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Cherry Blossoms

Michael took another sip of his drink, fighting to swallow the sickeningly sweet fruit cocktail. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop glancing at the black leather stool beside him. Everything else about Sam’s felt exactly the same. The wooden bar top still had the same sloppy initials carved into it. Drunken sports fans chattered through the final minutes of the Sounders game playing on the TVs mounted above the bar. A few couples danced to a fast paced pop song blaring from the digital jukebox a few feet behind him. He took another deep sip of his drink and rubbed his temples between his fingers. The stool looked exactly the same as it had every other time he’d been here. The only thing missing was her.

“You got a dollar, buddy?” A brunette woman in black jeans and an EDC t-shirt tapped him gently on the shoulder from behind. “Stupid card reader is broken and I’ve been dying to listen to Snakehips all day.”

As a matter of habit, Michael never carried cash. Credit cards were infinitely more scalable and were accepted at every place he intended to go for the foreseeable future. Today, however, when he reached his hands into the pocket of his khakis, he found himself holding not one, but two tightly wadded singles. And what use were two singles alone?

“Your lucky day,” Michael said, pulling a crumpled dollar out to hand over.

She smiled in thanks, smoothing the creases out on the corner of the jukebox and tapping through a few screens. Speakers hidden in the ceiling came alive as the music shifting into a dance number with a heavy bass line. A ragged cheer rang out from the couples on the dance floor. Overhead the lights swirled with the beat, painting a sprawling cherry blossom tattoo on her shoulder in neon colors.

“Cool, right?” She said, catching his eye. “Just had it done this past month.”

Michael raised his drink in a quick salute before turning back to the bar. Before he could so much as take another sugary sip, she slid onto the stool next to him. If he closed his eyes he could almost imagine it was her. She had the same bubbly energy, the same easy smile. She had everything, that is, except the scent. Jenny always wore the expensive perfumes, the kind rail thin models with vacant expressions advertised in black and white commercials. This woman with the cherry blossom tattoo smelled like antiseptic soaked apricots.

“Ahh, I love this DJ. Met him once outside a club last time he came through the city. I’m Patricia, by the way.”

Michael’s stomach tightened in nervousness. The only thing more annoying than friendly strangers were the ones who wanted to talk. They made him feel like they wanted something from him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Jenny always pointed out that said more about him than than anyone else. Another thing she’d been right about. “Michael. Nice to meet you.”

“So — what about you?” she asked with no hesitation.

“What about me?”

She arched an eyebrow. A maze of flashy studs had been stapled to her left ear. “You got any tattoos?”

The thought of inking something permanently on his skin gave him the shivers. How did you know you wouldn’t hate it in a few years? “Nope.”

“Nope, you don’t have any? Or nope, you don’t wanna show me?”

“Does it matter?” Michael said, shifting uncomfortably on his bar stool. “Look, I’m trying to get drunk and you’re getting in the way. I gave you a dollar so we wouldn’t have to talk.”

Her eyes flashed as she smiled. “Not the strangest way I’ve made a dollar,” The gentle slap on his arm let him know that was a joke. “Oh, come on. It’s Friday night and you look like you’re being strangled by that tie. You sure you don’t want to make a friend?”

Michael resisted the urge to adjust the half-Windsor knot tighter around his collar. “My friends all wear ties — ”

“Do they all drink those too?” She said with a glance down at his fruity cup of sugar. Before he could respond she’d already leaned over the bar and flagged down the bartender. “Two beers. Thanks.” She settled back in her seat and gave him a curious once over. “Didn’t work out, I guess?”

Was it that obvious he was upset? Sure, he hadn’t shaved in a couple days and the motel didn’t have the best ironing board. He caught sight of his face in the mirror behind the bar. No matter how crisp his shirt was, it couldn’t distract from the dark circles ringing his eyes. When was the last time he’d looked in a mirror?

Michael flinched at the clank of two glass bottles dropping against bar. He reached for one blindly, grateful for the interruption. Anything to distract him from the sneer from the bartender as she walked away. At least Patricia hadn’t noticed that part. “You come here a lot?” he said, in an attempt to change the topic. “Don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

She nodded her head at a booth across the bar. “A group of us from the walk-in clinic come down some times after work.”

“That’s got to be an exciting job. I’m a data analyst,” he resisted the urge to push his glasses back up his nose with his index finger. “I help recently bankrupt companies determine the minimum viable number of assets to liquidate.”

“Come talk to me about exciting after you’ve done your fifteenth blood draw of the day. Data analysts get to sit at a computer all day and listen to music, right? Sign me up.”

“It’s not all fun,” he said. “Some days I have to work from home. Do you know how exhausting it is taking conference calls from bed?”

