Page 92 of Caught in a Storm

“Oh wow,” says Grady. “That’s clever.”

“Damn, no wonder I’m selling so many of those pretzels,” says Gustavo. The Margot Hammer, which Gustavo launched last month, is a soft pretzel dipped in pink strawberry-flavored icing, and it’s currently the most popular item on his menu.

Beth kills the sound on the TV, which is now showing a commercial for a local personal injury lawyer, and switches back to music. Billy takes a sip of his beer and tries to ignore the fact that his friends are staring at him. “Guys,” he says. “Stop. I’m fine.”

Gustavo is next to him, Grady is one stool down, Beth faces them with her arms folded. None of them believe him.

“You don’t seem fine,” says Gustavo.

“And you’re drinking in the daytime,” says Beth.

“Yeah, you don’t normally do that,” says Grady.

“G, you invited me here,” says Billy. “Beth, you poured this for me.”

“Right,” says Grady. “Still, though, it’s worrying behavior.”

Billy has seen a few of the billboards around town. A huge one looms by the Amtrak station. This is the first time he’s seen the actual commercial, though, and he’s surprised how much it makes him miss her. Margot wasn’t on-screen, obviously, because it’s a commercial for pink phones. That song, though, is as much her as anything he could ever see with his eyes. Last week, Rolling Stone posted a picture of the band on Twitter. They were in a studio together. Margot was in the background behind her kit, and he was offended on her behalf, because Margot should be front and center, always.

After, um, a little time off, Burnt Flowers is recording a new album, the post read. It included a flower and a fire emoji.

“Have you talked to her?” asks Beth.

“No,” he says.

His friends exchange solemn glances over his head. He wonders how long they’ll keep doing this: treating him like the survivor of something. Forever? Henceforth, will he be the guy who was briefly Margot Hammer’s manfriend?

“You could maybe give her a call,” Grady says. “You know, just say hi.”

“She’s busy,” Billy says. “They’re recording. I’m giving her space. Plus, I doubt she wants to hear from me right now anyway.”

Grady and Gustavo nod into their beers, accepting this. Beth, though, leans her elbows on the bar. “Well, that’s pretty fucking stupid, Billy.”

“Jeez, Beth,” says Gustavo.

She shakes her head, unfolds and refolds her arms. “Sometimes women don’t need as much space as you morons think we do.”

He isn’t sure if she’s calling him a moron or all three of them—or mankind in general.

“I don’t know, Beth,” says Grady. “Patty asks me to go away a lot, and it usually sounds like she means it.”

“Maybe just a phone call, hon,” says Beth. “That’s all I’m saying.” Then she walks away and settles herself at the other end of the bar with an old paperback book. The three men sit in silence watching commercials and drinking, and then Gustavo bumps Billy’s shoulder. “I know, man,” he says. “Must be tough, seeing that cool commercial and all. But I brought you something I think might cheer you up.”

Billy watches as Gustavo digs around in his pocket. He wonders what he has for him. A gift, maybe? More pot gummies? That doesn’t sound so bad right now, actually.

“It’s in here somewhere,” says Gustavo. “Oh, here it is.”

It takes Billy two seconds to realize that Gustavo is giving him the finger. He’s fallen for this old joke again, and the look of genuine sincerity on Gustavo’s face is surprisingly moving. Maybe Beth is right and they’re all morons. But for men, sometimes a middle finger from a friend is as good as a hug.

“Too soon?” asks Gustavo.

“Nah,” says Billy. “I appreciate it.”

“That’s really sweet,” says Grady. “This beer’s making me feel pretty bloated, though. You guys wanna get some coffee?”

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