As he unrolled the utensils with the napkin wrapped around them and watched the TV behind the bar, he found it surreal that there wasn’t some sort of accounting of the time his uncle had spent there, some kind of tribute to the man who’d been more mascot than customer.
A plaque, a picture, a retired barstool—there was nothing.
No evidence Uncle Mack had ever been there.
It was like he’d never existed.
Taking a long pull from his pint, Jack thought back to the wake. The whole family had been at the mortuary, hanging out at the visitation and sharing stories, but no one else had shown up. He hadn’t realized at first because the family was so big, but none of Mack’s friends, no one from the bar, none of his girlfriends—not a single person from Mack’s daily life had shown up to pay their respects.
It still pissed him off, and as he ate his dinner and the place thrummed with early-evening energy, he got more pissed for Mack. It was honestly depressing, that his uncle thought he’d been tight with his friends and this bar. Had he been wrong? Had they all humored him but didn’t really give a shit? The women who had fawned over him—what were their stories? Where had they disappeared to?
As much as his mom liked to refer to her brother as a “hopeless bachelor,” Mack had been more than that. He’d been the kindest, funniest, most generous person Jack had ever met, but since he’d chosen not to settle down, his life was just written off as less valuable.
Damn, Jack thought. He was getting far too introspective sitting here alone, and he needed more beer.
He finished his dinner, pounding a few beers while glaring at everyone who dared to hang out in that bar and watch football. All of a sudden, the place he’d considered to be one of his favorite restaurants in the world sucked. He didn’t want to be at that asshole bar anymore, so as soon as the game ended, he paid his tab and went back to his hotel.
He was walking into his room when Hallie texted.
Hallie: Whatcha doin?
He dropped his key card, stepped out of his shoes, and fell back onto the bed.
Jack: Just got back.
Hallie: That was a long dinner. Did you meet someone?
Jack: The only person I met was the bartender who took my order.
Hallie: That sounds lonely.
Her text made him feel a little lonely. He texted: The whole night was weird. I don’t really want to get into it, but let’s just say I used to love this place because my uncle was here, and now he’s not, so it feels like shit.
His phone started ringing, and it did something to his chest when he saw her name on the display. He answered with, “Piper. I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Which is why I’m calling. I thought I’d tell you about my night.”
“Lay it on me.” He got up and walked over to his suitcase. “Tell me everything.”
“Okay. So.” She cleared her throat, and he heard her cat meow in the background. “Alex picked me up and took me to the restaurant. It was nice, the wine was good, and then he ordered a vegan cheese ball as an appetizer and wanted me to try it.”
“Is he vegan?”
“No, he’s just had it before and it’s really good.”
“You didn’t try it, did you?” There was no way that picky Hallie had tried a vegan cheese ball.
“He really wanted me to take a bite, so I did. I took the teeniest, tiniest little bite.”
“And . . . ?” He pulled his shirt over his head and reached for the button on his jeans. “How was it?”
“I don’t know, because about thirty seconds after I tried it, my throat got scratchy. Then my cheeks got red and my neck got blotchy.”
“You’re allergic?” Jack stopped undressing. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay now.” She sounded tired. “But I learned tonight that I’m violently allergic to cashews, which were apparently a core ingredient in the vegan cheese.”
“Holy shit.” He shucked off his jeans, dropped them into his suitcase, and went back over to the bed. “What happened? You sure you’re okay?”
“Alex had to take me to the ER, and I’m pretty sure he heard me puking my guts out into a barf cone as I waited for the doctor.”
“Holy shit,” he said, wishing he’d been there to help her. “Also, what is a barf cone?”
“The nurse handed me this thing that was like a cardboard circle with a long, latex reservoir attached—barf cone. Vomit condom.”