Happy Birthday
Evie
Another terrible shift at Whiskey Hills Bar was on my agenda tonight. Being the only bar in the small town meant that we were always busy. At least, as busy as a place in a small town could be.
Today had actually started better than I had anticipated but had seemingly gone downhill as the hours past. My papa actually remembered that today is my birthday and gifted me with a bottle of whiskey, ha. Yay, me. I should have been grateful for the gift, but I wasn’t, and I had my reasons.
Papa hadn’t even put much thought into it, really. He worked at The Whiskey Brothers Distillery where the bottle was distilled, and barrel poured. The distillery had been the only thing that even made our town a town in the first place. So, he put little to no effort in grabbing me a bottle from the back of the storehouse and dropping it off on my porch on his work this morning with a sticky note saying: Happy Birthday -Papa.
But hey, it is the thought that counts.
Papa had worked at the Whiskey Brothers Distillery since before I was even born. He had met momma through Walter, the Whiskey Brothers father, who had originally started the distillery alongside his wife when they married. By the time the first barrel was poured and distributed they had two kids and decided to name the distillery: The Whiskey Brothers. And proceeded to have four more kids—all boys. Poor Mrs. Wanda.
Momma had been friend with Walter’s wife, Wanda, and they had met after Walter offered papa a job at the distillery. Their love story was beautiful, as was Wanda and Walters. And these days The Whiskey Brothers were a staple in this town. All six boys were beautiful and all man…the town’s most eligible bachelors.
Now it was nearing 10pm and no one besides my papa had wished me happy birthday. It wasn’t that I advertised it or was looking for attention, it was more so that I had lived in this town my whole life, and no one seemed to even notice or care. Not that I could blame them. The past two years I had found myself slipping out of my friend groups because of what was happening in my home life. Now I was deemed an unreliable friend, and no one cared enough to check in. And, still, I didn’t blame them.
I should have known that today would be no different, but I had some hope—unnecessary hope. Before momma died, things were different. She celebrated every single milestone in my life no matter how big or small. But after she passed, papa wasn’t interested in keeping the tradition alive and I didn’t dare to ask him to. Not that I could really blame him, momma was one of a kind and her death had hit him harder than anyone else, even harder than me. She was the love of his life, his soulmate, his one and only. Nothing could compare to his love for her, not even his love for his own daughter.
Growing up watching the two of them was nothing sort of a Disney movie—a fairytale. I loved how enthralled they were with one another, and it was obvious to just about any and everyone how much they cared and loved each other. I wanted that…that kind of whirlwind love, that love that swept you right off your feet. I wanted that so bad, but it just wasn’t in the cards for me…at least not anymore.
When momma died and everything changed; papa’s life and mine, neither of us were the same anymore. It was simply, really, both of us had given up hope.
Momma died slowly and painfully. Breast Cancer that the doctors had caught all too late. No chemo or surgery would help at that point, and I think papa blamed himself for not forcing her to go to the doctors sooner. She lived in pain for three months before finally passing in her sleep in the dead of night.
Watching someone you love die slowly and painfully like that…well it changes a person. Suddenly the whimsiness of everyday life evaporated along with the fun and happiness. I put down the silliness, the stupid hopes and dreams, and I quit college and started working two jobs to make by and keep busy. During the day I was barista at the local café and at night I was a waitress at the bar.
Papa handled momma’s death much worse and watching him watch her die was hell. He was no longer happy go lucky, he no longer smiled let alone laughed, he spoke only when absolutely necessary and it was the polar opposite of what he was like before. He picked up extra hours at the distillery and worked himself to death. I couldn’t blame him because I was doing the same thing.
Really, I couldn’t be mad about the gift, nor could I be mad that he couldn’t even face me anymore. I couldn’t blame him for feeling heartbroken.
I used to think that I could have my own…happily ever after. But, that was silly thoughts. Not thoughts that 22-year-old women should be having. I vowed off men and committed to celibacy. As painful as it was, I lived vicariously through romance novels and the drama of relationships around me. The books were enough to sate me, at least they had been for the past two years.
My friend, Ana, says it’s just a funk but it’s not. This is reality now; this is my life now and I’ve accepted it—embraced it. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if Ana and I were even still friends since we hadn’t spoken in about a month.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and sent Ana a quick text asking when she was going to be in town next so we could hang out. She was attending college in Seattle and visited often because her family was here.
I felt a wave of calmness wash over me after sending her a text and I shoved the phone back into my pocket before returning to my current table with another round of drinks.
