Page 158 of Manhattan Bossholes

Cora took a beat before answering my question.

“I guess I stumbled into bartending sort of by accident,” she said. “Or maybe that’s not the right word. More like out of necessity. You heard about what happened to my dad, yeah?”

Yeah, I’d heard. I’d been a sophomore at Cornell, so I hadn’t been around, but in a small town, everyone knows everyone’s business. I’d gotten the story from a couple of high school friends I still kept in touch with back then. Mr. Newport’s car wreck had been a mess, but what had made it worse was that it hadn’t been immediately fatal. He had a couple of surgeries right afterward to try to save him…but all they really did was load Cora and her mom with a mountain of medical debt on top of the funeral costs.

My hands tightened around the wheel. It was all so unfair. I hadn’t known Mr. Newport well—he’d tried so hard not to be some “overbearing dad intimidates his daughter’s boyfriend” cliché that he never knew what to say to me. I couldn’t remember much beyond a handful of awkward conversations between us in the stretch of time when Cora and I dated. But even just knowing him in passing, I could still tell that he loved his wife and his daughter deeply, and the last thing he would have wanted was to make life harder on them. But—through no fault of his own—that was exactly what he’d done, leaving them in a financial hole that couldn’t have been easy to climb out from.

“I’m sorry I didn’t reach out directly,” I said, feeling the need to apologize.

“It’s okay,” she said, trying to brush off the apology. “It was a long time ago, Aiden.”

“I just didn’t know the right thing to say.” Truthfully, I hadn’t felt comfortable calling after the way things had ended between us. I’d figured I was probably the last person she wanted to have to deal with when she had so much else on her plate. “I sent flowers though. I never did put my name on the card, so it’s not like you would have known they were from me anyway.”

“Oh,” she said, tilting her head to look at me. “That was…Thank you.” She smoothed the crinkled edges of the pretzel bag. “Losing my dad was hard, but the debt…that was what really made it scary. For a while, we thought we’d lose the house. We were able to use my college fund to save it. I thought at first about trying to go to school anyway—getting loans, all of that. But my mom…she’d been a housewife, remember? Even when she was able to find a job, she just didn’t have the qualifications to earn much. She needed another salary in the house, and I came to find out that tending bar paid pretty well.”

“So you gave up your dreams,” I said softly, remembering the girl who had planned to be an English teacher, who’d loved Jazz Age writers and always carried a copy of The Great Gatsby with her. My Zelda…

“I found a new dream,” she said. “I discovered my passion for mixing drinks. Even when things settled down—when my mom got a better job, and we finally paid off the last of the debt—I never seriously considered going back to school. I found the thing I’m meant to be doing. Now my plan is to save up to open a literary-themed speakeasy. That way I can combine my love of literature with my passion for crafting drinks.”

“That’s…Wow!” I hadn’t realized she had designs on starting her own business.

“That’s partly why I was so eager to say hi to your dad again when you said he was refurbishing the Red Lion. I thought I might be able to pick his brain a little.”

“I’m sure he’d love to talk to you about it,” I said sincerely. “Maggie, his handywoman, might also be a good resource for you. She could give you the rundown on what it takes to get a place fitted up right.”

“That’d be great,” she said. “I know your dad’s obviously in Manhattan now. But where’d your mom end up after the divorce?”

“She’s in Ohio, closer to my grandparents. What about your mom? How’s she doing?”

“She’s doing well…I think.” Cora sighed heavily, snapping a pretzel in half.

“What is it?”

“It’s just…She’s been oddly distant and secretive lately. It takes her hours to reply to my texts sometimes, which is so unlike her. I’m starting to worry something is wrong.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing serious,” I said. “She would have told you if it was. Right?” Then again, wasn’t Nana Dee trying to hide whatever was going on with her? I shoved that thought aside, trying to comfort Cora as best as I could. “Look, maybe you’re just overthinking it. Maybe she took up a new hobby.”

“I don’t know,” Cora said, indecisive. “Something is definitely going on with her. My mind keeps flipping between serious and ridiculous things. What if she’s sick? What if she’s run into money troubles again? What if she’s decided to sell the house and move down south to sell pineapples off a fruit stand on the beach?”

I burst out laughing as I envisioned a dilapidated fruit stand. No way in hell was Bonnie Newport heading down south to sell pineapples. “I don’t think you have to worry about your mother giving up her home for a fruit stand.”

“Stop laughing.”

“I’m trying.”

“I’m not even going to tell you about my alien abduction theory then.”

“Oh, I definitely want to hear this.”

Cora shook her head, her smile twisting as her lips puckered. For the next thirty minutes, she told me about one crazy theory after another. From there, she segued into even crazier bartending stories.

“What’s happening?” Cora asked in the middle of a hilarious story, bracing her hand against the door as I changed lanes.

“I’m pulling over.” I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe.

“Why?”

“Because there are so many tears in my eyes I can’t see the road.” I drove onto the shoulder and stopped the car, taking a deep breath, trying to get myself under control. But every time I managed to stop the laughter it started up again.