Graduating meant it was time to grow up, be an adult, and pay for your own way. As terrifying as the concept was, I also felt ready to tackle it. I knew a big part of that was because I knew what I wanted to do with my life and was taking the steps to get there. The majority of students who put off graduating for as long as possible did it because they had no idea what they wanted to be when they grew up. I totally understood that but was thankful I couldn’t relate.
Closing my notebook, I glanced at the clock. Hours had flown by, as they usually did whenever I was excited about the prospect of a potential client. Lauren used to tease me about how I wouldn’t even notice that the sun had risen and fallen while I was immersed in work. And it was true. I was too busy paying attention to all the details online to notice the ones off of it. She’d come home an hour or so ago, and she knew better than to distract me, so when I stretched my arms over my head and looked around, I was surprised to see her sitting on the living room couch, reading.
“Have you been there the whole time?” I asked, and she laughed, her head nodding as her feet tucked up underneath her.
“Pretty much. But I’ve been quiet, so you haven’t noticed me,” she said like she was a proud child waiting for a reward from a parent.
“We’d better start getting ready.” I stood up from the chair and stretched some more. My body was tight from staying in one position for so long.
Lauren slammed her book shut and breathed out, “Finally! But I’m hungry. And I was afraid to bang around in the kitchen while you were in it. You know how grumpy you get.”
I frowned. “I don’t get grumpy. I just hate getting distracted. It takes me out of my mindset and throws me all out of whack, and then I have to start over.”
“Yeah, yeah. Grumpy. Anyway, I need to eat something before we go because I am not eating at The Bar.”
“Why not? Their food’s decent?”
The Bar’s food was definitely edible but greasy. Maybe she wasn’t in the mood for anything fried.
“I don’t want to eat in front of the drummer,” she admitted, and I gave her a half-smile.
“Understandable,” I said because drinking in front of a crush was one thing but trying to eat greasy bar food in front of them was something else altogether.
Walking into the kitchen, I pulled open the fridge and frowned. We were pretty bad at keeping food stocked. Like most students, we ate out way more than we could afford to.
“There isn’t much here,” I said as she appeared behind me, looking over my shoulder.
“Please don’t make me eat another salad,” she whined, noting how much lettuce was in our vegetable drawer.
“I don’t make you eat anything,” I said with a laugh. “And you love salads.”
The girl ate more salads than anyone I’d ever met in my life.
“I know; I know.” She waved me off. “Don’t get me wrong. I just feel like they steal joy from my life every time I eat one for a meal. I know I’m supposed to eat it, and it’s good for me, but it’s not fun. I get tired of eating them all the time.”
I laughed, not only because she was an absolute crazy pants, but because I also totally agreed with her. I loved a good salad myself, but she was right; they weren’t necessarily fun to eat. They felt like something you were forced to put in your mouth, not something you wanted to. And it was such a female thing because how many guys did you see walking around, eating salads for meals? None. Unless they were vegetarians, but they didn’t count for the sake of this argument.
“Joy-stealers. That’s our new name for salads from here on out,” I said with a laugh.
Lauren cracked up. “Yes! I love it! Now, make me one of your famous grilled cheeses, please!” She reached for the bread on the counter and slid it toward me.
I grabbed the freshly sliced deli American white cheese and salted butter. “All right. But don’t blame me when you feel all bloated and full and gross.”
“I’ll feel delicious because your grilled cheese is the best. And I won’t even be sorry because it will bring me joy and make me so happy to eat it!” she singsonged as she spun around in circles.
“If you say so.” I went to work on the sandwiches, making them exactly the way my grandmother had taught me when I was young. It wasn’t like you could really go wrong when making a grilled cheese, but you could improve it and make a good thing even better. And that was what I did. I made a really great grilled cheese, thanks to Grandma Travers.
After the sandwiches were made and eaten and the dishes placed in the sink for later, we headed into our separate bathrooms to shower and start getting ready. It took me no time at all since I wasn’t looking for anything other than some new clients. Heading into Lauren’s room, I looked around at the mayhem. There were a ton of clothes all over her floor, and her room was usually impeccable. It was only then that I realized how nervous she must be.
“Do you want some help?” I asked as she clearly struggled over what to wear.
“Yes! And fair warning: I have no idea what kind of music they play. They might totally suck. I have no clue.” She offered me a short shrug before pulling on her third skirt since I’d walked in. Tight. Black. With a slit in the thigh.
“That’s hot as hell. Do not change. Wear that,” I said, knowing that she would fight me on it a little.
“It’s pretty attention-grabbing,” she mulled, looking in the mirror from all angles.
“Look, you’re allowed to dress sexy because you like a guy in a band and not worry about getting kidnapped and sold into sex slavery, okay? Girls go out, looking hot, every night! I won’t let anyone steal you,” I said, telling her exactly what she needed to hear.
“Okay, but if I get taken, it’s on you.” She pointed a finger in my direction.
“Deal.”
“And you’ll have to tell Jason what happened,” she added, and I squinted at her.
“Jason who?”
“The drummer!”
“Okay. I’ll claim responsibility, and I’ll tell Drummer Boy it was all my fault. Happy now?”
“Yes.” She smiled before offering to call a ride, but I jingled my car keys and promised that I wouldn’t drink more than one beer all night.
This wasn’t a social call for me. I was in work mode and didn’t want to forget anything, so drinking too much was not on the agenda. After I grabbed my notebook and pen, we headed out the door and into the night.
I pulled into The Bar’s parking lot, and the first thing I noticed was how crowded it was. There were some parking spots available, but it definitely wasn’t as dead as I’d assumed it would be on a Wednesday night. When we stepped out of the car, we could hear the music pouring out. They’d already started, and I hated the fact that we were late. It screamed unprofessional.
When we showed the bouncer our IDs, he said we had a table reserved, and both Lauren and I shot each other surprised yet thankful looks. He directed us to the lone empty table in the entire place with a handwritten Reserved sign on top. The Bar was packed and not just with college-aged kids. It was a younger crowd, but some people had clearly come here straight from work, dressed in business attire and loosened ties. I watched as they rocked out, their heads nodding along with the beat.