That First Sip

There’s two kinds of nights in The Calico. Nights where the bar is fully packed, and you’re serving drinks non-stop. Ryujin calls those the good nights, and considering all she does to help keep you afloat, you should agree with her.

But it’s the nights where only a small crowd shows up that make owning a bar worth it. Just enough for you to give your full attention to whoever needs it. Chatter small enough to blend into background noise, but loud enough you can catch everything with a little lean in.

A place to connect, y’know?

Tonight is a night worth owning a bar for. Last call already, maybe a straggler or two left with Yeji still diligently working the floor until her shift is fully over.

She leans against the bar with her back, both elbows on the countertop, just looking over the quiet of a job well done. “You need any help closing up tonight?” she asks.

There’s patterns to this. Yuna never helps closing after her shift, she pretends to not hear you when you ask her. Chaeryeong says she’ll help, but always “forgets”. Ryujin helps if she’s in the mood, and if she’s not, she’ll help if you tip her for it. Lia offers, and actually pulls through.

But Yeji never even asks. She always helps, unprompted. Always.

You set a glass down on the counter, and join her in her new script. “Nah, you can head home if you want.”

“Don’t want to,” she sighs and shakes her head softly. Her ears droop a little, their usual peak hanging a little downwards.

You drop two ice cubes into the glass. Look at her for a moment, make use of the fact that she’s looking anywhere but you. She’s no less comfortable than any other last call, but there’s a slight heat to her eyes. Nothing dramatic, but just visible enough that you think to pry.

“Rough night?” you ask.

“No.” She answers, and she means it. “I made a ton in tips. Relatively speaking.”

“I saw you flirting out there. I thought you said you weren’t going to debase yourself like that.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she says, pushing off the bar and turning around, facing you properly. She puts one elbow on the countertop, and lets her face rest on her hand. “And then I got dumped this morning.”

There’s no real anger behind her words. She’s staring at you now, presumably trying to gauge your reaction. Maybe looking for shock or sympathy or anything that should make her feel like she should feel bad about the whole thing. You’re not giving any of that though, no, you have your eyes down, focused on the brandy you’re pouring in that glass.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m not heartbroken or anything.” She traces some small circles on the bartop with her free hand absentmindedly. “Is that bad?”

“Depends on why, I guess,” you say, searching the bar for some garnish.

“I just felt kind of ignored the entire relationship. Like he never actually gave a shit about me as a person.” She pauses. “Like, he said he did, but he was always busy with other things, other people.” She sighs, makes a small gesture. “We only really talked if he was horny or if he wanted to talk about himself.”

You don’t say anything yet. Just let her have her space. You do find the lemon peel you were looking for, and finish your drink.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be ranting your ear off, you’re my boss,” she sighs, and shakes her head.

You slide the drink towards her, accompanied with a little nod.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Bartending. It’s on the house,” you chuckle. “Drink up, and tell me the rest of what’s on your mind.”

“Oh. Are you sure?”

You smirk. “Right now, just think of me as a bartender doing his job, not your boss.”

She smiles. Pulls up a stool, sits down and takes a sip of the drink, making an almost instant disgusted face she can barely attempt hiding. It’s the thought (and the alcohol content) that counts. “You know, the stupid thing is that I kept thinking it was because of me.” She laughs a little wryly, like she’s trying to get ahead of the pity response. “Like, maybe I wasn’t interesting enough, or funny enough, or smart enough, or good enough or whatever.” She shakes her head. “What a joke.”

“Sounds like he did you a favor, removing himself from your life,” you respond, gently, wiping a glass clean.

She laughs at that, and this one feels like the genuine kind of laugh she’d give you any time you make a dumb joke about some table or what not. “I’m honestly not even sad, or upset that we’re no longer together. I’m just.” She searches for the right words. “Annoyed? I should have dumped him, for fucks sake.”

“Makes sense, I’d say.” You look at her, and shrug your shoulders. “Being overlooked by someone who should’ve known better isn’t heartbreak. It’s just a waste of your time. Plenty of performative people out there. Oh well.”

“Ugh,” she groans. “I wish those people would all just drop dead.” It takes a moment for her to realize how bad that sounds. “I’m sorry, was that mean?”

“Given your current circumstance, I’ll allow it.”

She takes another sip of her drink, and it still refuses to go down easily. She puts the glass down, still half full, and you can sort of tell it’ll stay that way.

“You know what I think my problem is?” She exhales, long and dramatic, like she’s about to reveal the secrets to the Yejiverse to you.

“Enlighten me,” you answer with a lift of your eyebrow.

She sits up straighter now. “I somehow always end up picking the guys that have no bandwidth left for me.” Stares at you, her grand revelation hitting you the same time your last patron saunters out of the door. “I need someone that actually wants to talk with me about stuff that matters, not just ramble about their pretentious opinions about movies they don’t even like.”

It’s been pretty obvious for a while. “Can’t blame you,” you acknowledged. “I think it’s the most normal thing in the world to want to be heard.”

Her brow furrows, eyes go a bit wider, and it looks like you finally cracked her armor a little.

“You don’t think I’m just crying for attention?”

You put the glass away. “Nah. Besides, nothing wrong with wanting the spotlight on you every now and again.”

Her tail flicks left and right behind her a couple of times. She shifts forwards on her stool, and leans a little closer. “When did you become a good bartender?”

“Ouch?” You breathe out forcibly through your nose, the bare minimum you could call a laugh.

“I’m sorry, I just–” she begins, flustered, only now catching up to her own insult. “I didn’t mean it like it that. I just didn’t know you were this easy to be around.”

“It’s part of the job dynamic,” you smile. “Plenty of people don’t like me when I’m not serving them a drink.”

“Please.” She looks at you like you’re trying to pull her leg. “I find that hard to believe.”

“It’s true.” You shrug, and lean back against an empty part of the shelf behind you, looking up at the ceiling as if you store the inside of your head there. “I can’t even remember the last time I went on a date.”

“Oh? We could change that, you know.” Her eyes go thin like she’s spotted a limping bird. “I’ve got some free time and frustrations I need to work out.”

You look at her. Pick up the diluted glass of brandy she has no intention of finishing, and throw what remains away in the sink. “For that,” you smirk, “I’m going to have to be your boss again.”

“Aww, come on,” she pouts, her lower lip thick and her eyes wide. “I might never be this vulnerable again.”

“Sorry. Company policy.”