Elias chuckled, dragging over the other chair. He slid the drawer onto his lap and counted it with the swift precision of a man who’s done it countless times. He wrote the number he got on a Post-It and counted it twice more, getting the same number three times—dead on. "Your head ain't in the game, kid."
"No shit," I mumbled. "Haven't been sleeping well."
He chuckled again. "Gee, I wonder why that is?"
I blinked at him with lifted eyebrows. "Oh? Why's that?"
He counted the day's take, answering without looking at me. "Well, the reason is about five-eight, has black hair and blue eyes, and ghosted you."
"Shut up."
He flipped me off as he put on readers to gather the credit card receipts and send the batch over. "Don’t shoot the messenger, sweetie."
"Sorry, I just…it's not her. I'm just not sleeping well."
He just laughed. "Sure, sure."
"Elias—"
He set the receipts down and removed his readers, sighing. "You've been off your A-game since that weekend, Duncan. I don't think it's a coincidence."
"I have not."
He snorted sarcastically, rifling through previous reports until he found the one he wanted, and showed it to me. "Just last week, you had to comp not one, not two, not three, but five different meals because you fucked up. Not judging, just saying. You miscounted the register this past Monday and I only noticed it because I’m a type-A lunatic who double-checks everything. You bitched out Casey, our new line cook, for what seemed like no reason at all. I can go on. Do I need to?"
I groaned, covering my face with both hands. "No."
"Just admit you miss her and that you're pissed off she ghosted you."
"Fine," I grumbled. "I miss her. But she didn't ghost me—she just snuck out and sent me a shitty blow off text."
Elias blew a raspberry. "If you ask me, a blow off text is almost worse than being ghosted. Scratch that—it is worse. I'll take being ghosted over a blow off.”
"You're married, Elias."
"Yeah, now. I wasn't always, though, obviously. I've been ghosted, blown off, and dumped in just about every way you can think of. It all sucks, but to me it always felt worst when he took the time to make a bullshit excuse. At that point, just be honest, right? But no, the shitty excuses. The lies. The paper-thin reasons, or worse yet, no reason, just a vague apology."
"That's what I got—thanks, and I'm sorry."
He didn't answer until he'd finished the credit card batch, sliding his readers back into the pocket of his short-sleeved button-down and turning to look at me. “That sucks. I think what's bothering you, though, is that you're denying how hurt you are. It's making you a pissy-ass bitch because you're hurt and won't recognize it. That shit festers, Dunc. I know you're all macho and alpha, just like your daddy, but you still have feelings. And also, for the record, your daddy is way more in tune with his feelings than I think you recognize."
I opened my mouth, said nothing, and closed it again. "I…I've never once considered whether my dad is in touch with his feelings or not.”
"Well, he is."
"And you know this how?" I asked.
“I’ve been tending bar for Sebastian Badd for almost twenty years, kid. I know the man. We've had a lot of deep talks while closing up shop."
"Are you upset that I got the GM job and you didn't?"
He sighed again, tapping a pen on the desk. "No, I'm not. Mainly because we talked about it. If you want a war movie metaphor for it, you're the young buck fresh out of West Point with no experience who gets tapped to lead a unit into battle. I'm the grizzled old non-com who actually knows what the fuck he's doing." He laughed, grinning at me. "I'm here to help you learn the ropes, Dunc. I could get a job managing just about any bar I wanted, anywhere in the world. I'm damn good at my job. But I like your family. I like the way you do business. I'm here because it's where I want to be."
"I see."
He patted me on the back. "Go home, Dunc. I'll finish here. Sort your shit out, okay? Get that girl out of your head, however you have to do it. She's gone. If she wanted the same thing you did, she'd be here. Yeah, I guess you're right," I said. "You sure you’re good?"
He nodded. "Just put up the chairs for me. I got the rest."
