Coffee and Condolences by Wesley Parker

Author:Wesley Parker [Parker, Wesley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wesley Parker
Published: 2020-07-14T16:00:00+00:00

“You seem nervous,” Melody says, and she’s right.

We’re walking through the streets of the Upper West Side, holding hands, but my mind is somewhere else. If anxiety has one benefit, it’s that you analyze everything. Once my hormones subsided, it dawns on me that Lily was trying to tell me something. Naturally, as a horny male focused on Melody, I was too distracted to listen to her. Sex really will be the fall of man.

“Something isn’t right,” I say. “She was trying to tell me something important, but I wouldn’t listen.”

“What do you think it was?”

“I don’t know, and that’s what’s scaring me.”

Melody rubs my back, and we walk in silence for a little bit. It dawns on me that we’re on our second date and Melody is about to meet my family. Well, what’s left of it. For some reason, it doesn’t feel like we’re moving too fast. Maybe she was right about following the universe.

We turn the corner and see the lights of the bar halfway down the block. As we get closer I become dismayed at the clientele hanging around in front. The short sleeved Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts that end just above the knees, these are the guys that wouldn’t hesitate to sick their fathers lawyers on you. A couple of them catcall Melody as we wait in line but she ignores them Security checks our ID’s and we head inside, through the haze of Calvin Klein cologne and cigarette smoke. The entrance is narrow, the bar stretches to the back where it opens up into a restaurant. As we move through the bar I pick up random pieces of conversation.

“…I don’t understand why he swiped me if he didn’t want kids, my profile was very clear.”

“…the quality of the beer doesn’t match the prices, how the fuck do you ruin a Miller Genuine Draft?”

“…this is the year Brady falls off and the Jets win the division baby. Book it.”

At the end of the bar, I start scanning the tables for Lily and John. It’s just a mass of people talking over each other. Remember in Titanic, when Jack slipped under the water and the camera zoom out on Rose in the massive group of people? Just absolute bedlam.

“MILES, DARLING,” a slurring voice booms above the others. I couldn’t stop any quicker if I’d hit a brick wall. I close my eyes and pray that someone else in the bar shares my name, and that someone in his life—anyone—gets drunk and slurs his name like a Connecticut blue blood. But, as I continue to learn, life doesn’t work that way.

I slowly turn around and am greeted by my mother. She stands there, swaying slowly in her designer dress, her trusty Louis Vuitton hand bag dangling from her wrist like a baton. In her other hand, she holds a glass of Chardonnay. I can always tell what she’s been drinking by how she reacts. Wine means she’s feeling warm and fuzzy. Hard liquor means hard truths, and everyone at the table should strap in for a rough night.

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