They locked eyes as they clinked their beer bottles together. When Patricia smiled her whole face got involved. Her nose scrunched up like a tiny button and her eyes crinkled like nobodies business. Despite his initial reluctance, Michael couldn’t find the words to get out of the conversation. She seemed so genuine.

“I’ve seen you in here a couple times. You’re always with the woman with the short blonde hair and the fancy jewelry,” Patricia said, as if that explained everything. “Now, you look super bummed and are alone. All the clues are there.”

“You don’t give up, do you?”

“I’m from Indiana. Persistence was this close to being my actual middle name.” She held her fingers an inch apart for effect.

Michael twisted the beer glass between his hands, watching the way his fingers left imprints in the condensation. “Jenny,” he said finally. Why shouldn’t he tell her what happened? He hadn’t done anything wrong. “Her name was Jenny.”

“What happened? If you don’t mind telling,” she hurried to add.

“Thought she was really into her job, but it turns out she was really into her boss instead. One of them went into the other, at any rate.”

Plenty of dinners with well-intentioned but ultimately nosy friends made the joke roll off of his tongue with practiced casualness. Jenny had tried to convince him it was all a misunderstanding, an honest mistake that could have happened to anyone. ‘Her cell had been hacked,’ she claimed. Someone else had sent those texts to her boss. Somehow she’d been smart enough to manage a high seven figure portfolio, but couldn’t figure out how to delete the dirty photos off her phone. Never let anyone say smart people aren’t as stupid as the rest of us.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Patricia nodded in sympathy. “My first boyfriend cheated on me with one of my friends in college. Absolutely devastated me. We’d already talked about getting married. I had all these plans for what our life together would be, and he threw it all away for a girl with bangs. Thought my life was over.” She wiggled a ring around her thumb, spinning the diamond stud back and forth. “He came by my apartment a few weeks later to try to win me back. Turns out bangs girl cheated on him too. Funny how that works. Telling him off almost made up for all of the drama and tears. Almost.”

“Good for you,” Michael smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks. Heat radiated from his stomach, the alcohol working its magic and relieving the tension in their conversation. “I keep thinking of everything I would say if she came back. How I’m better off without her, how I’ve moved on and my life is back on track.”

“Why wait for her to come back? You could call her right now and tell her.”

Because none of those things were true. Happy people didn’t drink alone on a Friday night. “Because, in the end, nothing changes. They’ll still be together, and I’ll still be here.”

“Believe me, it was cathartic as hell. Feels better than a massage some days.”

He smiled politely. “Maybe ask me again after a few more of these.” In truth, the idea of confronting Jenny again set his teeth on edge. Lord knows he’d thought about what it would feel like to let it all out, to take back some control over what she’d done to him. But that’s all he’d ever done: think about it.

The big screen TV overhead flashed green and blue as the Sounders scored again. A tepid cheer trickled around the bar, only the most die-hard fans bothering to look up. Four goals up with only a few minutes left didn’t make for much excitement. The bartender practically threw the check at Michael’s face the next time she passed.

“Hey, watch it— “ Patricia started to snap, but Michael waved her off before she could finish.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, pulling out a credit card to hand over. “One of my excel sheets tracks how many points I earn with this.”

The bartender picked up his card between her thumb and forefinger, holding it in front of her like it leaked toxic fumes. Patricia eye’s tracked the card as the bartender flounced back to the register. “Sorry, back up for one second. Do you know her? She’s been giving you the stink eye the whole time we’ve been talking.”

“She and Jenny got used to joke all the time. She probably thinks I’m the one who’s cheating,” he said with a bitter laugh.

Only a few seconds later, Michael’s Visa clunked down on the bar in front of them. “Sorry, sir. Your card declined. You got another one?” The obvious glee in the bartender’s voice was impossible to hide.

“That card has a six figure limit on it,” Michael sighed. “I could buy the bar out and still have enough left over for a two door coupe from the dealership across the street. Do you mind trying it again, please?”

“I’ve already run it three times.” She flicked the card towards him and left with a turn of her nose. “Maybe you can ask your new friend. I’ll give you a couple of minutes to figure it out.”

Michael slumped down onto the bar with all the grace and speed of a bear in the stock market. He’d been the one pushing Jenny to consolidate finances. He’d insisted they share account passwords. What had she done? The heat from his stomach spread up to his face as the embarrassment took hold. His mouth flapped a couple times before he could find the right words. “I hate to ask you this, but could you cover me?”

A smile curled around the corner of Patricia’s lips. She drained the rest her beer in one smooth motion. In the dim, swirling lights of the bar she looked radiant. “How about we play a game instead?”

