He smelled beer before he saw the bar. Sweet. Pungent. He licked his lips, tasting the memory.
They’d set the wedding venue before they knew he’d be sober enough to attend. To walk Zoey down the aisle. And so here he sat, at the main table, between groomsmen too young to talk to him, and his daughter, too absorbed in her new husband.
The bar was there, where it always was. A friend for too many years. Now, the one thing he had to avoid.
Zoey was beautiful. Her black hair with its blue sheen was twisted into a complicated knot, partially hidden by the veil hanging down her back. She wore her mother’s dress: silky, simple, modest in the front, daring in the back. Carter, watching her walk toward him, had been mesmerized.
He remembered that feeling. Veronica, standing beside him at the altar, her blue-black hair hanging down her back in silky waves, had stolen his breath. He looked past the newlyweds to where his ex-wife sat, and stopped breathing.
Zoey and Carter spoke in whispers, heads touching, feeding each other, laughing softly. They were alone in this crowded room.
That would change. A kid would change it. It had for him. The stress of having to earn more money, of being constantly exhausted, of never being able to breathe. He’d crumbled. He hoped Carter wouldn’t.
He tapped Zoey on the shoulder. “You look happy, Sweetheart.”
“I am, Daddy.” She glanced at his flute of apple juice. “Thank you. This means a lot.”
He laid his hand on her arm. “Of course, Sweetheart.” Then she turned her attention back to Carter.
The Groomsmen to his left were talking sports, a topic he could have weighed in on, except for their body language that said back off. He scanned the room. Veronica was chatting with the Bridesmaids. She glanced his way, didn’t react, and returned to her conversation.
In front, his family laughed and chatted. And ignored him. He rubbed the sweating stem of his flute and understood. He had amends to make.
Zoey touched his shoulder. “It’s time, Daddy.”
He patted her hand. “Love you, Sweetheart.”
He rose and tapped his glass with his knife. The crowd grew quiet, all eyes turned on him.
“Thanks, everyone, for coming to celebrate with Zoey and Carter.” He cleared his throat. “It means a lot to them. To Veronica. To me.”
He placed his prompt cards on the table and heard Zoey’s soft chuckle. “They say time flies, and I’m here to tell you it does. It feels like just last week, Zoey was a baby in my arms, clutching my finger, gurgling nonsense to me. I’m told these were just physiological reactions, but I swear she was telling me she loved me.”
Laughter rippled.
“And now, here she is, ready to start her own family with Carter. I feel like I’ve missed the between time.”
Veronica snorted, then coughed to disguise it.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Veronica was right to laugh. I did miss most of Zoey’s life.” He touched his daughter’s shoulder and whispered, “I’m sorry, love.”
“I’m an alcoholic, and I was drunk through far too many of those years.”
He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m not turning this into an AA meeting. It’s just that I should be up here telling anecdotes of her life. A few embarrassing stories. A lot that show how wonderful my daughter is.”
He looked at Carter, who returned his gaze with a neutral expression. “I should be able to tell you something about this young man, Carter Milkowski. But I can’t, because I’ve met him only a few times and know little about him.”
He took a sip of juice. Refocused.
“What I can tell you is this. Veronica, my ex, the woman I’ll love forever, was a terrific mother. She raised my Zoey to be smart, sensible, and kind-hearted without being a pushover. So I know that, since Zoey chose him, Carter must be a fine man.”
He raised his glass to Carter, who nodded. “I wish you two, my baby and the man she’s chosen, a long life together filled with mutual respect and lasting love. And filled with children you’ll both raise to be the fine adults you’ve both become.”
He faced the guests. “Please stand, raise your glasses and help me toast Zoey and Carter.”
He waited until the bustle of everyone standing quieted, and everyone held their glasses of Champagne high. “To Zoey and Carter. Two wonderful people. To your health and happiness.”
He caught Zoey’s eye and winked. “And to lots of sex, so Veronica and I get lots and lots of grandbabies. Cheers!”
Laughter and hoots erupted. “Cheers!”
Zoey blushed, lightly punched his arm, and laughed, “Daddy! Really?”
“Really,” he whispered. “I’m serious about those grandbabies.”
