All this Time

Nathan

December 27th

Saturday night at Moss, the bigger pub in our Colorado Springs suburb, is popping off. That's in part because it's the weekend, but it helps that a lot of tourists are still here after Christmas.

Sitting in a booth with my three closest friends, I shout my order for a third beer at the waitress and pretend not to remember the fact that we fucked two years ago.

That's the problem with a small town, after a while, you start finding the past in most corners. I can't blame the town, it's my fault for getting around so damn much.

The beer hits the table, condensation dripping down the edges, adding to the rings on the old wooden table top.

This repetitive bullshit will be the fucking death of me. I'm bored, bored of this bar, not necessarily these people, but the things we do together.

To be fair, Matt and Cain have children at home, Luke just got married. They're here for me. Because I'm a fucking loser, the last one in our group to get a life. For them, this is a quick time out, a few hours out of their routine lives. It's a fun reprieve for them before they go back to the true joy in their lives.

Luke takes a quick look at his phone, smiling like a sap before he puts it face down beside his third beer.

"The wife?" I ask, not intending for the word to sound so malicious. He doesn't seem to notice, giving me a quick nod. "You have to head home?"

"Na," he lightly laughs, lifting the beer to his mouth. "But after the photo she sent me, I want to."

"That's the check mate move," Matt tells him from across the table, twisting the black band on his ring finger. "She wants you to come home, she just wants it to be your idea."

Luke shrugs. "I don't care, I'm still going home to have sex with my hot wife. Win win."

Cain belches, slamming his empty bottle on the table and wiping his mouth with the back of his warm brown hand. "Enjoy it while it lasts mate. You get a few kids in and you're not going home to fuck. You're going home to a bed full of children cockblocking the fuck out of you."

"Couch it is," I say, grinning at him as he blows out a tired breath and palms his clean shaven jaw.

No one expects me to add my two cents, I'm childless, single too thanks to my recent break up. Break up doesn't even seem like the right word. Absolute fucking shit show is what I'd call that situation. Six months later and I'm still not sure how to wrap my head around it.

Like most nights, I'll probably hang out after the three of them have gone home, I'll hook up with some girl, preferably a tourist whose here for the Christmas break, and I'll wake up in the morning and pretend to be fan-fucking-tastic.

My gaze starts to wander the chaos in the bar, a group of elders stand at the juke box, arms linked over their shoulders, their drunken sways make me lightly laugh. Most people in here are in need of a cab, it's crowded, business is booming and I'm happy for Mo, the bar owner and the most consistent woman in my life, aside from Dallas, my sister, off living her best life in California with the man of her dreams.

Even my baby sister has her shit together. Eight years older and I couldn't claim to be as grown up as she is. When I was twenty three, I was driving her to school, packing her lunches and being a full time dad. Sometimes I wondered if that was why I still hadn't grown up, perhaps I was resentful of the fact that my youth was ripped from me when our parents died. Not that I would ever blame her for that. She needed me and I wouldn't regret stepping up.

Not that I was the perfect parental figure.

As I scan the crowd, tuning out the conversation about rash cream going on beside me, I see a familiar face and do a double take.