Howd I Get Here?

HOW'D I GET HERE?

I tossed back the beer. Before I set it down, the bartender slid another in front of me. Matt didn't ask questions, but with the speed, he popped the top and fed me another. He must know something had gone wrong.

"I can ask what happened, or I can get you drunk enough to forget it ever happened."

Matt had once been an outsider. I think he grew up in Portland, and for those in the north, he might as well have come from Europe. If he hadn't been straight, I'd have swooped in and flirted. He hooked his thumbs in the metal links of his leather harness.

"Anything to do with the guy I saw you dancing with?"

Did all bartenders have that sixth sense? I traded beers, and he grabbed the empty.

"Sort of… yeah. All to do with him." It was a slow night at Spectrum, which meant Matt didn't have a line waiting fo r drinks. We were friendly, but I wouldn't call us friends. Our relationship remained strictly transactional. I gave him money, and he got me tipsy.

"Why did you move up here?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Not the question I expected. Are you sure you don't want to hit me with tales of woe?"

I wasn't coherent enough to talk about my life. My train of thought had derailed. Somebody else needed to do the talking. Matt might have a fresh perspective on me moving.

"I don't want to hear about my life."

"The Flannel Festival." He made the statement as if it explained everything. If I made my eyebrow go any higher, it'd be part of my hairline. "Oh. When I was a kid, my parents brought me up here. I remember the Flannel Festival. I don't know why, but that stuck with me."

"Don't you miss… well… everything? A grocery run that doesn't take all day. Fast food? There must have been plenty of bars down there."

The music changed to what could only be described as techno country. Whoever played DJ tonight would not be getting cheers from the audience. We might be from the middle of nowhere, but even we had standards.

"I did all that in my twenties and thirties."

"How old are you?"

He gave me a grin and a wink. "You'd have to buy me dinner to find out."

I threw my hands up, shaking my head. "Nope. One straight guy on my plate is enough. I can't juggle more."

"That's a shame." Was there something in the air? Did a burst of radiation from the sun send all the straight men into a frenzy? Or were they all looking for a quick thrill? "Portland was a fun place to live. But it's not where I wanted to settle down."

"Maybe that's what I need, a chance to live a little."

"Next time I go to visit my parents, why not join me?" Before I could narrow my eyes, he shook his head. "You get your hotel room. I'll get my very separate hotel room. I can take you out and see if it's something you'd like."

"Thanks. That's nice of you." I'm pretty sure this is how my tell-all kidnapping memoir started. "I think I just need… a change?"

"For what it's worth, I think you're doing a fine job changing things up around here."

I looked around. Did he mean the dozen patrons doing something that looked like drunken line dancing? The alcohol had taken its toll, and anything that came out of my mouth from here on out wasn't in my control.

"Your comic thing." He took the beer from my hand and replaced it with a glass of water. "I've seen the fliers. I'll be showing up with my little sister. She's been working on her Hellcat costume for weeks."

"Aww, that's adorable."

"Speaking of adorable… flag me down if you need me."

Had he ditched me mid— Somebody pulled out the stool to my side? I prepared for the horrific pickup line. Though, at this point, even a lame line about being handsome would do wonders for my ego. When I glanced at the bar and saw his forearms, I spotted the tattoos .

My heart made a drunken leap.

"I know when I've done something wrong."

I gawked at his hairy forearms. It took willpower not to reach out and begin tracing them anew. I'd start at the frying pan and move my way to the crossed knives. Eventually, I'd reach for the arm of his shirt and need him to take it off so I could continue mapping his body.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Responding to a text message with ‘k' is the universal sign somebody is pissed at you."

My memory might be hazy, but I clearly remember him suggesting we should get together. The conversation with Lucy continued taunting me. There were so many mixed signals I couldn't navigate. I tried to be pleasant, but after a while, my bad mood reared its ugly head.

"Sorry about that." I was too intoxicated to get into it. "I've got a lot on my mind with the convention." It might be cowardly of me, but as long as I didn't flat-out ask him, I wouldn't have a definitive answer. I tortured myself to avoid rejection.

"This is because of Lucy, isn't it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." I wasn't any better at lying while drunk. "Maybe."

Matt did a pass, wiping down the counter. He caught my eye, looking for that universal plea for help. Much like the people in the Bistro, I had support should I need it. I gave him a slight wave. Knowing I had a sidekick bolstered what little courage I had.