Veronica shook her head and turned away. Did the corner of her mouth twitch?
He spent another half hour in silence, save for a “Respect, man,” and high-five from the young lad beside him.
He pushed his food away, mostly uneaten. His mouth was dry in a way that apple juice would never quench. He stared at the guests milling around the bar, laughing and talking, and he started to stand.
He caught himself and fumbled for his phone, found his sponsor’s number, and started punching it in. His finger hovered over ‘connect’.
But if he called, he’d have to leave to meet his sponsor. Not tonight. He’d tough it out on his own.
He tucked the phone away, fingered the one-year chip in his pocket, and turned his back to the bar.
He tapped Zoey on the shoulder. “You’re beautiful tonight, honey. Did I tell you that?”
“Several times, Daddy.”
Her face grew serious. “Thank you for this. All of it. Today wouldn’t have been the same without you here.”
He kissed her hand. “Anytime, Sweetheart.”
The music started with the opening chorus of I Will Always Love You. Zoey touched his shoulder as she and Carter walked to the dance floor. The crowd hushed. The couple waltzed one turn around the floor.
Then the music changed, Zoey hiked up her dress, and the two broke into a complicated Shuffle routine, cheered on by the crowd.
Chet laughed. Kids!
He picked up his flute and walked a few steps to Veronica’s side. She raised an eyebrow as he sat down.
He touched his flute to her glass. “Cheers to our beautiful daughter.”
“Cheers.” She nodded, drank, and moved her glass to the other side.
“Relax,” he said. “I wasn’t going to steal it.”
“And now you can’t.”
He sighed, retrieved his chip and placed it beside her hand. “One year sober. I thought you should know.”
She looked at it but didn’t pick it up. “Congratulations, Chet. I’m sure it hasn’t been easy.”
He laughed. “You have no idea.”
“That’s true.”
“Look, I just ….”
She waited. Said nothing.
“Could we have coffee next week?”
Her brow furrowed. “Why?” She buttered a roll and cut a small slice.
“I thought – I wondered – now that I’m sober. Can we, you know, date, maybe? See if we can try again?”
Veronica’s eyes jerked to his, and she dropped the slice. “Try again? Are you crazy, Chet? You put Zoey and me through hell.”
He nodded, throat tight, and slid the chip back into his pocket. He turned his attention to the dancing couple.
She placed her hand on his arm. “I’m glad you’re sober, Chet. I hope you stay that way for Zoey but you and me? No. I’ll never risk that again.”
When he could, he glanced at Veronica. “I’m really looking forward to grandbabies.”
Veronica smiled. “Me, too. I wish they weren’t moving to Toronto, though. I won’t get to babysit.”
“Toronto? What’s that supposed to mean?”
He saw pity in her eyes.
“Sorry. I forgot you didn’t know. Carter got a promotion, but it’s based in Toronto. So Zoey applied to Ontario’s art college and was accepted. She has talent, but she needs to develop it. Now she can.”
“I remember. I have some of the drawings she made as a kid. That portrait she did of you – well, I still look at it sometimes. When I need to remember.”
Veronica stayed silent.
“But Toronto?”
He finished the juice, wishing it were real, and signalled the waiter for another. “When? How much time do I have?”
“Right after the honeymoon. They come back here to pack up. Then they head out by car.”
His fingers worried the wedding band that he refused to take off, even though they’d been divorced for a year. His eyes strayed to the bar.
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
Veronica huffed. “Seriously? You have to ask?”
He didn’t. But he’d been counting on Zoey being here. On Sunday dinners. And hikes through Fish Creek Park. For doing all the father-daughter things he’d missed out on.
He scanned the room, looking for a place to land, but he couldn’t find a single friendly face. He trudged back to his seat. Zoey’s glass, half full of real alcohol, sat inches away. His fingers itched to grab it. He couldn’t sit here, not a moment longer.
Just as he got up, the music ended, and Zoey and Carter returned to the table. Carter took Veronica’s hand and pulled her onto the dance floor.
“Your turn, Daddy. Father-daughter dance.”
“I don’t know,” he said, taking her hand. “If I try that shuffle thing, I’ll land on my ass.”
