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“Are you feeling better?”
Her big eyes light up. “You know what? I really am. I think this was exactly what I needed.” She looks around at the grimy bar with the run-down tables that look like they could spontaneously fall apart and the scuffed-up, chipped wooden floors. Then, her eyes snap back to mine. “By the way, why are we here? I thought you hated dive bars.”
“I do. But you love them.” I tell her how I feel about her the only way I can. I get as close to the line as possible without crossing it.
She smiles, but it disappears quickly. “I’m going to miss the shit out of you, Dex Hessler.”
Before I can say anything else, her long hair is swishing behind her as she slides right into place with the line dance.
“Another?” A voice behind me startles me. A bartender with a short blond ponytail and a small lip ring taps the glass top counter, and I swivel around in my stool to face her.
“No, thank you. I have to drive when she’s done dancing.”
The bartender lets out a low whistle as she looks over my shoulder. “You might be here a while. She looks like she has stamina.”
I laugh as I shake the ice cubes in my almost-empty glass. “That she does.”
“How about a Coke with a lime?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“How long have you guys been together?” The bartender grabs a glass from under the bar and stuffs it to the brim with ice before filling it with the soda gun.
“She’s just a friend,” I automatically reply. After three years of my odd friendship with Lennox, I’m used to this question. I shut it down every time.
She scoffs. “Yeah. Okay.”
“What?” I ask, acting like I don’t know where her skepticism stems from.
“Oh, nothing. I also stare at my friends longingly from the bar when we go out.” She smirks as she places the soda in front of me. “Want a straw?”
I roll my eyes. “No, thanks.”
“So, what’s the problem? Is she with someone?”
I widen my eyes at the nosy bartender. “Do you have other customers? Don’t let me keep you.”
She cackles. “Come on. Humor me. It’s a slow night. I’m bored and curious.”
Grumbling, I fold my hands together and rest my chin on my knuckles. “We’re from two very different worlds. I might’ve given her the wrong impression about what I really am.”
“Who,”the bartender corrects, then shrugs sheepishly. “You meant ‘who’ you really are. Sorry, I have a reputation as the grammar police.”
I give her a curt nod. “Who, then.”
Except, I actually did mean “What.”Mass wealth has made me feel more like a thing than a person. I don’t think anybody from home sees Dex Hessler as a person, just an embodiment. I wonder if Grandma felt the same. She married into the name. She could’ve sold the company and walked away when she lost Grandpa. But I know she felt the same burden. The same painful obligation. I learned from her example: how to sacrifice your life to fulfill a legacy that’s bigger than you are. How to accept that your life is just a tiny piece of a bigger puzzle.
Hesslers breed CEOs who graduate in the top ten percent of their class from Harvard Business School. Hesslers donotbreed anxiety-ridden, scuba-diving nomads who have panic attacks behind closed doors.
My own personal form of rebellion is ensuring the Hessler line ends with me. There’ll be no one left to play Atlas and carry the goddamn world on their shoulders.
“So, how exactly did you mislead her?” the bartender asks. But before I can respond, my phone buzzes in rapid succession from my pocket. When I check the notifications, it’s Denny.
Normally a text message from Denny wouldn’t make me so jumpy, but there’s the pressing matter at hand of finding me a wife.
“Excuse me. It’s work,” I say before swiveling around in my seat and diving into the messages.
Denny