He also didn’t know much about her. What was she like? What were her hobbies? Was she a happy person? What were her goals in life? Pete shrugged. He made a short list of things he needed to accomplish the next morning. Well, maybe afternoon. He motioned to Jimmy for another beer. No shot.
• • •
Pete straightened up in his seat at the bar. It was close to two in the morning, no sign of Emily or Mike. He shook his half-filled pint glass at Jimmy and tried a smile. There were a few people in the bar now, none of them sitting next to Pete. He recognized a girl he’d dated briefly in college sitting close to the jukebox with two dudes that were probably fraternity alums trying to relive their heyday. What was her name? Lisa? Linda? He didn’t know. Had it been a few years earlier, Pete would have felt the need to say hello, or make some small talk. Not tonight. He’d had at least three beers on top of that shot—nothing destructive by his standards, but still enough to have him feeling fuzzy.
He thought about his life in New Jersey. The cramped two-bedroom apartment in Hoboken with Emily and Costello. The miles he’d racked up flying. The myriad hotel rooms, locker rooms, and meeting rooms that came with the job. He loved it, or so he told himself. He had started drinking heavily then. Started ignoring Emily, ignoring their problems. For the first time, they weren’t talking. And yet, even that life sounded appealing. But Pete had no clue how to get back there. If he continued to spin out at the Miami Times, there was no chance he’d catch on anywhere else.
He thought about Emily’s expensive perfume—some kind of Chanel. He’d forgotten the name, but he could pinpoint it if he smelled it on someone else. He thought about how her eyes would squint, almost close when she was focusing her gaze on Pete in mock anger. How her lips would pout. Moments flashed at him like a highlight reel during a sitcom reunion show. Flowers, anniversary dinners, concerts, mix tapes, bars and restaurants. All painted by the brush of his memory. Except she wasn’t gone. He still had to see her. He wasn’t strong enough to shut her out of his life, although she’d given him ample opportunity. He had come to terms with still being in love with her. It’d been just a few months back that he and Mike had sat outside the Pub, Pete cross-legged on the floor, drunkenly explaining to his patient friend why Emily was the only thing he’d ever wanted. How nothing was worth his time anymore. They never spoke of that night again, but Pete saw pity in Mike’s eyes for the first time, and that was heartbreaking. Loving Emily was all Pete had after his father died, and he’d let it slip away without fighting for it.
It was always work, though, Pete realized. Even at their best. Still, the memories flooded his mind constantly. He tried not to think about the bad ones, but those popped into the beer soup of his brain, too. The arguments. Her disappearances. The dozen times or so she’d gotten up and left him sitting alone—at a restaurant, bar, or visiting friends. Those memories, unlike the idyllic ones he’d started with, still stung. He found himself
His thoughts drifted back to Kathy. They worked opposite schedules. She was a day-sider, which was standard for most local reporters. He worked nights and weekends. They’d only exchanged workplace pleasantries before she came out with Emily to meet him and Mike for a drink a few months back. Pete was smitten, but also drunk. More drunk than usual, because Emily was around. Kathy seemed accepting, and their conversation was breezy and funny. He didn’t have to work hard to make her laugh or keep her interested. The random bar outings didn’t translate into much else. The times they’d see each other were few and far between. She hadn’t crept into his thoughts until Chaz interrupted him at work the night before. He also didn’t know much about her. What was she like? What were her hobbies? Was she a happy person? What were her goals in life? Pete shrugged. He made a short list of things he needed to accomplish the next morning. Well, maybe afternoon. He motioned to Jimmy for another beer. No shot.
• • •
Pete straightened up in his seat at the bar. It was close to two in the morning, no sign of Emily or Mike. He shook his half-filled pint glass at Jimmy and tried a smile. There were a few people in the bar now, none of them sitting next to Pete. He recognized a girl he’d dated briefly in college sitting close to the jukebox with two dudes that were probably fraternity alums trying to relive their heyday. What was her name? Lisa? Linda? He didn’t know. Had it been a few years earlier, Pete would have felt the need to say hello, or make some small talk. Not tonight. He’d had at least three beers on top of that shot—nothing destructive by his standards, but still enough to have him feeling fuzzy.
He thought about his life in New Jersey. The cramped two-bedroom apartment in Hoboken with Emily and Costello. The miles he’d racked up flying. The myriad hotel rooms, locker rooms, and meeting rooms that came with the job. He loved it, or so he told himself. He had started drinking heavily then. Started ignoring Emily, ignoring their problems. For the first time, they weren’t talking. And yet, even that life sounded appealing. But Pete had no clue how to get back there. If he continued to spin out at the Miami Times, there was no chance he’d catch on anywhere else.
He thought about Emily’s expensive perfume—some kind of Chanel. He’d forgotten the name, but he could pinpoint it if he smelled it on someone else. He thought about how her eyes would squint, almost close when she was focusing her gaze on Pete in mock anger. How her lips would pout. Moments flashed at him like a highlight reel during a sitcom reunion show. Flowers, anniversary dinners, concerts, mix tapes, bars and restaurants. All painted by the brush of his memory. Except she wasn’t gone. He still had to see her. He wasn’t strong enough to shut her out of his life, although she’d given him ample opportunity. He had come to terms with still being in love with her. It’d been just a few months back that he and Mike had sat outside the Pub, Pete cross-legged on the floor, drunkenly explaining to his patient friend why Emily was the only thing he’d ever wanted. How nothing was worth his time anymore. They never spoke of that night again, but Pete saw pity in Mike’s eyes for the first time, and that was heartbreaking. Loving Emily was all Pete had after his father died, and he’d let it slip away without fighting for it.
It was always work, though, Pete realized. Even at their best. Still, the memories flooded his mind constantly. He tried not to think about the bad ones, but those popped into the beer soup of his brain, too. The arguments. Her disappearances. The dozen times or so she’d gotten up and left him sitting alone—at a restaurant, bar, or visiting friends. Those memories, unlike the idyllic ones he’d started with, still stung. He found himself
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