“No Shuffling. Promise.” She led him to the floor.
“I can do hip hop,” he offered.
“I remember that routine you taught me when I was five.”
“Me, too. You don’t have to stand on my feet again, do you?”
She laughed. Her answer was to hike her dress and start into the dance. He waited a bit, timed his entrance and slid into the moves like it was yesterday.
The music ended. Zoey and Carter were joined on the dance floor by the rest of the guests. He held out his hand to Veronica, but she ignored him and returned to her place at the table. He did, too.
As he passed her chair, he whispered. “One dance wouldn’t have killed you. We were supposed to. It’s expected.”
She shrugged. “Not anymore, it isn’t.”
He stayed long enough to throw rice as Zoey and Carter climbed into the wedding car, decked with tissue flowers and tin cans.
Everyone else returned to the reception. He stood there, alone, looking down the street, hearing the low hum of pedestrians cruising the night scene, and the muted thrum of the C-Train engines.
This was his favourite part of Calgary. He’d felt alive here. Restaurants. Bars. Here, stress had rolled off his back with the first drink.
Laughter and music spilled out of the Legion. He looked in, watched the dancers, saw tables of chatting friends. Former friends. And Zoey was gone.
He turned and headed off down 7th Avenue at a leisurely pace, jacket open, hands in his pockets. His one-year chip was still in his pocket: quiet, reassuring, inert.
He didn’t need quiet tonight. He needed to be seen.
His stomach rumbled, so he stopped at a 7-Eleven. It was packed with young adults, some in jeans, some in suits and dresses, all talking in excited voices.
So alive. So many possibilities.
So many bars.
He grabbed a hot dog, loaded it with onions, mustard and ketchup. He paid, and took his dog and Coke outside. There were no chairs, so he sank to the pavement, his back against the wall. He drank half the Coke in one gulp, burped and laughed.
The first bite flooded his taste buds. He closed his eyes, let the earthy tang and sweetness linger. People strolled by, their legs all he could see without craning his neck.
This must be how vagrants see the world. His eyes filled. I could have ended up here.
Something plopped. He looked down, saw mustard on his good tie. He laughed. A passing kid gave him a weird look. He stared back. Then he shoved the last of the hot dog into his mouth, drained the Coke, and struggled up.
Gotta get back to the gym, old man. Getting up used to be a lot easier.
He tossed his trash in the can and stood for a moment before pulling his tie off and tossing it in, too.
His stomach still rumbled. He should have bought two. He kept walking.
Why Toronto, Zoey? Carter could easily find a great job here. The whole country wants to live in Calgary, and you head the other way?
An older man jostled by him and pulled a woman in for a hug. They smiled and kissed, then walked arm in arm into the restaurant.
That used to be me and Veronica.
“Hang on to her,” he called after them. The man looked back, frowned, then hurried his date inside.
Chet shrugged. Whatever.
But he stopped and watched them through the restaurant window until a waiter shooed him away.
He wandered on, thinking about dancing with Zoey tonight. Crazy, energetic hip hop from decades ago. She’d remembered.
Goddammit. She’ll be 3000 kilometres away.
He stopped in front of the bar he knew from his drinking days. They made great ribs and fries, and he was still hungry. It was packed inside, and the noise filtered out past the closed door.
A couple went in. The din got louder, and the odour of beer and ribs drifted out for just a minute, until the door swung shut.
He wanted to go in. Badly.
Instead, he sat on the window ledge and folded his hands in his lap, letting the noise and the night air surround him. He knew people inside. Some had been friends. Before.
If you go in there, you know what happens.
So he stayed seated. He thought about tonight, about Zoey and Carter. He was happy for them. He was. But Zoey was his anchor, the only person who looked at him like he was still worthy, and she was gone.
He thought about his grandbabies-to-be: of bouncing them on his knee and twirling them around until they were dizzy, of teaching them to dance. But they’d be out of his reach, too.
He stood and reached for the door. But his chip was a weight in his pocket. He turned and walked on.
You can do this.
One step at a time.
The End
© Deborah Sarty. All rights reserved. This story may not be reproduced without permission.
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