He could barely look up at her. “It’s been a long week. I’m not really in the mood for a game.”

“You’d rather wash dishes instead? Hold this for a second.” She quickly twisted the ring off of her thumb and handed it to him.

The ring felt solid in his hand, heavier than the one he’d given Jenny. Cheaper metal, probably. It would have taken three or four small diamonds this size to make a full caret, but when the lights from the nearby jukebox hit it, Michael could swear it glowed. “It’s beautiful. Not exactly how I pictured tonight going, though. Why am I holding it exactly?”

She held out her hand gracefully, angling her fingers so that her ring finger pointed towards him. “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like.” She leaned in closer to him, her breath filled with the smell of cheap beer and chap stick. Her eyes so deep brown they could have been pools of milk chocolate. She seemed to read his hesitation. “It’s just a game, remember?”

With suddenly shaky hands, Michael slid the ring onto her ring finger. The touch of her skin on his sent electricity racing through him. For an instant he forgot how to breathe. Before he could recover from his surprise she darted forward to give him a quick kiss on the lips.

“I do! I do!” She yelled out loud. “Of course I do!”

Michael jerked away from her like someone had yanked his collar from behind. Was she serious? What kind of game was this? “What are you talking about?” His throat tightened, his mouth suddenly filled with sandpaper.

“Honey, you shouldn’t have gone so big!” She held the ring up to the light, flashing it this way and that. “What am I saying: I love it. I love you! Cindy is going to be so jealous when she sees— ” Her hand clapped to her mouth in surprise. “We have to call my mom!”

A cellphone appeared out a hidden pocket. She dialed a number while Michael tried to hide his best to disappear under the bar. Drunken patrons from nearby stools whooped and hollered as they picked up on his proposal.

“Mom! He proposed!” Patricia babbled into the phone, talking so fast her words stumbled over each other. “Wait, wait, I can’t hear you. Hold on.”

She grabbed for Michael’s hand and dragged him off of his stool towards the front door. The couple grinding on the dance floor slapped them both on the back as they passed. Hot embarrassment burned in Michael’s face as he realized what Patricia wanted them to do. He tried to stop, but her grip tightened harder than a credit line for a failing business. More drunken cheers rang out from the crowd as they worked their way to the door. The bouncer was even kind enough to congratulate them as they left.

They were two blocks away down a blind corner before Patricia finally stopped dragging him. She doubled over in laughter under the gentle glow of a streetlight. “You should have seen the look on your face!”

Michael’s breaths came in shaky gulps, his lungs filling with stiflingly warm air. Half of him wanted to run back and apologize, but the other half wanted to keep running and never look back. “I can’t believe that worked. We just walked out!” He paced back and forth with short choppy steps. “You think they’ll call the police?”

He whirled at the sound of an approaching car coming down the deserted side street, ready to sprint the instant he heard sirens or the saw the flash of blue and red lights. A grey Prius puttered slowly passed instead. Michael pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers and forced himself to take a deep breath. Tomorrow morning he could run back here and pay with cash. Problem solved.

“Relax, they won’t call the cops over two beers and whatever snow cone thing you were drinking. That bartender will definitely recognize you, though, so maybe you should find a new bar.” She looked at him with a sharp glance. “You’re not going to go back tomorrow morning and pay, are you?”

“No — I — “ he stammered for a second, before giving up with a laugh. “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know!”

“God, you’re so nice its a little disturbing. We make a good team, though. Maybe next time I’ll propose and you can call your parents while we run.”

She wants to do this again? Michael didn’t have the best instincts when it came to these things. And if tonight was any indication, her smile alone would be enough to push him towards a life of petty crime. “Sorry, I appreciate it, but I’m not really looking for anything right now.” The words slipped out before he could stop them.

It wasn’t until her face flushed with laughter that he realized he’d said exactly the wrong thing.

“Don’t worry. You’re not my type. Thanks for the beer,” she said. “And the ring,” she added after a second’s thought. “I’m sure my mom would’ve loved a phone call like that.”

With that, the two said their goodbyes and headed their separate ways into the night.

The next morning’s hangover had barely started when Michael’s remorse at running from the check hit full force. He wasn’t the type of person to run from a bill, and he certainly wasn’t the type of person to let it stand unpaid afterwards. After fixing his credit card situation he headed back to make amends. Surprisingly, the hostess didn’t seem to understand his concern. Neither did the bartender working the morning shift. Together they managed to find the receipt from the night before, which showed that the bill had been paid in full. Scribbled onto the back of the receipt was a quick note:

“Knew you wouldn’t stay away. You’re buying next time? Call me. -Patty”

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