And your stepfather who would alsobe your grandfather would have been physically and emotionally abusive.
You’re so lucky we chose you.
I love you so much.
Me: Thank you so much.
I am grateful.
And I love you so much, too.
Several YearsAgo
I’m minding my business at my favorite place in town to grab a drink, the old Irish dive bar many people don’t even know exists.
It’s very… wood-forward, I guess you could say. A long, battle-scarred bar that runs the entire length of the front room, lined with nondescript bar stools.
The walls have ornate wooden detailing at the top, and the back of the bar has built-in wood shelves.
Whoever designed this place really loves wood.
They have all the typical booze you’d expect for an Irish bar—a bunch of beers on tap, a ton of Irish whiskey—and then some weird choices, like a big-ass bottle of blue curaçao. There has to be a story about it, but it’s not one I’ve asked, even though I’ve talked to the people who work here for many, many hours on end.
And one of my favorite things is the noticeboard, where the staff members place notes for each other, and put up pictures of them doing silly things—face painting, bad karaoke, and so on. I love sitting down that end of the bar so I can be nosy and read it. Because the staff here have all become my friends.
They love to make silly check names for me, and it’s become a bit of a competition. Puns on my name… Margaux with the Flow. Let the Good Times Margaux. Let it Margaux. Margaux your own Way. Margauxna Be A Star. And my personal favorite, Margaux All Night Long.
I feel at home here. I can come and sit after a stressful day at work.
My phone lights up.Please don’t be a work email. I can’t take any more for the day. Probably some dickhead from Tinder, anyway.
Dex:
Hey Marg! I’m in town… want to grab a… marg?
I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop from smiling. Dex is just as punny as the team here.
“Oooh, who are you talking to?” Pamela, one of my favorite bartenders in the world, asks. “I see that look on your face. You’re positively beaming.”
“Ah, it’s no one.” I can feel myself blushing.
“Doesn’t look like a no one,” she winks. “And you’re beet red by the way. Your face matches your hair.”
I feel my face getting even hotter. “No no. It’s my dickhead brother’s best friend. It sounds like he’s in town. He likes making puns out of my name, just like you guys.”
She laughs. “Sounds like a real doll. Why don’t you get him to come by?”
I grin. “Maybe I will.”
I text him the address.
Me:
It’s not really a margarita kind of place. But I know you like whiskey, and they have plenty of that.
Half an hour later, I’m flicking through my phone and half-reading some random article about celebrities behaving badly, when I hear a familiar voice booming from the entrance.
“Well, if it isn’t Margauxrita sitting at an Irish dive bar, in all herredheaded glory?! I’m shocked to find you in an establishment such as this!”