Ivy Leaves Journal of Literature & Art — Vol. 86

D R E W W EL B O R N close enough to see ourselves in perfect detail. Kaylene was looking down, and I turned to see why. She was busy tapping the keys of her phone, again.

“You sure have been busy with your phone,” I said.

“Hmmm?” She looked up at me. She raised her eyebrows, like she thought she should have been paying attention.

“Your phone,” I answered. “You’ve been texting your boyfriend, right?”

“My boyfriend?”

“Yeah. What’s his name? Darren, isn’t it?”

Kaylene laughed and placed her hand on my shoulder. She squeezed her fingers. “Darren? We broke up like six months ago. I told you that, didn’t I?” I shook my head.

“In the break room? I had spilt coffee everywhere and you helped me clean it up? I guess I was all distraught or something because of the split,” she said. She sounded sure it was me.

“No,” I started. “I’ve never cleaned up spilt coffee in the break room.”

“Oh.” She pulled back, looking slightly embarrassed. “It must have been John then. Wow, I’m sorry.” A quick laugh escaped her. She pulled her fingers into a fist and brought them to her lips. She seemed to be trying to figure something out. Suddenly, she pointed a finger as though she understood. “You guys just seem—” The bartender walked up and placed a bowl of chips on the bar in front of us. “Sorry about the wait. What can I get for you?” He pulled his hands through his thick, dark hair that went just past his ears.

“Oh, good. Chips. I’ll just have a rum and Coke,” Kaylene answered.

I hesitated, but ordered the same. I hadn’t actually had a real drink since the night I got hired by our firm. But it wasn’t like I was driving home tonight.

The bartender placed lime–green coasters in front of us that displayed the bar’s misspelled slogan before once more pulling his hands through his hair. I looked at the bowl of chips with a concerned eye. Strands of loose hair wouldn’t make for a good garnish. I lightly pushed the bowl away with the back of my hand.

Picking up my coaster, I noticed something seemed off about the “U R Now Here!” but I wasn’t quite sure what. I set it back down as the bartender produced two glasses and began to pour in the dark liquids.

I turned my attention to Kaylene: “What were you saying? Me? John?”

I laughed. “The guy’s a moron,” and he smelled like roast beef. Surely she hadn’t confused me with John.

She drew her lips tightly together, then pushed them out, pursing them.

Her eyes narrowed as if she didn’t know how to answer, or didn’t want to.

Her phone vibrated, and her fingers once more went to work. She tried to form a response to me: “Oh, I don’t kn—” “Here are your drinks,” the bartender interrupted her. Again. I could see his reflection in the mirror behind the counter, now a part of our image.

He had that California-tan. A noticeable stubble darkened his cheeks, although it seemed tamed enough to actually be intentional—rugged in that cologne counter kind of way. His green shirt, snug at the sleeves and chest, separated my reflection from Kaylene’s. I wished he would attend to the other pair at the opposite end of the bar.

“Thank God,” Kaylene said, smiling up at him, sounding relieved.

I gave her a confused look. She must have noticed. “I mean, thanks,” she said.