Unraveled Invitations
The silence pressed against my ears as I grabbed the mop from the supply closet. My footsteps echoed across the wooden floor, each board creaking with familiar complaints. The morning sun filtered through the dusty windows, catching motes that danced in its beams.
I filled my bucket with hot water and cleaner, the chemical smell mixing with lingering traces of beer and fried food. Starting from the far corner, I worked my way across the floor in methodical strips, pushing away the grime from yesterday's shift.
My arms moved in automatic motions - dip, wring, sweep, repeat. The physical work helped clear my head, washing away thoughts of Madison and bills and unfinished paintings.
The front door's bell chimed. Marcus, our morning cook, shuffled in with his usual thermos of coffee. His chef's coat was pristine white, a stark contrast to how it would look by closing time.
"Morning, Ella." He set his thermos on the bar. "Floor's looking good."
"Thanks." I wrung out the mop. "Coffee smells amazing."
"Want some? Made extra today."
Before I could answer, Sarah burst through the door, her waitress uniform already wrinkled. "God, yes. Coffee. Please tell me there's enough for everyone."
The bell chimed again. Jerry from maintenance walked in, toolbelt jingling. "Who's talking about coffee?"
I leaned the mop against the wall and grabbed cups from behind the bar. The morning crew trickled in one by one - Lisa from the kitchen, Tommy the busboy, Angela our hostess. Soon the empty bar filled with voices and laughter.
Marcus poured his coffee into the cups I'd set out. Steam rose in delicate spirals as everyone gathered around the bar, sharing stories from their evening or complaints about traffic.
"My kid's got a dance recital tonight," Lisa said, warming her hands around her cup.
"Madison's got an art project due," I added, taking a sip of the rich coffee. "She's definitely got more talent than I ever did."
Sarah snorted. "Please, I've seen your paintings. That sunset piece in your apartment is gorgeous."
The coffee warmed my insides as our little morning ritual continued, everyone sharing bits of their lives before we had to face the day ahead. The sun climbed higher outside, signaling it was almost time to open.
The front door swung open with a bang, and Tony strode in, his polished shoes clicking against the freshly mopped floor. My stomach dropped - I hadn't finished setting up the bar yet.
"Ten o'clock, people!" His voice boomed across the room. "Why are we standing around? Let's move!"
I gulped down the last of my coffee and rushed behind the bar, nearly colliding with Sarah who scrambled to grab her order pad.
"Sorry, Tony." Marcus disappeared into the kitchen, his white coat fluttering behind him. The sizzle of the grill started moments later.
"Thompson." Tony's thick eyebrows furrowed as he approached the bar. "You've got empties in the back that need sorting. And where's the fresh fruit for garnishes?"
"On it." I ducked under the counter, my cheeks burning. The morning chat had eaten up more time than I'd realized.
Lisa and Tommy scattered to their stations while Angela flipped the closed sign to open. The screech of chair legs against wood filled the air as everyone rushed to get tables down.
"And Thompson?" Tony's voice softened slightly. "The produce delivery's coming at eleven. Make sure someone checks the order this time. Last week's lemons were half-molded."
"Yes, sir." I grabbed my box cutter and headed for the storage room. The recycling bins overflowed with bottles from last night's shift. Green glass clinked as I sorted them by color and type.
Jerry's voice carried from the dining room. "AC's acting up again, Tony. Might need a new filter."
"Christ, another expense?" Tony's footsteps retreated toward his office. "Get it fixed before the lunch rush."
The morning peace evaporated as we all fell into our routines. Marcus's spatula scraped against the grill. Sarah's heels clicked across the floor as she arranged place settings. The ice machine hummed as I filled the wells.
My fingers moved quickly, slicing lemons and limes, arranging olives and cocktail onions in their containers. The familiar motions grounded me, even as my mind raced through the day's mental checklist. Check the delivery. Stock the bar. Clean the taps. Call the liquor rep about last week's missing case of vodka.
The first customers would arrive soon. Another day at Rivergate Bar & Grill was beginning, ready or not.
I wiped sweat from my forehead as I mixed another round of mojitos. The lunch rush hit hard today - suits from the business district flooding in for their power lunches and midday cocktails. Ice clinked against glass as I muddled mint leaves, my hands moving on autopilot.
"Two chicken caesar salads for table twelve!" Marcus called from the kitchen window.
Sarah breezed past, balancing plates. "Ella, I need another pinot grigio when you get a chance."
The familiar chaos of the lunch rush wrapped around me like a security blanket. Orders, drinks, small talk with regulars - it kept my mind occupied, away from the empty canvas waiting at home.
The bell above the door chimed. I glanced up, more out of habit than interest.
My hands froze mid-pour. Drake stood in the doorway, his tailored suit a stark contrast to our casual atmosphere. My stomach clenched as memories crashed through the careful walls I'd built.
He scanning the room, those green eyes I used to know so well landing on me behind the bar. A slight nod. He walked toward an empty stool, his shoes clicking against the hardwood floor.
I finished pouring the drink in front of me, willing my hands to stay steady. Three months since the divorce. Three months since I'd seen him outside of rushed custody exchanges with Madison.
"Scotch, neat?" I asked as he settled onto the stool. My voice came out stronger than I felt.
"You remember." He loosened his tie, a gesture so familiar it hurt.
I grabbed the bottle of his preferred brand - twelve-year single malt. The one we used to share on special occasions. The amber liquid caught the light as I poured, memories of anniversaries and celebrations threatening to surface.
"How's Madison?" He drummed his fingers on the bar top.
"Good. Art project due today." I slid his drink across the bar, careful not to let our fingers brush. "She's excited about it."
"She gets that from you." He took a sip, then reached into his suit jacket. "Actually, I wanted to give you something."
My chest tightened as he pulled out a cream-colored envelope. Heavy cardstock, elegant script - I recognized Sarah's taste immediately.
"I know it's..." He cleared his throat. "Well, I wanted you to hear it from me first. Before Madison finds out through someone else."
The envelope landed between us like a bomb. I didn't need to open it to know what it was. The wedding invitation sat there, mocking me with its perfect calligraphy and gilt edges.
"It's next week," Drake said softly. "Small ceremony. I'd understand if you don't-"
"Your drink, sir." Sarah appeared at his elbow with perfect timing, setting down a fresh glass of wine for another customer. Her eyes darted between us, then to the envelope. Recognition flashed across her face.
I picked up the invitation with numb fingers. The paper felt heavy, expensive. Just like everything in Drake's new life.
"Madison should be there," he said. "If she wants to be. It's up to you."
The bar's noise faded to a distant buzz. Through the window behind Drake, I could see the art supply store where I used to buy Madison's colored pencils. Where Drake used to surprise me with new canvases when I was stuck in a creative rut.
He stood, straightening his jacket. Pulled out his wallet and laid down too much money for a single scotch.
"Just... let me know. About Madison." He turned to leave, then paused. "The invitation's for both of you, Ella."
I stared at the envelope in my hands, my ex-husband's retreating back, and the best friend who replaced me - now watching from across the room with an unreadable expression.
Next week. They were getting married next week.
The envelope trembled in my grip as the full weight of those words sank in.