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“Yeah?” my sister said, grunting with effort.
“I mean, sure, it wasn’t the happening kind of lifestyle we’re living right now,” I said. “There were hardly any massive couches to move from one room to another that still smelled like smoke, and certainly no one bombarding me for the shortest skirt I own so they can get better tips…”
“I asked you…” she said, clearly having trouble with the weight on her end, “one… time…”
“While we were in front of our mother,” I said, “who proceeded to ask me exactly how short my skirts were and demanding that I show her.”
“She still treats us like we are children,” Lena said, now adding a huffing sound of exhaustion to every step, “because she never got to experience young adulthood on her own.”
“Set it down,” I said.
“Oh, thank God.”
The couch slammed onto floor in the storage space. Or, what had become storage space. It used to be the tiny office and the wine tasting room that Dad had insisted on. He claimed it was what separated our pub from all the others. We had a classy tasting room. To his credit, the room was booked rather often. It was just that the type who booked the room seemed a lot less interested in wine than they did discussing business.
I flopped down on one end of the ancient, and somehow mostly unharmed, couch and Lena did the same on the other.
“We need a break,” I said.
“We can’t have one,” Lena said. “You know Mom’s going to come in here looking for us in, like, five second—,”
“Jules? Lena?”
“Shit,” we said simultaneously.
“Yeah, Ma, in here,” Lena said.
“What… what are you two doing lying around?” Mom shouted as she came into the now much larger room from the doorway that no longer had a door. And thus, no privacy and ability to escape from the pub.
It was now officially even worse than my nightmares.
“We’re not lying around, Ma,” I said. “We’ve been going since six this morning. We needed a break.”
“There are people lined up outside,” Mom said, the guilt and shame pouring onto us from above. “They have come out in support of our family, ofyour father, and we need to make sure they have a wonderful time. It’s our grand reopening. The pub that has tied our family together for generations! Get off your asses and get back to work! We only have an hour!”
Sighing, both of us stood, me stretching my back and enjoying the cracking release in the middle as I turned to the side. Lena reached inside her jean jacket, which barely covered her tight tank top she chose for the evening, or the rather familiar looking bunny logo in the center of it.
“Here,” she said. “Take a shot. It’s the only way to get through this.”
I took the flask that she was holding out and sniffed the lid.
“Christ, what is this?” I asked. “It smells like rocket fuel.”
“It, essentially, is,” she said. “It’s the stuff Dad used to put in his coffee at night.”
“Oh, God, no, Lena,” I said. “That stuff will kill us.”
“It’s a tribute to Dad,” she said. “Take a shot with me.”
“Fine,” I said. “But only one. I need to be able to see afterward.”
We made our way back to the bar area, Mom having flittered off to do something else, and Lena grabbed two shot glasses and put them on the bar. Pouring a healthy-looking shot of unhealthy brown liquor, she capped the flask and put it back in her jacket.
“Here goes,” she said, lifting her glass.
“For Dad,” I said.
“For Dad,” she repeated. “Sláinte.”