"I was perfectly happy before you showed up." It came out angrier than I intended, but I didn't apologize. "After we fucked in the store—" Matt's eyes went wide before he scurried further down the bar. "—I was okay with it being a cum and go. I didn't expect anything. Some hot daddy bear needed to get his rocks off."

"Jason—"

He put a hand on my shoulder. "No." I shrugged it off. "Then you asked me out."

I should have paid my tab and walked away. Simon had come to check in on me. That made it worse. It kicked up all the feelings, and the alcohol didn't help as I tried to process my feelings. Once my mouth gained momentum, it didn't stop.

"You.. you …" I turned to face him. "You asked me out. I didn't believe it at first. I would have been content living my life, but you walked into it like a hurricane. You made me want something more. That's on you."

Simon didn't shy away from my words. He locked eyes, giving a slight nod. They were beautiful, and even now, I thought about him on the couch, suffering his way through superhero movies to impress me. It took me a while to get there, but there was no mistaking the signs. He knocked down my walls and stormed the castle.

"I was already considering packing up and moving to the city. Maybe I put much stock into this." The convention gave me the slightest sliver of hope that I could make peace with living in Firefly. The day in the park when Simon asked me out, I found another thread, a life line.

"There's no reason to stay. "

Simon said nothing as I got up. He had his opening. With a few words, he could put me out of my misery. I wanted to be angry. At least then, I could push the sadness outward. Realizing I couldn't be mad at Simon, I left.

I walked to the other side of the bar and exited. My feet dragged across the gravel, the only sound in an otherwise silent night. Driving wasn't an option, and as I reached for the keys in my pocket, I remembered Matt had taken them after the fourth beer. Crawling into the cab wasn't an option, either.

"Great," I growled. I couldn't leave, and I certainly wasn't going inside after making a dramatic exit. These days, it seemed if not for bad luck, I wouldn't have any luck at all. I could call Amanda or Jon, but then I'd have to answer questions.

I reached my truck and tried the handle on the driver's side. Locked. The same goes for the passenger door. Wonderful, absolutely wonderful. I held onto the side of the truck as I walked toward the back. The hinge of the gate groaned as I opened it. It wasn't graceful, but I climbed into the back.

It wouldn't be the first time I camped out in the back of the truck. Rolling onto my back, I found the stars barely visible over the street lights. Unlike the quarry, they fought to be seen. "I can relate," I mumbled. Only the North Star stood out against the dark canopy.

My mind wanted to replay the conversation, to pinpoint all the places I wedged my foot in my mouth. I closed my eyes and imagined those thick forearms. It didn't solve any problems, but it was a pleasant thought as I drifted into an alcohol-induced slumber.

"Where am I?"

I shot upright. I sat on something squishy, definitely not the truck bed. In the dark, I smelled warm, cheap instant coffee. It took a moment to realize somebody had draped an afghan across my body. I shook my head, regretting it as the headache turned painful.

I continued blinking until I could make out a nearby light. As I spotted Mom reading a book in her favorite armchair, I couldn't figure out what was going on.

Mom didn't look up from her book as she carefully turned the page. A lamp on the table next to her projected enough light that I could make out her t-shirt and sweatpants. Once convinced, my brain tried to sort out how I had gotten here. Had I driven while drunk? I reached for my pockets and remembered Matt had my keys.

"Are you looking for these?"

Mom reached for the side table. She jingled my keys before setting them down. I slid my legs off the couch and leaned my head back on the couch. I was going to be embarrassed if I found out Matt had Mom come out to pick up her drunken child. How did she get me in the back of her car?

"How did I get here?"

"Bigger question…" She slid a bookmark in to place and shut her novel. Setting it on the stand, she crossed her arms. "Why get too drunk to remember?"

Mom never drank more than a glass of wine, not since that debacle at her tenth-class reunion. Even Dad shied away from booze. She'd always say, "If you need booze to have fun, you're doing it wrong." With the tap dancing happening in the back of my skull, I might agree for once.

"Simon didn't want you to be alone."

I groaned. I'd rather have woken up in the back of my truck to morning commuters honking their horns. At least if Matt had done it, I'd be able to… what? Stay mad? Wallow? I don't know. Yet again, Simon proved that he's a decent human being. It was me making things weird. If I could get over this unrealistic expectation, maybe we'd be friends.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm sure you've already heard."

She picked up her cup of coffee and took a sip. Had she intended to watch over me for the night, or did she foresee this conversation happening? Moms had this uncanny ability to know when their children were in distress. She wouldn't let me dance around the conversation.

