Annalise Starke had known her mother was going to die eventually; she just hadn't expected it to happen so soon.
At fifteen she had moved with her mother back to her home country of Australia with half a heart (metaphorically, of course) and her mo...
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We'd only been at Nate's birthday party for fifteen minutes before Sylvie and I had found a full-service bar with an actual bartender—well, as close to an actual bartender as an eighteen-year-old could find that would serve without IDs.
When we'd first sat down, he'd placed two shot glasses full of some mystery brown liquor in front of us. That should've been our first hint, but we'd both seen him pour them, and plenty of partygoers were huddled around the bar with a drink already in their hands.
Initially, I was hesitant but Sylvie picked it up, threw it back, and slammed the glass down on the bar in front of her—reminding me of my goal tonight: to have fun and turn off my brain.
Right as I the liquid passed through my lips, Sylvie's face morphed into one of disgust. "Ugh," she groaned. "What is that?"
As soon as the words graced my ears, it was like a switch flipped, and my throat burned as the liquid traveled down. It was...kind of soothing, actually. It calmed the whispers churning in my stomach, leaving only a warm presence behind.
The "bartender" laughed when I didn't make a face. "Damn," he shook his head in delight before turning his attention back to Sylvie. "That was Bourbon—Brother's Bond, to be exact. Nathan's a big fan of the expensive stuff, and I'm all for it, he pays and I pour!"
I leaned forward, letting my elbows rest on the bar. "Just how full service is this bar?"
He matched my energy, leaning forward. "As full service as you need it to be," now that he mentioned it, my eyes were drawn to the wall of liquor behind him. It hadn't occurred to me that the bar might be a permanent, built-in feature to Nate's house and only the bar-tender was for the party.
I narrowed my eyes ever so slightly. "Can you make me something with that in it?"
He straightened his spine. "Sure. What were you thinking? Old Fashioned? Mint Julep?" My brows furrowed at his suggestions. I'd heard of those drinks, of course, but I had zero clue what they actually were or what they'd taste like.
Sylvie interjected. "She'll take a Mint Julep—she'd hate the bitters. And I'll have a Mule, thanks." She turned to me, then froze, like a thought hit her. "And make them both doubles, please." I snorted at that, to which Sylvie only shrugged. "What? I don't want to come back every thirty minutes. Think smarter, not harder, Lise."
I don't know why I was shocked at Sylvie's seemingly vast knowledge of cocktails. Maybe it was the fact that we'd barely touched a bottle of wine before I left for Australia...but a lot changes in two years.
The bartender placed our drinks in front of us, and I had to say, they looked pretty good. I took a sip of mine, and was surprised at the flavor—it was nice, refreshing—and it still had that hint of mind-numbing warmth.
