‘Desdemona Nocturne did a whole video about it, and now all I can see is how my palms are all wrong.’ The girl wiped her hands on her denim skirt. ‘And sweaty,ugh.’
‘But did you see the one from Lyriana?’ countered the third girl, who was swimming in a hoodie she’d apparently borrowed from a boyfriend. ‘You’re emotionally resilient.’
‘Well, there are always gloves,’ said Bonnie cheerfully. ‘You can go fingerless if you’re feeling the 80s vibe.’
Other customers were starting to file in. Winston and his friends, some of the young creative types from the coworking space that had recently opened up above the old bank, and Bowow Walker with a corgi wearing a collar that looked like a crown. Bonnie left the psych students to their palm comparisons, which she was pretty sure weren’t covered in their textbooks. But who knew, maybe their professor was giving them extra credit for considering additional diagnostic criteria.
Customers continued to stream in, and Bonnie lost herself in the work of it all: the mixed drinks, the bussing of tables, the keeping up with tabs and tips and change. At some point, the sun began to drift down in the sky, and outside, the fairy lights strung over the patio switched on. Things would start to get busy after this, but her friends would clock on to help. Hannah, who was still getting her foothold as a realtor, never minded the tips, and Kirsty fancied herself a maestro when it came to high-end mixology. Even Alana, who didn’t drink, could be counted on to plate up some baked goods in a pinch. And of course, there was always Bobby. Who, despite his volunteer status, was the hardest worker she had.
She was returning to the bar with a stack of empty glasses and brownie-crumb garnished plates, when her mouth suddenly felt sour. Ugh, had her hangover caught up with her again? She reached for her glass of soda water, hoping to wash the taste away.
But then her vision blotched slightly, as though a migraine aura were starting up. Blobs of brown discoloured her peripheral vision – blobs the exact colour of Mom’s disquieting painting in the stairwell.
She glanced up, knowing exactly who she was about to see. Uncle Oswald.
He was dressed ostentatiously as usual: pointed shoes, green pants, a voluminous shirt, and an ascot tie that sparkled with an emerald motif. And then there was the hat. It was impossible to be truly pretentious without the requisite headwear, and Uncle Oswald was committed to the part. Like some sort of 1920s gangster, he sported a bowler hat high upon his head. She imagined that beneath it, a slimy version of the rat fromRatatouillewas tugging his oily hair and making him behave amorally.
‘I didn’t expect you to grace us with your presence,’ she said warily, setting out a glass on the rich wooden counter. She’d never spent much time with Oswald one-on-one: hisrocky relationship with Mom had made sure of that. Besides, what did they have in common?
‘I thought I’d stop by while things were quiet at the shop. Good to see they’re less quiet here.’ Oswald set a fifty on the table and slid it towards her. ‘Mint julep.’
Of course. Oswald loved his green.
After some careful muddling of bourbon, simple syrup and bitters, all topped with a generous mint garnish, Bonnie pushed the drink towards her uncle, swallowing as she caught a hint of Mom’s features in Oswald’s cheekbones and the shape of his chin. This meant there was a hint of Bonnie in there too.
Reckoning with what that meant, she took the money and popped it in the vintage till, hesitating for a few beats too long when it came to picking out his change. A few beats more. She was confident by now that Oswald wasn’t expecting change. He’d tipped her an extremely generous amount for a very simple drink, which meant that he wanted something.
She wasn’t silly. She might have been the pretty face, but she was wily when she needed to be.
‘You’re doing nice work here,’ said Oswald, his gaze travelling across the room.
Bonnie tried to see it through his eyes. The groups of community college kids and young hotel workers laughing uproariously, if self-consciously, for everyone that age thinks that every eye is on them and them alone. Winston and the darts players clapping beers together when they made a tough throw. The coworking ‘solopreneurs’ trying to beat the pinball machines into submission. The endlessly changing faces of the tourists who’d sidle in for a weekend of fun, then disappear again as quickly as they’d come. To an outside observer, the bar looked like a success, all packed tables and glowing reviews. No one knew just how close Bonnie walked the line to insolvency each and every week, especially with quarterly taxes coming up. She made a mental note to ask Tessa about those when she next saw her. She was way less intimidatingthan Effie, who’d no doubt roll her eyes and admonish Bonnie for not filling out ten obscure forms or opening a special bank account or whatever.
‘Thanks,’ said Bonnie, as she mixed a G&T for a sparkly-looking girl with dark ringlets and incredible hoop earrings. ‘I’m really happy with how things are going. I wish Mom were here to see it.’
She passed the drink across the bar to the girl, who leaned forward conspiratorially, her earrings waggling.
‘You’re so pretty,’ said the girl, like she was sharing a deep secret.
‘Aw, thank you!’ said Bonnie, who never tired of hearing this. It was a sign that all was right with the world, after all. She slid over one of the cookies that became a crowd essential towards the end of the night. ‘That’s for you.’
The girl waggled her fingers and wandered off, drink in one hand and cookie clenched between her teeth.
‘She’d be proud.’ Uncle Oswald drank in infuriatingly tiny sips, dabbing his moustache with his handkerchief each time. Momentarily, he added, ‘So, my reason for visiting is this: I was going to ask if you’d noticed something odd about the townsfolk recently.’
He cocked his head. Unfortunately, the hat did not fall off, and Bonnie was left none the wiser about the existence of Bad Ratatouille.
Bonnie propped her chin on her hand and regarded her patrons. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
‘I mean, Effie might say they’re a bit odd,’ she said lightly. ‘But that’s Effie for you.’
‘Hmm, as someone with your inclinations,’ Uncle Oswald nodded at Bonnie’s tattooed wrists, ‘I thought you might have noticed it. The new-found reliance onmagic. Forces they couldn’t begin to understand.’
Bonnie shrugged. All right, sure, she could see a few evil eye pendants and witchy tattoos, but what of it?
‘It’s a free world,’ she said. ‘If someone’s going to put some crystals out under the moon, that’s their prerogative. I probably wouldn’t go drinking any moon-bathed water, though. I prefer my fluids without added mosquito larvae.’
‘It’s not that I don’t want them to enjoy the spoils of what comes so naturally to our family,’ said Oswald. ‘But I worry about their safety.’