"I've heard your boyfriend has a complicated home life."

"He's not my boyfriend."

"He's a boy, and by the way he carried you in here, he strikes me as a friend." The thought of him lugging me up the steps and waking Mom up made this so much worse. The more of a gentleman he turned into, the more I mourned a future that never happened .

"He has a wife."

She laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"You are." My mom needed to work on her bedside manner. "So, he has a wife. I'm not seeing a problem."

"He has a wife . He's married. That's a problem."

She continued her chuckling. "Gerald?—"

"Can we not with Gerald? I'll be happy for you in the morning."

"Don't you pull a tone with me, mister."

I sulked. Childish, I know. Mom slid to the end of her chair, resting her elbows on her knees. The light to the side made the white wisps of hair almost glow so that she had a halo behind her head.

"Do you know how Gerald refers to your dad?"

I pulled the afghan the rest of the way off my lap. It was the one my grandmother made shortly before she passed. Mom insisted on keeping it draped across the back of the couch. It added a homey touch to the living room, and if I held it to my nose, I could still smell Mimi.

"He still calls your dad my husband. I appreciate that. Even though he's doing his best to court me, he has no illusions about my past. Heck, you still talk to Jon."

"That's different."

"Is it, though? Whatever shenanigans the two of you got into, it's your past. And here you are making assumptions about Simon. Have you stopped to ask him about it?"

In hindsight, I hadn't stopped to ask questions. My insecurities painted a picture, and my brain ran with it. When we talked about it on the porch, Simon had been forthright.

"I didn't think so." Mom didn't let up. "I hate to say it, but I think you're the one being the jerk."

"Ouch," I said.

"What are you so scared of?"

When I didn't answer, she got up and picked a seat next to me. The question should have been easy to answer. Rejection, right? I didn't want Simon to say he wanted to patch things up with Lucy and squash any possibilities of us. The longer I thought about it, the less it had to do with Simon. Was the uneasy feeling in my chest because of Simon? Or did I hope Simon would fix a bigger problem?

"I'm thinking about leaving Firefly," I admitted.

"I wondered if that was it."

Mom had this ability to cut through the bull and get to the heart of the matter. Sometimes, she'd lay it on the table and force me to confront a dilemma. This time, she guided me through my thoughts until I came to the conclusion myself. It reminded me of how Simon asked Lucas if he wanted to talk now or wait till later.

I repositioned myself on the couch and laid my head in Mom's lap. We hadn't done this for years. Her hand grazed the top of my head, playing with my hair as I processed the severity of the situation.

"Boogie, I'd hate to see you go. But if it's time, then go."

First, it had been the convention. I wanted to feel like Firefly had something specifically for me. I put all my energy into the event, hoping it'd go off without a hitch. We'd take a big-city spectacle and put our own spin on it. Then, I'd have something to look forward to each year. It'd anchored me to Firefly.

Then Simon came along. I had given up on the hope of finding a man, especially one that made me abandon the idea of moving. Had I put too much pressure on a maybe? It wasn't intentional, but I had thought Simon might be my reason to stay. It'd be a fairy-tale romance and end with a white picket fence.

Then…

Tears welled up in my eyes. It felt like there was a decision in front of me, and I fought the inevitable.

"Change is hard, boogie. But sometimes it's what we need." She continued tracing my hairline. "Your father always thought you were destined for something big. If Firefly can't give it to you, he would want you to go find it."

I wanted to hear his voice. It had this rugged gravel sound to it. He had spent his entire life in Firefly. He always said there was nothing he needed that Firefly Valley couldn't provide. Then he'd look at Mom, and I'd see the reason he stayed.

"I miss him, too." She read my mind. "Every single day."

When he first passed away, we avoided the topic. It was like pouring salt on a wound. One day, Mom had found a package of beef jerky wedged in between the couch cushions. She couldn't stop laughing at his habit of hiding snacks around the house. It had led to a lengthy confession of all the weird things we had found over the years. I swear he hid those single-serving cupcakes in easy spots so a younger version of myself could find them.

"How did you and Dad meet?"

Her hand stopped moving and I could hear her let out a long sigh. "I've told you a thousand times."

She had, and when he was alive, I had balked at their high school romance. I never had the chance to tell him how I thought about it every time I went on a first date. He and Mom had set the bar incredibly high for any man who dared to ask me out.

She continued running her hands across my hair. "Your father was such a looker…"